Page 12

“I could try to write a story about a rabbit,” Florence said dubiously.

Torie choked back a peal of laughter. “How many stories have you written?”

“Loads. Especially lately. We like to read, but Nanny wouldn’t let us bring any books. So in the last few days, we’ve been writing instead.”

“Why weren’t you allowed to bring your library?” Kelbourne asked.

“She wanted us to try to be normal children,” Valentine explained. “Or at least appear so.”

“Too late for that,” Torie said, grinning. “‘Master Valentine’ is such a mouthful. May I address you as Val?”

Val nodded, but Florence said, “I do not wish to be addressed as Flo.”

“My usage is grandfathered in,” Val said.

“Florence is more dignified,” his sister explained. “Also, it’s a city in Italy that I mean to visit someday. Have you been there?” she asked the viscount.

“Yes, I have. Florence is a charming city, full of art.”

“I shall go there on tour,” Valentine announced. He turned to Kelbourne. “Since you’re our new father, you might as well know now that we’d prefer that Flo marry young.”

The viscount blinked. “Father?”

“Our first father told us that in case of his death, you would be our second,” Valentine explained. “I gather that Miss Sutton is to be our new mother.”

Kelbourne had the stunned look of a man recognizing that his life has just changed profoundly. Torie jumped in again. “Why do you wish to marry young, Florence?”

“So that she can accompany me on my Grand Tour,” Valentine explained.

Torie couldn’t help smiling. “And her husband? Will he accompany you as well?”

“Of course. It’s called a honeymoon.”

Kelbourne’s dazed features eased into something like amusement. “A honeymoon is generally a trip conducted by a new husband and wife alone.”

“Not in our case,” Florence said with utmost confidence. “We’re twins, you see.”

“Flo must marry so she can come with me. First she has to master the arts of enticement.” Valentine eyed Torie. “Perhaps you could help her.”

“‘Arts of enticement’?”

“The phrase comes from a really interesting sermon about sinners,” he explained. “Preached after a ‘mortal and bloody duel.’”

“You’re reading Joseph Sewell’s sermons?” Torie asked, recognizing the author from his sermon given at Westminster Abbey.

“I found it in Father’s library,” Valentine said. “Someday I might have to fight a duel, so I hoped the sermon would include useful information, but it did not.”

Kelbourne frowned. “No pastor knows anything about dueling.”

The twins ignored him, which Torie thought he’d better get used to.

“You will need to dress like her and walk like her,” Valentine told his sister, nodding at Torie.

Torie glanced down at herself. Her black bombazine had none of the ruffles, lace, and ribbons she adored. She preferred to be one of the widest ladies in any room, but her mourning dress was designed for small panniers. Moreover, the bodice touched her collarbone, whereas most of her gowns showcased her breasts.

She did not feel enticing.

“I can already wiggle,” Florence said. She hopped up from the settee and walked across the room, her narrow hips swaying from one side to the other. “Good afternoon, Lord Whatsit,” she cooed, bobbing a curtsy.