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Torie didn’t dare glance at the viscount.

“It would be easier to read to Miss Victoria if she were living with us,” Valentine said.

“She’s going to be in our family, so we can read to her,” Florence said. “We’ll start with fairy tales. You’ll like them,” she told Torie. “Witches who eat children, evil stepmothers, et cetera.”

Torie had a dizzyingly joyful feeling that she had found some family members who liked her, even given her deficiencies. “Please call me Torie,” she said warmly. “As we’re family.”

Kelbourne threw her a reproving look. Unsurprisingly, given that she had suggested that he address her as such two years ago, and he was still parroting “Miss Sutton” at her sister.

“All right,” Valentine agreed, obviously having no idea how unusual it was to address an adult by her given name.

“Only when we’re in private,” Torie clarified, because Leonora would have a fit of vapors if she overheard him.

The twins nodded. “Would you like to read a book now?” Valentine asked. “I think that Father likely has some good ones in his library.”

There was a moment of silence before Kelbourne woke up to the fact that he was the father in question. He cleared his throat. “Yes. I do.”

“I suggest you only address Lord Kelbourne as your father in private as well,” Torie said. “We may all understand that your first father intended him to be your second, but ‘Lord Kelbourne’ is the most polite address.”

“My fiancée is Miss Sutton.” Kelbourne hesitated. “Never address her as ‘Mother,’ even in private.”

Florence’s lips rounded into an O, and her eyes lit up.

“My sister will not be an evil stepmother,” Torie said hastily. “Leonora is simply quite proper.”

“Disappointing,” Florence remarked. “I’d like to prove myself against an evil stepmother. I would never allow myself be put into an oven.” Turning to Kelbourne, she added, “Will you marry soon? Shall we continue to live with you, and will Torie join us?”

“If we are to live with you, can we please have some books, or at least borrow them from your library?” Val chimed in.

“You will live wherever I live,” Kelbourne said. “You may have as many books as you wish, and I shall immediately send for those left behind. I shall not marry Miss Sutton for at least three months, since we are in mourning for your parents.”

“We do recognize the fact that we ought to be in torrents of tears,” Valentine disclosed.

“We’re not good at crying, and unfortunately, we didn’t know either of them very well,” Florence said.

“Moreover, they didn’t like us,” Valentine added.

“Your parents loved you,” Kelbourne stated firmly, much to Torie’s relief. She was feeling out of her depth, having only met the Dorneys once, at Leonora’s betrothal dinner. Neither Dorney had frequented the same parties as debutantes.

“That’s not the same as ‘like,’ is it?” Valentine argued. “The last time we saw Mother, she fired our governess, saying we were akin to barbarians. We think she forgot to hire another, because a year went by, and no one replaced Miss Biddleton.”

Kelbourne’s jaw tightened in response to this artless depiction of his sister’s cavalier mothering. “You’re too old for a governess, so I will hire a tutor. The three of us will live here in my house in London when Parliament is in session and retire to Kelbourne Manor in the summer. Once we are out of deep mourning, you shall go to Eton, Valentine.”

Valentine shook his head. “No, I shall not. Father considered that as well, until I explained that I could not be separated from Flo.”

“Father was surprisingly persistent,” Florence added. “He stayed in the nursery for at least an hour, trying to persuade Val. We never saw him again. Would you live with us once your sister marries our father?” she asked Torie. “You seem to like us. At least, you don’t appear to be hysterical, and you’re not shrieking.”

Leonora would be shrieking. Torie was still trying to get her head around the idea of her sister having regular conversations with these two. “I shall happily visit, if his lordship approves. My father’s house is only a few blocks from here.”

“We must read to Torie, even before you marry Miss Sutton,” Val said to the viscount. “You must see that. Likely she doesn’t know anything.”

“I’m an expert in ribbons and gowns. And painting roses.”

Val closed his eyes, looking for all the world like an exasperated sixty-year-old peer, then squinted at her disbelievingly. “No Plutarch?”

“Who?”

He sighed loudly. “This is a disaster.”