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“For the nursery?” Leonora asked incredulously.

“Oh no, for the downstairs corridor,” Valentine explained.

“This paper would be just right in a corridor,” Leonora said immediately. “One would pass by and be left with an impression of beauty.”

Torie took a relieved breath. Her sister was a kind person, as long as emotions were muted and propriety observed.

“We didn’t know our mother very well,” Florence said, “but Lady Dorney was rather peacocky, like this paper. We think perhaps seeing it every day will make us care for her more.”

“You think that,” her brother said. “I find it most unlikely.”

Leonora opened her mouth and shut it again. “Just so.”

She cast a somewhat wild look at Torie. The twins never said what one expected, and Leonora was particularly wedded to the expected. She undoubtedly felt that Lady Dorney’s children should refer to their late mother only in saintlike terms.

Sir William often described his dead wife as “lively”; Leonora had always told Torie—who couldn’t remember her mother—that their mother had been a paragon among ladies.

“When you marry Lord Kelbourne,” Florence continued, “perhaps you could choose new wallpaper, Miss Sutton. That way we will come to be fond of you.”

“Affection comes with time, not with wallpaper,” Torie said.

Leonora nodded. “I would be happy to replace this paper, perhaps with a paint that promotes tranquility, such as alabaster. Master Valentine, shall we summon your valet to remove the feathers from your hair?”

“I don’t have a manservant of my own yet,” Valentine replied. “I may never have one, as I believe our father left us impoverished. Are we allowed to discuss gambling or is that prohibited?” he asked Torie.

“Since your father has passed from this world, his memory must be honored,” Leonora said firmly.

“I could speak on the subject with reference to your father, who is still in this world,” Valentine said agreeably. “His recent wager, as I’m sure you know, was covered on the front page of the London Times. Well, Torie wouldn’t know, because she can’t read.”

Leonora cleared her throat.

Valentine disregarded this warning sign. “It was quite foolish to wager eight thousand pounds that a curricle could not circle the Tower of London ten times in thirty minutes, especially given that Sir William’s confidence in his bet manifested after a pigeon shat on his shoulder.”

Catching Leonora’s shocked expression, Torie said quickly, “Ladies’ sensibilities are offended by mentions of excrement.”

“I’ll add shat to the Prohibited List,” Valentine said, throwing both feathers into the air at once.

“List?” Leonora repeated in a stunned voice.

Florence offered helpfully, “Subjects such as flatulence, loins, rogering . . . oh, and bastardy. I can tell you more of them, if you wish. I have an excellent memory.”

Leonora’s eyes widened, though she probably didn’t know what “rogering” was. Torie didn’t. Certainly no one had mentioned flatulence or bastardy in Leonora’s presence in years. If ever.

“Nanny said she would feed you to a cat if you mentioned rogering again,” Valentine said to his sister. He turned to Torie. “Rogering is vulgar slang for—”

“Best not,” Torie said, interrupting.

“As I am a lady, those are words that offend me,” Leonora pointed out. “They should never be uttered in my presence, and you would offer myself and Miss Victoria a further offense by explaining a vulgarism.”

“I do see that you’re very ladylike,” Florence said. “We said that, didn’t we, Val? After we were in the drawing room, where we first met you both.”

“Perhaps you would be more comfortable living in the country, where you needn’t mind your tongues as much,” Leonora said. “Countryfolk are not overburdened by sensibility as we in London are.”

“Really?” Valentine asked with interest. “Because we have heard some extraordinarily vulgar phrases since we arrived in the city. The other day—”

“Valentine!” Torie cut in. “Why don’t we all sit down? Tea must be on the way.”

“I could read to you from the Odyssey,” Valentine offered.