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Biting her lip, Torie ground crimson powder into the “gumtion,” as her chemist called the gel. Her sister had left without bidding her goodbye. Her father was meandering along in the pleasant life he’d chosen, all the hard edges rubbed off by a golden haze of brandy.

The gumtion dried faster than she liked, and her fight to get the luminosity of a petal just right made her late to dinner. When she finally walked into the drawing room—unchaperoned—she found Dominic seated in an armchair, with Florence and Valentine perched on the sofa opposite him. The twins were immaculately dressed and obviously on their best behavior.

“‘Trifle not,’” Florence intoned with a dramatic shudder. “‘Hasten to tell me what you saw in the great chamber upon opening the door.’”

Torie waved at Florence as she walked in, mouthing, “Don’t stop.”

“‘Tell me, I adjure thee by the souls of my ancestors, what thou seest? What hath thou heardst?’” Florence demanded.

“I don’t like ‘heardst,’” Val objected. “Anyway, I think it should be ‘heardest.’”

“Never mind. She’s finally here!” In moments like this, when Florence’s arms wound tightly around her, Torie knew deep inside that she was right to marry Dominic. Her girlish dreams of marrying for love?

She was marrying for love.

The conversation at dinner turned to the Odyssey, specifically the Greek idea of Elysian Fields, the afterlife peopled by golden-haired, welcoming nymphs.

“It’s only for heroes? What about Odysseus’s wife, Penelope?” Florence demanded, her little mouth turning down in disgust. “Where will she go?”

Torie let Dominic take the lead on that tricky issue. He floundered about, explaining heroic traditions rather than answering Florence’s question.

“Not good enough,” Florence retorted. “If Odysseus is married, he shouldn’t be with anyone else.” Her voice was ferocious.

“Neither of us thinks adultery is a good idea, given our mother’s behavior,” Valentine remarked.

From Dominic’s appalled expression, he had had no idea that the twins were aware of his sister’s reputation. He looked to Torie in desperate appeal.

“You and I are not yet married,” she reminded him. “Surely this is a moment for paternal advice.”

“Please.” Dominic so rarely admitted a need for help that she gave in.

“Your mother’s behavior does not reflect on you,” she told the children. “We try to think kindly of the dead, so let’s concentrate on Lady Dorney’s best characteristics.”

Dominic was supposed to leap at her prompt, but he just dragged a hand through his short curls, which gave him an adorably rumpled appearance.

Very unlike the Viscount Kelbourne of debating fame.

Florence kicked the table leg so hard that the wood groaned. “I still don’t understand why Odysseus would bother with these golden-haired nymphs. He had Penelope.”

Once again, Dominic didn’t respond, so Torie tried to explain. “Some people feel that a spouse isn’t enough. They dream of variety.”

“Variety in appearance? Was Penelope described as having yellow hair?” Valentine asked. “I can’t remember.”

“Homer describes her as loyal and intelligent, which is far better,” Torie replied.

There was a brief digression after Florence uttered a comment that she’d overheard in the stables, which was instantly added to the Prohibited List.

“Odysseus had connubial relations—Torie, connubial refers to the marital bed—with all sorts of women,” Valentine pointed out. “He wasn’t faithful to Penelope. He was the sort of man who prefers variety.”

Dominic promptly added “connubial relations” and “marital bed” to the Prohibited List. Torie was growing distinctly irritated by the fact that her fiancé seemed to consider the censorship of improper words his sole responsibility, as if Val could discuss adultery without them.

“Some men view infidelity as an ambition rather than a prohibition,” she said. “And now I think we should talk of something or at least someone else. I’m tired of Odysseus.”

That led, as she expected, to a firestorm of protest, taking the conversation in a different direction.

After the twins returned to the nursery, Dominic escorted Torie back to the drawing room, where Flitwick offered her tea, sherry, port, or hot chocolate.

“A cup of sherry would be lovely,” she said, drifting across the room to look over a stack of books.