“Use it wisely. A man with a compass never gets lost.”
“I get lost all the time.”
“Then you need it more than most.”
“I shall use it to find another frog. Thank you, Uncle Hugo.”
“Leo.” Lily held out a small wooden box. Leo approached with his stick and examined the offering. He opened the box. Inside sat a carved wooden horse, painted chestnut brown with a dark mane.
“Horse,” Leo said.
“It is from a toymaker in Nuremberg. Hugo chose it for you.”
Leo held the horse up and examined it from every angle. Then he tucked it under his arm beside his stick and walked back to the frog habitat without another word.
“That is the most enthusiastic I have seen him in weeks,” Sophia said.
“And Jane.” Lily lifted the smallest parcel. “A rattle. Silver. From a silversmith in Milan.”
Sophia took the rattle and shook it near Jane’s ear. Jane stopped dismantling her bread roll, looked at the rattle, and reached for it with both hands. She shook it once, declared it acceptable, and returned to her bread.
“She has her father’s focus,” Hugo observed.
“She has her mother’s priorities,” Edward corrected.
Margaret cleared her throat.
“Lady Oldbarrow.” Hugo reached behind the blanket and produced a long, narrow box. “I saved the best for last.”
Aunt Margaret opened the box. Inside, resting on a bed of velvet, lay a pair of opera glasses. Mother-of-pearl handles, brass fittings, and lenses that caught the afternoon light and threw tiny rainbows across the garden.
Aunt Margaret lifted them. She held them to her eyes and examined the garden, then the house, then Hugo himself.
“The magnification is excellent,” she said. Her voice carried a roughness she would have denied. “Where did you find them?”
“A lens maker in Vienna. I told him they were for a woman who sees everything and forgives nothing. He said she sounded like his mother.”
Aunt Margaret lowered the glasses. She looked at Hugo for a long moment. Then she reached out and patted his hand.
“Acceptable,” she said. “You may continue to be married to my niece.”
“I am honored beyond measure.”
“You should be.” She raised her wine glass. “Speaking of marriages, my godson Frederick wrote to me last month. He is thirty-two years old, a Duke himself, and has shown no inclination whatsoever toward finding a wife. I have told him this is unacceptable. The boy needs a woman with sense. If any of you know one, do send her north.”
“I shall keep my eyes open, Lady Oldbarrow,” Edward said.
“See that you do. I will not have my godson die a bachelor. It reflects poorly on my influence.”
Lily looked at Hugo. He looked at her. The afternoon light caught the amber of his eyes, and the warmth in his expression held no performance and no mask.
She took his hand.
“We have one more announcement,” she said.
The garden went still. Lady Brimsey’s embroidery froze mid-stitch. Lord Brimsey pushed his hat back. Margaret lowered her wine. Sophia’s hand stilled on Jane’s hair. Edward’s gaze sharpened.
“I am expecting a child.”
