“Augusta,” Olivia breathed.
Augusta crossed the room in three strides and pulled her sister into an embrace that knocked her bonnet sideways and elicited a startled laugh from her.
What a lovely feeling, hearing one’s sister laugh.
“I thought…” Augusta began, but her voice failed her, dissolving into something that was not quite a sob and not quite a laugh and entirely inadequate to the magnitude of what she was feeling. “I had no way of knowing if you were…”
“I’m here,” Olivia said. Her voice was steadier, though Augusta felt the tremor in her sister’s hands where they pressed against her back. “I’m well. I’m safe. And apparently,” she added, pulling back just far enough to meet Augusta’s eyes with a smile that held its share of mischief beneath the emotion, “my sister resides in the house of a duke who writes letters of such formidable persuasion that my aunt surrendered me without asingle objection. Quite an accomplishment, that. I believe she’s still recovering.”
The reference to Hudson broke the spell slightly. Augusta suddenly became aware of their audience.
And then Cassie, being Cassie, could contain herself no longer.
“Is that your sister?” she asked, bouncing to her feet with an energy that made the table rattle. “Because if it is, I have seventeen thousand questions, and you simply must see the stable yard immediately, because we have the most magnificent mare. Her name is Juniper, and she lets me feed her apples if I’m very careful about my fingers. There’s also a particular tree in the garden that’s perfect for climbing if you don’t mind getting your hem dirty, which Miss Norton says is a small price to pay for proper adventure, and?—”
“Cassie,” Hudson interrupted, but his voice carried no real reproach, and his mouth was twitching at one corner.
Olivia, to her credit, looked neither alarmed nor overwhelmed by this torrent of information. She turned to Cassie with a smile that transformed her face.
“I would be delighted to hear all seventeen thousand questions. And to see Juniper. And the climbing tree. Especially the climbing tree.” She glanced at Augusta, a question in her eyes. “If that’s acceptable to my sister, of course. I’ve been informed that governesses are notoriously strict.”
“Notoriously,” Augusta agreed, finding her voice at last. The warmth in her chest had spread outward, filling her limbs with a lightness she had almost forgotten was possible. “Though I’m willing to make exceptions for sisters who have traveled halfway across the country. Especially when they arrive with such impeccable timing.”
The tour, it turned out, was extensive.
Cassie led Olivia through the house with the fervent dedication of a museum curator who had been waiting her entire life for precisely this audience, pausing at each room to deliver her commentary.
“This is the library, where Hudson hides when he doesn’t want to be found, though he’s not very good at it because he always chooses the same chair. Also, he snores, which rather gives the game away.”
Pippin, emerging from some canine reconnaissance mission in the kitchens, took one look at Olivia and abandoned all pretense of dignified reserve, launching himself at her skirts with an enthusiasm that nearly toppled her and coaxed a laugh that sent warmth to Augusta’s heart.
She watched them from the doorway of the gallery as Hudson materialized beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him through the sleeve of her dress, not quite close enough to touch.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “For bringing her here.”
Hudson met her gaze. “It was the right thing to do.” His gruff tone did nothing to disguise the effect her gratitude had on him.
Augusta could only describe the days that followed as glorious. Olivia had easily settled into the townhouse, as though she had always belonged there.
James arrived on a Tuesday afternoon whilst Augusta, Olivia, and Cassie were engaged in the morally questionable practice of teaching Pippin how to balance a biscuit on his nose.
The dog was doing his best impression of a creature who had never been fed and would perish within moments if the biscuit were not immediately surrendered to his waiting jaws. Cassie was laughing too hard to maintain the necessary sternness. Olivia was attempting, with limited success, to look disapproving while her mouth betrayed her with a smile she couldn’t quite suppress.
Into this tableau of canine education and incipient chaos strode James, immaculately dressed in a waistcoat of such a violently cerulean hue that Augusta was momentarily convinced the fabric itself was emitting light.
“Ladies,” he greeted, executing a bow that combined genuine elegance with just enough excess to communicate that he wasenjoying himself enormously. “I see I’ve arrived at a critical juncture in what appears to be a very advanced lesson in canine deportment. Please, don’t let me interrupt. I find the education of small animals to be one of life’s great spectator sports.”
Cassie, abandoning all pretense of instruction, launched herself at him with the unrestrained enthusiasm of a child. “You’ll never guess what’s happened. We have a new guest! Miss Norton’s sister. She draws horses better than anyone in the entire world, probably, and she knows seventeen different ways to tie a cravat, though she says most of them are impractical for daily wear, which is a shame because the one with the double loop looks magnificent?—”
“Cassie,” Hudson cut in, appearing in the doorway. “Perhaps allow our guest to breathe before you overwhelm him with the complete architectural history of your friendship.”
James extricated himself from Cassie’s enthusiastic grasp, his eyes finding Olivia, who had risen from her chair. “You must be the infamous Miss Olivia.”
Olivia’s smile was small but genuine and contained just enough sharpness to suggest she had assessed him in approximately the time it took to blink.
“Lord Ridgewell,” she greeted with a curtsy. “I’ve heard a great deal about you. Mostly from Cassie, whose accounts I have learned to interpret with a certain creative latitude.”
“The only sensible approach,” James agreed. “Cassie’s version of events typically improves upon reality by a factor of at least three. I encourage it. The world is vastly improved by her particular brand of embellishment.”
