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“Our army will begin next to the gazebo and the other by the house,” Merry announced. “I’ll fetch my daughter.” She ran off, waving her sword.

“I’ll take your arm,” the dowager said to Stella. She cast a minatory look at her son and Thomas. “The battle doesn’t begin until I reach that structure, obviously.”

Interestingly, her stroll was slower than it had been when she was plowing through river water. “Silvester is back in London, as you see,” the dowager said without preamble. “I imagine you know that Lady Yasmin has agreed to marry that earl who was courting you. Perhaps she already has. I gather a special license is required.”

“There is genuine feeling between them, so I’m happy for them,” Stella said.

“Well, at least you aren’t weeping into your tea,” Her Grace said. “Silvester was so glum this morning I had to drag him along with me.”

Stella winced. She hated thinking of Silvester longing for Yasmin. Or feeling desolate because he had been jilted.

“I can’t think how I managed to raise a son with such a puling attitude toward the opposite sex,” the dowager continued. “He told me he wants to be in love with his wife! Can you imagine anything more foolish?”

“I expect he will fall in love with someone else,” Stella suggested, her heart aching at the thought. Silvester would have to be terribly lucky. Yasmin was the most exquisite woman in all England, or so people said. There weren’t many Yasmins.

“I hope not,” his mother said, somewhat surprisingly. “Love makes a fool of a person. Oh, not at first, but afterward. I wish better for my son.”

“He will recover,” Stella said. Of course, she’d known Silvester would be hurt by Yasmin’s choice. But knowing wasn’t the same as hearing from his own mother that his heart was broken. Her chest felt hollow.

The dowager flashed a look at her that was so akin to one of her son’s that Stella blinked. “It’s not possible to reason with him on the subject. I tried.”

Thankfully, they finally reached the gazebo. Stella peeked inside and found Specs lying on her back on Peter’s lap, her paws and legs stretched out blissfully as he stroked her stomach.

“Look how funny your kitty is, Lady Stella,” Peter cried. “She’s not in the least afraid, not even of George!”

George was bristled with white hair and snoring loudly as he twitched in his sleep. He didn’t look like much of a threat.

“Specs is a shrewd cat,” Stella told him. “She knows you’re a friend.”

Fanny was conferring with her mother. “Does everyone have their Latin epitaph ready to go?” she demanded. She had clearly appointed herself their general.

“The vicar gave me mine,” the dowager said enthusiastically. “Oderint, dum metuant.”

“We learned that one last year,” Fanny said. “Let them hate as long as they fear! Do you know Mr. Addison?” she asked Stella.

“I don’t.”

“He’s an American, and frightfully good at this game,” Fanny said. “He beat Thomas.”

“Sic semper tyrannis!” Fanny shouted. “Down with all tyrants.”

Stella started to correct her, and stopped herself. Precision wasn’t the point. This was a game. In fact, it was probably the first game she’d ever played, other than chess.

“Lady Stella?” Fanny asked.

“Semper primus!” Stella supplied. And then, in response to Merry’s questioning glance, “Always first.”

“Short but meaningful,” Merry said approvingly.

“Now, here’s our strategy,” Fanny said. “Remember, they can’t strike us until we strike them because they’re boys. So your first blow has to land.”

Stella tightened her grip on her sword. She could imagine swinging it through the air. She simply couldn’t imagine hitting a person with it.

“We’ll run at them in pairs,” Fanny continued. “All we have to do is poke them with both our swords, and they’ll be dead.”

“Very bloodthirsty,” her mother said approvingly. “Your Grace, may I be your comrade-in-arms?”

“Sic,” the dowager said. “That’s ‘yes’ in Latin, by the way.”