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“I suppose she’s trying to keep him away from the brandy.”
Kelbourne’s eyes didn’t flicker, which meant that he already knew about her father’s propensity to overindulge.
“We’re family now,” Torie told him, waggling her eyebrows. “You’ll learn all our secrets. I promised the supper dance to Lord Paterson, so I’ll have to give up the pleasure of a meal en famille.” She liked to throw French phrases about now and then, to counter the widespread belief that she was ignorant.
Which she was, but never mind.
“You shouldn’t dine with Paterson,” Kelbourne said, frowning. “The man’s a ne’er-do-well.”
Torie shrugged. “It’s not as if I’m going to marry him.”
He opened his mouth, so Torie raised her hand. “Or wander into the shrubbery with him. This may be my first Season, but I’m hardly a fool.”
Leonora showed up at Torie’s shoulder. “Of course you are not,” her sister said in a sharp tone. “Any number of people can’t read. I hold out hope that you might master the art before the Season’s end.”
Torie felt the viscount’s surprised gaze, but she refused to flinch. At least he knew now why her market value was so low. Two gentlemen had withdrawn their proposals when her father informed them of her illiteracy.
“Another family secret, Lord Kelbourne,” she told him. “My sister tears through books as if they were ballad sheets, so you needn’t fear that your heir will inherit my marginal intelligence.”
“Your curls are disordered,” Leonora observed. “I suggest you retire and compose yourself. Supper has been announced.”
Torie blew a white-blond curl away from her face. “We can’t all be as perfect as you are, Nora.”
“Do not call me that,” her sister hissed.
“I thought we were sharing our secrets with your fiancé. When I was little, I couldn’t pronounce Leonora’s name,” she told Kelbourne. “I shortened it to Nora, which my sister has never liked, so don’t imitate me.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” Kelbourne replied. He turned to his fiancée. “Miss Sutton, shall we find Sir William?”
“You could call her Leonora,” Torie put in. “For that matter, you may call me Torie. For goodness’ sake, your betrothal has been announced—even if you don’t plan to marry for a year.”
“I would consider such an address impertinent,” Leonora said, with chilling emphasis. She tucked her hand into the viscount’s arm. “Perhaps there is a children’s table, Victoria.”
Kelbourne nodded farewell.
“Pooh,” Torie muttered after the two of them walked off.
They were both as cold and as stiff as iced-over branches in winter.
They deserved each other.
Two Years Later
After the service, mourners are invited to join the cortege that will accompany the remains to interment in the family vault at Kelbourne Chapel.
Chapter 3
February 13, 1802
The Drawing Room
Kelbourne House, London
The twins were holding hands.
They were a peculiar-looking pair, to Torie’s mind: light-framed and pallid, with pale green eyes and narrow chins, perhaps ten or eleven years old. Their black clothing made them resemble skinny ravens.
The children had not been invited to attend their parents’ funeral or the interment, since outbursts of violent emotion—such as offspring of the deceased were likely to experience—were discouraged at such occasions.
