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“Bloodhound!” Niven said, feigning indignation.
“Works for me,” Fleming said, grinning.
“Okay, let’s have her discuss how she spends her free time,” Montagu said.
“Maybe going to the pub?” Charity said.
“No,” the Duchess said, “that would not be proper for her to do, or, if she did, to share in a letter.” She thought a moment. “To a dance! With friends!”
“A dreary dance with ghastly friends!” Charity added.
The Duchess smiled and nodded. She mentally composed it for a second, then started writing:
The Dutchess stopped, then looked to Charity for help.
Charity made a small frown, then looked across the table, and her face lit up. She giggled.
The Duchess looked to where Charity had looked—at Niven.
The Duchess grinned, then wrote:
* * *
he’ll be like that David we met—he’ll have the sweetest little Adam’s apple & the shiniest bald head!
* * *
The lead of the pencil snapped when the Duchess added the exclamation point. She and Charity started to giggle again as they looked at Niven.
Niven got up and walked around the table to see what they had written about him.
“My head is not bald and shiny!” he announced.
Charity and the Duchess laughed aloud.
Then the Duchess added:
* * *
How beastly & ungrateful of me, but it isn’t really that—you know—don’t you?
* * *
“Perfect,” Charity said.
Niven sighed.
“Not quite, but I suppose it’ll do,” he said.
“How about saying something about her engagement ring?” Fleming said.
“Good idea,” Montagu added. “She’ll be with friends and the ring would be a boasting point.”
Then the Duchess added:
* * *
Dearest Bill, I’m so thrilled with my ring—scandalously extravagant—you know how I adore diamonds—I simply can’t stop looking at it.
