Page 49 of Petteril’s Prison

“He’s very small still,” Hortensia remarked. “Piers was not small.”

Piers blinked, as though surprised Hortensia remembered anything about his birth.

April said, “He is putting on weight, according to Dr. Laine.”

“At least he has the best of physicians,” said Hortensia, who gave Dr. Laine the credit for Gussie’s recovery from last year’s illness.

Bored by his august admirers, the Honourable William closed his eyes and went to sleep. Hortensia, Gussie, and Haggs returned to their chairs and their cups of tea.

The dowager turned a much more familiar scowl upon her nephew. “I suppose you knew about this.” She waved one disparaging hand toward Gussie and Haggs.

“This?” Piers asked doubtfully.

“Our engagement,” said Gussie sunnily. “Sir Peter wishes to ask you formally for my hand in marriage.”

“Informally,” snapped the dowager. “Augusta is too young to be married.”

Which was not what she’d said eighteen months ago while pushing Gussie into the arms of a supposedly rich man of highly questionable character. In truth, her elder daughter had married a mere baronet on a shaky financial footing, and Hortensia still dreamed of a brilliant match for the younger. Probably as compensation for Piers inheriting her husband’s title.

“I am a whole year older than you were when you married Papa,” Gussie retorted. “Piers, you do approve, don’t you?”

A smile played about Piers’s lips as he met his friend’s unusually anxious gaze. “She will lead you a wild dance.”

Haggs relaxed. “I know.”

“Piers, don’t you dare,” Hortensia said between her teeth. “My daughter can aim higher!”

“No,” Piers interrupted, “she cannot.”

Then the oddest thing happened.

All Hortensia’s familiar hostility to Piers rose into her face as she prepared for battle. Piers met and held her gaze in silence and April awaited the explosion with resignation.

It never came.

Hortensia dropped her gaze. She flapped one hand. “Of course you may marry.”

Gussie’s jaw dropped. Haggs blinked several times.

April slid her hand into her husband’s.

“I am the viscount,” he murmured below his breath.

April squeezed his fingers. “That’s what she just said.”