“I know now why you considered a repairing lease in Hampshire,” Addy said.

Theodosia Tresham opened her parasol. “The charms of London can pale.”

Addy opened her own parasol, linked arms with Theo, and set a course for the ornamental lake at the foot of the grade. Lady Brantmore’s fête was an annual institution, and Addy usually enjoyed a day away from London.

The gathering began with a luncheon al fresco, graduated to an afternoon of outdoor entertainments, and finished with a ridotto. Guests arrived and departed throughout the festivities, depending on whether their tastes ran to archery, picnics, dancing, or gambling.

Through it all, people laughed, flirted, and wandered in couples and small groups along the nature walk and into the vast, rambling Brantmore country house.

Addy was wandering as well, along the edges of melancholy and annoyance.

“The Season always arrives as such a relief,” she said. “After the dreariness of winter, London comes back to life. Parliament sits, the menfolk argue their politics, the dancing begins, and…” And she watched another crop of young people make the same mistakes she and Roger had.

“And then you realize,” Theo replied, “that the discussions at the formal dinners closely resemble the discussions held for the past five years. The gossip all begins to sound the same as well, and you’re listening mostly to make sure your own name doesn’t come up. How are you, Beatitude?”

Lonely. Upset. Unable to stop searching the crowd for a certain tall, determined earl.

“I am well.” Addy didn’t need to ask how Theo fared. Marriage to Jonathan Tresham had put a bloom on Theo’s cheeks worthy of a debutante at her presentation ball. “Aunt Freddy is fading.”

“I’m sorry. She has been a fixture for so long, it’s hard to imagine her spirit diminishing. She will be much missed.”

That response was characteristic of Theo: kind, pragmatic, less comforting than Addy might have wished.

“Her situation makes me realize that I don’t want to become a fixture myself, Theo. You kept your hand in with the social nonsense because you have a daughter and sister who will eventually make their bows. I look around at the same inane activities year after year, see most of the same people, and wonder: What am I doing here?”

She fell silent as Mr. Fortunatus Tottenham strolled around the turn of the path, Lady Demeter Montgomery on his arm. They made a beautiful couple, though the lady was a good ten years her escort’s junior.

Tottenham bowed, and as always, his gaze made Addy uneasy. She smiled and curtseyed, plagued by the same thought a Tottenham sighting always provoked: How much had Roger told him about the realities of marriage to a vicar’s bumpkin daughter? How much had Roger told any of his endless legion of cronies and intimates?

The couple continued on their way. Rather than resume progress around the lake, Addy took the side path that led to a shady bench.

“You don’t like him,” Theo said. “Mr. Tottenham seems agreeable, but then, a certain variety of male excels at seeming agreeable.”

“I have no reason to dislike him. He and Roger were great friends, and Mr. Tottenham was solicitous during my period of mourning.”

Theo settled on the bench, and even in that casual movement, she displayed more grace and relaxation than she’d had as a widow on the fringes of polite society. “Did you consider marrying Mr. Tottenham, Beatitude?”

“Never.” Nor will I ever.

“Are you considering marrying Lord Casriel?”

Addy had not allowed herself to ponder that question. “One cannot consider marrying a man whose only interest in one is friendship. Attempting to do so embarrasses all concerned.”

Theo closed her parasol and propped it against the bench. “I recall a certain widowed countess telling me that we’d grieved our first husbands long enough, that we were due for a little adventure. Can Casriel serve in that capacity?”

“I haven’t inquired.” Addy had made a passing joke, and Casriel had not been amused.

“You want to.”

Wasn’t this what a close friend was for? Sorting out difficult emotions, offering well-intended advice?

“I watched my husband racket from one adventure to another, Theo. He had a talent for embracing life, ignoring talk, and leaping into every day. His joy remained unabated, whether he won or lost, looked a fool, or prevailed against daunting odds. I loved that about him.” At first.

“While you were the sensible one. Sense makes a dull bedfellow.”

“This is true.” Had Roger felt that way?

“You are tempted by Lord Casriel.”

“Casriel is not merely dutiful, Theo. He’s honorable. He will try his utmost to be a worthy husband to any woman he marries, whether she sincerely esteems him, or has accepted his suit simply so that her daughters will have the title of lady.”

“A fortune hunter with a conscience. A rare breed.”

A conscience, patience with little old ladies, loyalty to his many siblings, a way with a flirtation… “Theo, I am at risk for foolishness.”

No sooner had Addy admitted that than the inspiration for her restless dreams ambled around the bend in the path. Lord Casriel escorted Lady Antonia Mainwaring, an earl’s daughter who had an independent fortune, and who appeared all too comfortable at Casriel’s side.

“Ladies.” His lordship bowed. Her ladyship curtseyed.

Lady Antonia was damnably pretty when she smiled.

“Mrs. Tresham,” her ladyship said. “I have been hoping to cross paths with you. Did you know that my favorite lending library is on the very next street over from Mr. Tresham’s town house?”

Theo rose, and Addy got to her feet as well, rather than feel as if the other three were talking around her.

“I have visited the library once,” Theo said. “The ducal collection is notably devoid of recent novels.”

Lady Antonia unwound her arm from his lordship’s. “If you will excuse me, my lord, Lady Canmore, I would like to abduct Mrs. Tresham for a short chat about the library’s Neighborly Committee.”

“What an interesting name for a committee,” Theo replied.

“Nearly a contradiction in terms,” Lady Antonia said. “May I explain?”

Theo and Lady Antonia were soon strolling in the direction of the lake, deep in conversation, leaving an odd silence behind.

“We have been abandoned in one another’s company,” Lord Casriel said. “Are you pleased or vexed?”

“Both. You?”

“Lady Antonia is all that is gracious,” he said. “She’s also quite knowledgeable regarding Greek and German philosophers, medical science, and female theologians of the Middle Ages.”

He sounded bewildered, and Addy’s mood lifted marginally. “Did you regale her with your expertise on sheep farming and hay stacking?”

“One had not the opportunity. Would you care to view the lake with me?”

That small, sharp pain Addy was coming to associate with him pricked her heart. “I should demur on the grounds that Mrs. Tresham forgot her parasol, and I must return it to her.”

“I see. Well, then, shall I escort you back to the house?”

Perhaps Casriel did see and was again being every inch the gentleman. Addy treasured him for his honorable nature, though she could not endure another moment of his gentlemanly politesse.

“I would like to have an affair with you, my lord. Are you similarly inclined toward me?”

“His lordship is very pleasant company,” Antonia said. Casriel was also wonderfully tall and solid, not a maypole of a man. “He’s a patient listener.”

Mrs. Tresham paused and looked around. “I forgot my parasol. Jonathan gave it to me, and I’d rather not lose it.”

Oh, to be sentimentally attached to a parasol. “I can assure you, Mrs. Tresham, Lord Casriel will see to your parasol. He’ll likely return it to you personally, not send it ’round with a footman or porter.” The earl had that attentive, hovering quality good escorts were supposed to have. Lady Antonia esteemed him for it, truly she did.

She and Mrs. Tresham came to a rise in the path that overlooked the ornamental lake, a small body of water gleaming blue under sunny skies.

“I’m told the Dorning menfolk have fine manners to go with their distinctive eyes,” Mrs. Tresham said. “Jonathan and Lord Casriel are cordial, though I’m not well acquainted with the earl.”

Jonathan this, Jonathan that. Newlyweds were charmingly devoted.

Drat the lot of them.

“The Dornings have interesting names as well,” Antonia said, though this idle talk was not getting Mrs. Tresham to accept a place on the Neighborly Committee. “I can’t recall them all. Willow is the fellow who likes dogs, isn’t he?”

“Willow Grove Dorning. Seems a pleasant sort and devoted to his lady. There’s an Ash, a Sycamore. One of the sisters is named Jacaranda.”

A future duchess would take note of such things. Antonia was more interested in enjoying a rare day away from Town and recruiting for the library committees. The path ringed the lake, and between clumps of trees and scenic breaks in the shrubbery, other guests could be seen taking the air.

“Would we scandalize the company if we took off our boots and cooled our feet in the water?” Antonia asked.

Mrs. Tresham was a pretty, dark-haired woman, though even besotted with her husband, she had a serious air. “Is that why you dragooned me away from Lady Canmore’s side? To coax me into getting my toes wet?”

To add a future duchess to the Neighborly Committee, Antonia would do much more than dip a toe in the lake.

“You’re a respectable widow now married to a ducal heir. If you got your feet wet, nobody would remark it. I’m an unmarried heiress. If I did something so bold, everybody would comment, but the bachelors would still leave me no peace.”

Mrs. Tresham took up a perch on a slab of granite at the edge of the trail. “Was Lord Casriel disturbing your peace? Is that why you seized upon my company? He strikes me as a decent sort, not the type a woman must flee.”

And therein lay the problem. “He likely is a very decent fellow, but I can sense when a man is interested in me and when he’s trying to be interested in me. I maundered on and on about Galen and Paracelsus, Hildegard von Bingen and Héloïse d’Argenteuil. Then I brought up the Stoics and Marcus Aurelius, thinking surely Lord Casriel would have an opinion or two to defend, for the classics are part of every university education.”

Mrs. Tresham undid the lace of one boot. “You said he is a patient listener.”

“Do you like it when a man listens to you patiently?”

Mrs. Tresham toed off her boot. “Better than impatiently. Why aren’t you removing your boots?”

Antonia took the place beside Mrs. Tresham. “Are those our only options? Patience and impatience from men? Are we children? Doddering dowagers? Why could his lordship not argue with me on any point? Why not challenge my opinions regarding women as the proper stewards of theological thought?”

Antonia yanked at her boot laces, surprised at her own ire.

“A gentleman does not argue with a lady,” Mrs. Tresham said, setting her boots aside.

“Do you argue with Mr. Tresham?”

The great Leonardo da Vinci would envy Mrs. Tresham her smile. “Oh, definitely, and we make up. We also agree to disagree and we tease and twit one another. Jonathan has a subtle but wicked sense of humor, which can make disagreeing with him quite entertaining.”

The surface of the lake was a calm mirror, into which Antonia longed to toss her boots and Mrs. Tresham. I want to drop my husband’s name all over every conversation. I want to love even the ways he aggravates me.

“If I were to look for a man,” Antonia said, “note the conditional, I’d look for a man who listens to me, not out of duty or manners or in preparation for flattering me, but because he enjoys my company. That wish is absolutely reasonable.” She got her boot off and started on the second one.

“You have concluded, after half a circuit of the lake, that Lord Casriel is not such a man?”

“I concluded as much before we’d finished our first waltz. He’s polite, even charming, and next Season when I see Miss Quinlan swanning about as his countess, I will wish I had encouraged him.”

Mrs. Tresham reached under her skirts to peel down her stockings. “You’re sure you and Lord Casriel wouldn’t suit?”

“We would suit—merely suit. I would gradually learn not to inflict my philosophers on him. He would give up discussing politics with me—if that’s what holds his fancy. I could end up with a daughter named Lady Dandelion Dorning, and that would drive me to establishing my own household in Paris. He’d visit me in spring and tell me how his personal hedgerow of brothers fares.”

Civilized, pleasant, and utterly inadequate compared to Antonia’s dreams. She wasn’t sure Lord Casriel had dreams, other than perhaps a new roof for his hall.

Mrs. Tresham draped her stockings over her boots. “Then you must be frank with his lordship, if you think he has courtship in mind. Tell him you are not interested.”

Antonia rolled down her stockings and stood barefoot on the cool grass. “I would like to be courted, in theory, though not by him. Is that frank enough?”

“Tell him that. You and he would not make each other happy, and you wish him every joy, but you cannot be the woman to share a life with him.”

“Rejection sounds very sensible, even kind, coming from you.”

Mrs. Tresham advanced toward the water gently lapping against the sandy bank. “Tell him you are enamored of a Frenchman, somebody his lordship has likely never met.”

“Somebody named Abelard?” A philosopher, theologian, and fool.

“Abelard will do nicely. Now, let’s enjoy the water, shall we? Jonathan has paid more than one compliment to my ankles, if you can believe that.”

“Somehow, Mrs. Tresham, I can believe your husband has done exactly that.”

The sun shone at the same angle as it had a moment ago, the water on the lake rippled beneath the same gentle breeze, and yet, Grey’s world had endured a seismic shock.

“You would like to have an affair with me,” he said slowly. Then, to make sure he hadn’t indulged in wishful hearing, “An intimate affair?”

Lady Canmore glowered up at him. “Is there another kind?”

“I would not know.”

She stalked along at his side. “You’ve never enjoyed the company of a woman outside the bounds of wedlock?”

“By London standards, I am retiring when it comes to those sorts of amusements. I have learned to be, and I have my reasons.”

Lady Canmore took him by the hand and dragged him down a barely visible side trail. For a small woman, she was strong.

“The hermit’s folly is this way,” she said. “What do you mean, you have your reasons? Reasons to be a monk? I have been a monk for the past several years. Monkdom loses its charms. If you think that makes me fast or vulgar or unladylike, then I think such an opinion makes you a hypocrite. There’s not a man in Mayfair who doesn’t indulge his appetites to the limit of his means, and a few beyond their means. Roger told me swiving is all many men think about.”

“I most assuredly think about it.” That admission was not polite. Not gentlemanly. Not… what Grey had intended to say.

Her ladyship came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the trail and let go of his hand. “You do? You think about it with me?”

Oh, how that smile became her, how that light of mischief transformed her gaze. “You have broached this topic, my lady, but are you certain you want to pursue it in present company?” A gentleman had to ask, for the discussion would soon pass the point where her overture could be dismissed as a jest or flirtation.

“You haunt me,” Lady Canmore replied, clearly displeased with her own disclosure. “Men I’ve been dancing with for the past eight years now strike me as lacking stature, though I myself am short. When I arrive at a gathering, I look for you, even though all the way to the venue, I tell myself I must not do that. You and I are engaged in a semblance of a friendship, I remind myself, only a friendship. Which reminds me. Are there any new bets?”

She resumed walking. Grey fell in step beside her.

“Your strategy has been successful,” he said. “No new wagers, save for one that involves my brother Sycamore. His notoriety has made him Peacock in Residence at my town house, and he wasn’t a pattern card of humility to begin with.”

Lady Canmore took a turn off the path that Grey would have missed. She knew where she was going, while he was increasingly lost.

“I don’t want to be your mistress,” she said. “I want to be your lover.”

Grey almost sagged against the nearest oak. “Do you frequently make such announcements in the same tone of voice most people reserve for discussing the Corsican, long may he rot in memory?”

The way ahead opened into a clearing that held a small three-sided stone edifice on a slight rise. The surrounding woods had been carefully manicured to give the folly three views. One looked out over the lake, another toward Brantmore House. The third faced the woods sloping away to the east.

A circular portico framed the interior of the folly, where benches provided a private place to rest.

“I am not happy with myself for becoming interested in you,” Lady Canmore said. “But there it is. You are kind, gentlemanly, and a fine male specimen. Your flirtation is original without being prurient or presumptuous. You dance well. You humor Aunt Freddy. You love your siblings. You are not afraid of hard, physical work. In fact, I think you need it to thrive.”

She paced before the folly, listing attributes that made Grey’s heart ache. She saw him, saw him clearly, and appreciated who and what she beheld.

“You are the comfort of your aunt’s declining years,” Grey said, “a ferociously loyal friend, a minister’s daughter who has learned how to manage polite society without being seen to do more than smile and chat. If I had to choose one word to describe you, that word would be courageous. I can’t help but watch you, even when you dance with others, because you have such inherent grace. I see you walking away, and I know I have nothing to offer you, but I want to call you back, every damned time.”

She came to a halt before him. “My lord, what are we to do?”

“My name is Grey, and as for what to do… I would like to kiss you.”

The anxiety and bewilderment cleared from her gaze. “Excellent idea, for I’d like to kiss you too.”

Nothing had been resolved by this excursion to Lady Brantmore’s folly, but Addy gazed up at Lord Casriel—Grey, he had given her leave to use his name—and a sense of rightness edged out all doubts and frustrations.

A kiss was harmless, precious, or nothing. A kiss was whatever she and Casriel chose to make of it. A kiss was a place to start or a farewell, but it was a kiss, and she’d share that much with him at least.

Her perceptions sharpened, gilding the moment with possibilities. The scent of the lake was a mere undertone, overlaid with the lush aroma of the forest in spring. The fragrance of Casriel’s shaving soap blended with the scents of greenery and sunshine, adding a faint tang of sandalwood.

Amid the quiet of the trees, the air stirred, leaves fluttered, birds flitted overhead. A forest was a busy place despite the sense of privacy. Nestlings tried their wings this time of year, babies ventured forth under the eyes of cautious, watchful parents.

Addy stepped closer to Casriel, more aware than ever that he was a fine specimen indeed. Roger had been athletic, but slimmer, shorter, less muscular. A genteel example of manhood, not this robust, unapologetic masculinity writ large.

“Ladies first,” Casriel murmured. His gaze was somber, though his eyes told another story. He was teasing her, daring her even.

She kissed his cheek. He remained unmoving, apparently determined that she decide when and how the journey began. She liked that, liked that he had the self-restraint to be still while she explored. On her next foray, she pressed her mouth to his, then she slid an arm around his waist inside his coat, seeking the warmth and shape of him.

He was hard muscle and soft wool, shelter and temptation.

“You torment me,” he said, hands still at his sides. “I will have revenge, Beatitude.”

“May you have it soon and often.” She wrapped her arms around him and settled in for an adventure.

Casriel enveloped her in an embrace, drawing her against the unyielding plane of his chest. Addy could not have wiggled free if she’d wanted to, and she did not want to, not ever.

His hold on her was implacable, strong enough that dammed-up yearning broke free inside her.

“Casriel, I want…”

He seemed to know what she needed, bringing their bodies together in a fashion that left no doubt that he desired her.

Oh yes, please. To be held securely, to share the madness of mutual plundering. Addy opened her mouth, ready to devour Casriel until she’d satisfied an appetite years in the making.

He rallied, drawing back slightly, kissing the corner of her mouth. “We’re in no rush.”

His revenge was patience, stealth, and the slow slide of his hands over her back and bottom. All the while, he kissed her, sometimes lazily, sometimes voraciously, until Addy could only hold on to him and endure the pleasure.

I needed this. I needed this with him. The thought wafted by as desire crested higher, followed by the idea that Casriel was wearing too many clothes. The damned man seemed to sense even that thought, for he gently seized both of Addy’s hands in his, stepped back, and rested his forehead against hers.

“You are a formidable kisser, madam.”

She had been married, and Roger had had a rake’s full complement of expertise in the bedroom. A single kiss should not have stolen her wits and left her breathless.

“I thought I wanted to have an affair with you,” Addy said.

“And now?”

He wasn’t even winded.

“I know I do.”

Casriel straightened, kissed Addy’s hands, and moved away. He smoothed his fingers through his hair, putting right what Addy had mussed.

“An affair would not be wise, my lady.”

And now, when she needed him to tease her—she was almost certain teasing came after kissing—he was back to being the serious, polite earl. The change was so sudden and absolute, Addy had to prop her back against the solid granite of the folly.

“When is any affair wise?” she asked. “I do not understand you, my lord. You kiss me like a soldier returning from years at war, and I kiss you back in the same fashion. You desire me, and I…” Drat the man, she more than desired him. She longed for his company, loved to hear the sound of his voice, wanted to fall asleep to the rhythm of his breathing. “I want you.”

Worse than that, she trusted him in some fashion that could not end happily.

Casriel came close enough to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. “For me, it’s worse than simple wanting. I want an apple. I want a nap. When it comes to you…”

He was unhappy about his feelings, which cheered Addy. “So we will become lovers?”

He dropped his hand. “I would like that, if I might be permitted an understatement, but you must know that I bring nothing of value to such an arrangement, and nothing can come from it.”

Addy waved a hand. “I don’t want gifts and jewels or evenings at the theater causing talk and speculation. I want—”

His gaze was so solemn, caution stopped her from elaborating.

“My lady, while I respect you greatly and desire you madly, I must inform you that my affections are claimed by another, and in all fairness…”

He ran his hand through his hair again and looked about, as if not sure how he’d come to be in the middle of the woods, alone with a woman.

His words rang in the quiet, and Addy reeled with their impact. My affections are claimed by another? By another?

“You kiss me like some… some… oversized lordly houri, when you esteem another woman? Did you misplace that esteem in the undergrowth, Casriel? Leave it back in the men’s retiring room? You esteem another?”

She drew back her hand to deliver a stinging slap, not only on her own behalf, but on behalf of the woman who’d been betrayed by that passionate kiss. The other woman who’d been betrayed by that kiss.

Casriel caught her by the wrist, his grip firm without hurting. “Beatitude, let me explain.”

“I will have no explaining, my lord. If you are secretly married, have a mad wife living in the attics at Dorning Hall, or you became engaged as a boy, that is no concern of mine. I was under the impression you were considering marriage as one possible future option. You gave me that impression, and I concluded that you are as yet free to enjoy my company. I was wrong.”

He still held her wrist, though Addy knew she could free herself with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t refer to that sort of affection. I am unmarried, I have not proposed to anybody, and I an not engaged, but I have a daughter. She holds my heart in her dainty palm, and if my brothers and tenants weren’t reason enough for me to go courting a fortune, hat in hand, then Tabitha alone would inspire my efforts.”

Two thoughts whirled through Addy’s mind, neither of them happy. Of course he had a daughter. The sense of purpose, the focus, the patience, the maturity… He was a parent. Addy had been attracted to those qualities without considering the whole constellation of characteristics.

The second thought was unworthy of a lady, but honest. I might have competed with a fortune for Casriel’s affections, with a woman who held a higher status, a prettier woman, a younger woman.

I cannot compete with a daughter.

“Will you please allow me to explain, my lady?”

The please, the polite, gentlemanly, earnest please, penetrated Addy’s hurt. “You may explain, and then we must return to the gathering.”

She retrieved her hand from his grasp and fixed her gaze on the smooth, blue expanse of the lake in the distance.

“He’s here,” Drusilla murmured. “A man that tall stands out, and I know I saw him on the far side of the lake.”

“With Lady Antonia,” Anastasia replied. “A woman that tall stands out too. Is that your second piece of cake, Dru?”

Her third—the pieces were small. “Mind your own portions, sister. I’m not worried about Lady Antonia. If she sets her cap for Lord Casriel, she’ll go about it carefully and discreetly. It’s La Quinlan who concerns me. She’ll pounce like a wolf, and we’ll never see her spring.”

Anastasia pushed her strawberries around with a silver fork. “We could try to compromise him. I’d be willing to kiss him.”

Anastasia had been willing to kiss more than one gentleman last Season. She’d kept her willingness under wraps so far this year, much to Drusilla’s relief.

“We’re too petite.” Not short. Never short. “For you to kiss Lord Casriel in a compromising fashion, he’d either have to be willing, or you’d have to stand on a chair and grab him by the ears. One can’t compromise a man while appearing ridiculous.” Drusilla doubted Anastasia had much insight into how to make a man willing to be kissed.

“We could tell him about our settlements.”

Mama had made sure both of her daughters knew what they were worth, and they were worth a good deal. “That’s not good ton, to discuss money. We’re barely twenty. We aren’t desperate.”

Anastasia set aside her plate. “I am desperately bored, Dru. Looking pretty, batting my eyelashes, waltzing with whoever presumes to ask… This is not how we discussed being out. Not how we discussed it at all.”

Drusilla picked up the discarded plate and dumped the strawberries onto her own. “Our ballrooms were awash in crown princes. We wore only gorgeous dresses, danced to only full orchestras, and rode in only magical coaches that we shared with the noblest, handsomest, best-dressed, and best-natured of the princes, but we are not princesses, Ana.”

Ana plucked at her spencer. She’d chosen the blue today, which went nicely with her eyes. Drusilla had taken the green, though it washed out her complexion. Tomorrow was Drusilla’s turn to have first pick of outfits, though that whole business struck her as childish.

If Papa was so wealthy, why couldn’t each daughter have a separate wardrobe?

“Lord Casriel isn’t a prince either, Dru. I’m willing to see him married to you, but I cannot abide the notion that Miss Quinlan gets him.”

“He’s not a pretty bonnet in a shop window. Maybe none of us will get him.” None of them had earned Mr. Tresham’s notice, which still made Drusilla uneasy. Perhaps mental instability ran in the Tresham family, for the current Mrs. Tresham was neither beautiful, nor wealthy, nor young. She did not have a gorgeous voice. Her family was not high up in government. She’d been a complete nobody making up the numbers and had stolen a march on all of polite society.

Anastasia rose and opened her parasol. “Casriel must marry somebody. Mama said, and she is never wrong. Let us enjoy the fresh air, and we’re bound to cross paths with his lordship not far from the house. The lake is only so large, and even Lady Antonia can walk only so slowly.”

Drusilla downed a handful of strawberries all at once, grabbed her parasol, and linked arms with her twin. She nearly choked on the strawberries, but no ripe fruit should be allowed to go to waste. Mama said that too.