Sublime

“Things that remind me of our parents,” Poppy said absently, “and that lovely cottage in Primrose Place . . . they always make me feel better. Like eating these tarts. And flower-print curtains. And reading Aesop’s fables.” “The smell of Apothecary’s Roses,” Amelia reminisced. “Watching the rain fall from the thatched eaves. And remember when Leo p

her to

Had Tom been capable of falling in love, he would have right there and then, as he watched Lady Cassandra Ravenel serenade a ragamuffin while cutting his hair. She was so capable and clever and adorable, it made his chest ache with a hot pressure that threatened to fracture something.

she was little; hepaticas, trillium, jack-in-the-pulpit.

“She’d better be good,” Beatrix said, pulling a grunting black-and-white guinea pig from her pocket and snuggling it under her chin. “We have a lot to overcome. Don’t we, Mr. Nibbles?”

“I like her,” she heard Poppy whisper to Beatrix as the two of them walked behind her. “Do you think all American women are so dashing?” Dashing … yes, that was an appropriate word for Lady Westcliff.

But it was one of Poppy’s failings that she loved conversation, and like Dodger facing a drawer full of garters, she couldn’t resist indulging.

Mary.