Cecily winced at the subtle reference to Phoebe’s infamous disasters with her Christmas events. The woman put all she had into the presentations, but invariable something would go wrong, due largely to the inept group of performers under her wing. Fortunately, Phoebe was an eternal optimist and never doubted that the next performance would be a masterful triumph.

She seemed unperturbed by Baxter’s comment and, indeed, watched him go with something close to admiration in her eyes. “He’s right, of course. Frederick always ends up in the bar when he’s upset.”

She sighed and leaned back on her chair. “Quite the gentleman, your husband. You are fortunate, Cecily, to have such an intelligent and thoughtful companion.”

Cecily pursed her lips. It was true that one never knew the true nature of a person unless one lived with them. Compared to Colonel Fortescue, however, she was forced to admit, Baxter was an angel. “I am, indeed. But what about the colonel? Should you not be hastening after him to see that he doesn’t meet with some mishap?”

Phoebe shrugged. “Frederick is quite capable of looking after himself. In any case, if I were to wager on his whereabouts, I would say that he is at this moment downing a glass of your best brandy.”

“And forgotten about his medals?”

“A good brandy can make him forget everything.” She paused, then leaned forward and dropped her voice to a whisper. “I wouldn’t tell this to another soul, but the truth is I sold the medals two years ago to a collector. He offered me a very good price for them.”

Shocked, Cecily stared at her. “Phoebe! The colonel’s medals? How could you?”

“We needed the money. Besides, he never wore them. He barely ever mentioned them. Today was the first time in at least a year or so. I didn’t think he would miss them.” She looked worried. “You won’t tell him, will you? If he thinks we donated them for a good cause, he’ll be much less likely to be upset about losing them.”