“Sit.”

Hyacinth sighed. But she sat.

The Smythe-Smith musicale. Thankfully, it came around just once per year, because Hyacinth was quite certain it would take a full twelve months for her ears to recover.

Hyacinth let out another sigh, this one louder than the last. “I’m not entirely certain that I’m either good or kind.”

“I’m not certain, either,” Penelope said, “but I have decided to have faith in you nevertheless.”

“Rather sporting of you,” Hyacinth said.

“I thought so.”

Hyacinth glanced at her sideways. “Of course you did not have any choice in the matter.”

Penelope turned in her seat, her eyes narrowing. “Meaning?”

“Colin refused to accompany you, didn’t he?” Hyacinth said with a sly look. Colin was Hyacinth’s brother, and he’d married Penelope a year earlier.

Penelope clamped her mouth into a firm line.

“I do love it when I am right,” Hyacinth said triumphantly. “Which is fortunate, since I so often am.”

Penelope just looked at her. “You do know that you are insufferable.”

“Of course.” Hyacinth leaned toward Penelope with a devilish smile. “But you love me, anyway, admit it.”

“I admit nothing until the end of the evening.”

“After we have both gone deaf?”

“After we see if you behave yourself.”

Hyacinth laughed. “You married into the family. You have to love me. It’s a contractual obligation.”

“Funny how I don’t recall that in the wedding vows.”

“Funny,” Hyacinth returned, “I remember it perfectly.”

Penelope looked at her and laughed. “I don’t know how you do it, Hyacinth,” she said, “but exasperating as you are, you somehow always manage to be charming.”

“It’s my greatest gift,” Hyacinth said demurely.

“Well, you do receive extra points for coming with me tonight,” Penelope said, patting her on the hand.

“Of course,” Hyacinth replied. “For all my insufferable ways, I am in truth the soul of kindness and amiability.” And she’d have to be, she thought, as she watched the scene unfolding on the small, makeshift stage.