But as she stood there, reviving the foolish chit with the noxious fumes, she had caught sight of him staring at her in that vaguely mocking way of his, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that he found her amusing.

Much in the same way she found small children and large dogs amusing.

Needless to say, she hadn’t felt particularly complimented by his attention, fleeting though it was.

“Hmmph.”

Hyacinth turned to face Lady Danbury, who was still searching the room for her grandson. “I don’t think he’s here yet,” Hyacinth said, then added under her breath, “No one’s fainted.”

“Enh? What was that?”

“I said I don’t think he’s here yet.”

Lady D narrowed her eyes. “I heard that part.”

“It’s all I said,” Hyacinth fibbed.

“Liar.”

Hyacinth looked past her to Penelope. “She treats me quite abominably, did you know that?”

Penelope shrugged. “Someone has to.”

Lady Danbury’s face broke out into a wide grin, and she turned to Penelope, and said, “Now then, I must ask-” She looked over at the stage, craning her neck as she squinted at the quartet. “Is it the same girl on cello this year?”

Penelope nodded sadly.

Hyacinth looked at them. “What are you talking about?”

“If you don’t know,” Lady Danbury said loftily, “then you haven’t been paying attention, and shame on you for that.”

Hyacinth’s mouth fell open. “Well,” she said, since the alternative was to say nothing, and she never liked to do that. There was nothing more irritating than being left out of a joke. Except, perhaps, being scolded for something one didn’t even understand. She turned back to the stage, watching the cellist more closely. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she twisted again to face her companions and opened her mouth to speak, but they were already deep in a conversation that did not include her.

She hated when that happened.

“Hmmmph.” Hyacinth sat back in her chair and did it again. “Hmmmph.”