Poof. The daughters Brougham deflated, all at once.

“Oh,” said one of them. “Charlie.”

“Today, you say,” said another, with a remarkable lack of enthusiasm.

And then the third said, “I shall have to hide my dolls.”

The fourth said nothing. She just resumed drinking her tea, looking rather bored by the whole thing.

“Why do you have to hide your dolls?” Penelope asked. In all truth, I was wondering the same thing, but it seemed too childish a question for a lady of nineteen years.

“That was twelve years ago, Dulcie,” Mrs. Brougham said. “Good heavens, you’ve a memory of an elephant.”

“One does not forget what he did to my dolls,” Dulcie said darkly.

“What did he do?” Penelope asked.

Dulcie made a slashing motion across her throat. Penelope gasped, and I must confess, there was something rather gruesome in Dulcie’s expression.

“He is a beast,” said one of Dulcie’s sisters.

“He is not a beast,” Mrs. Brougham insisted.

The Brougham girls all looked at us, shaking their heads in silent agreement, as if to say-Do not listen to her.

“How old is your nephew now?” my mother asked.

“Two-and-twenty,” Mrs. Brougham replied, looking rather grateful for the question. “He was graduated from Oxford last month.”

“He is a year older than Ian,” explained one of the girls.

I nodded, even though I could hardly use Ian-whom I had never met-as a reference point.

“He’s not as handsome.”

“Or as nice.”

I looked at the last Brougham daughter, awaiting her contribution. But all she did was yawn.

“How long will he be staying?” my mother asked politely.

“Two weeks,” Mrs. Brougham answered, but she really only got out, “Two wee-” before one of her daughters howled with dismay.

“Two weeks! An entire fortnight!”

“I was hoping he could accompany us to the local assembly,” Mrs. Brougham said.

This was met by more groans. I must say, I was beginning to grow curious about this Charles fellow. Anyone who could inspire such dread amongst the Brougham daughters must have something to recommend him.