There were letters for everyone. Crispin had several, most of which he put in his pocket, but he read aloud from one in which a friend of his, a man whose name she recognized from reading the Times, described with lively detail his days spent hiking in Northumberland. Magnus sat on a chair idly sketching while Eleanor knit. When Crispin had finished reading his letter and they had exchanged news or excerpts from the other correspondence, Portia cleared her throat and said, “I have happy news.” Eleanor put down her knitting and beamed at her. “I adore happy news, and I should very much like to hear yours.” “Jeremy and I have advanced the date of our wedding.” In the silence that followed, Eleanor drew her eyebrows together. “But the day’s been set for weeks now.” “We’ve decided to be married sooner. Not October, Eleanor, but May.” “May?
