“Yes you are.” Sarah bared her teeth in what she’d intended to be a saccharine smile. “Now, shoulders back and get rid of that scowl.” She took Caro’s arm and propelled her to the nursery door. “Whoever conjugates the ‘to be’ verb first can have my portion of suet pudding,” Sarah said to the younger girls. “Just think, Caro,” she added, as they descended the stairs in answer to Lady Charlotte’s summons, “in six months you’ll be dining on caviar and champagne instead of suet and roly poly pudding.” The notion failed to rally Caro. Glumly, she said, “It’s Papa’s idea I be presented.” “Surely you want to reflect well upon him?” With a sigh that wasn’t devoid of affection, Sarah tucked an errant curl behind Caro’s ear as they reached the drawing room door. Lady Charlotte was a fascinating creature whose like Sarah had not met. With an acerbic wit and political leanings in sympathy with Mr Hawthorne’s, her view of the world was a revelation.
