“Amy, come and talk to me.” Amy took off her hat and coat and passed them to another of the ubiquitous footmen. Smoothing her fly-away hair, she went to join her sister-in-law, who had already put aside her pen and poured her a cup of tea. The room still looked like it held every flower in London, apart from one bouquet of pink roses which had escaped to take pride of place in her bedroom. “Oh, you’re an angel,” she said gratefully, taking the cup. “How was your drive with the notorious Lord Pascal? I do think he’s the most heavenly looking man.” Amy found herself smiling, although she’d felt troubled and harried when she’d first come in. “Isn’t he just? One itches to immortalize him in marble.” “His name was linked with Fenella’s and Helena’s, I gather. He clearly has an eye for a pretty girl. Watch yourself. He has a terrible reputation. One glance from those blue, blue eyes, and ladies go quite silly.” “I can imagine.” Amy sipped the tea, considering what Morwenna said.
