As Lord Robert Scoville threw in his hand and bade his card-playing companions good night, he caught the attention of a pair of older gentlemen sitting near the fireplace in the front parlour. Glancing up, he said, “Colonel,” sketched a salute, and continued on his way. “Wasn’t that Scoville?” asked the other gentleman. “Yes, the younger son. Good man. Under my command in India—if it hadn’t been for him I’d not be here today. And he pulled his weight in the late unpleasantness as well. He must be nearly sixty now, but you’d never guess it to look at him.” “Hm. My wife carries a mild grudge against that gent. She thought he’d be just the husband for our Penelope, but nothing ever came of it.” “Your Penny? Happy enough with Cooper, isn’t she?” “I’ve heard no complaints. They’re starting my grandson at Eton next term. It surprises me a bit that Scoville never married. No shortage of pretty girls thrown his way, but he’s just holed up with his gardens, his manservant, and that pack of Springer Spaniels.”
What do You think about Speak Its Name: A Trilogy?
