Aunt Margery let Fifi out of the cage. Fifi, the apricot poodle, was not just a dog. She was a ball of fluff with teeth and an attitude. She was currently running circles around the ottoman, yapping at a dust mote that had offended her.
"Fifi, darling, compose yourself!" Aunt Margery boomed. She collapsed onto the sofa next to Ines, her purple traveling coat spreading out like a bruised plum. "The poor thing is traumatized. The carriage hit a rut near Hounslow and Fifi nearly fell off her velvet cushion and hit her cage. It was a tragedy."
Ines sipped her tea. She looked at the dog, then at her aunt.
"A tragedy indeed, Aunt Margery," Ines deadpanned. "I hope the cushion recovered."
"You mock me, Niece," Margery sniffed. She adjusted her hat, which was listing dangerously to the left. "But you do not understand the delicate constitution of a show dog."
Rowan stood by the fireplace. He looked tired. He looked like a man who wanted to be anywhere else. Anywhere quiet.
