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mindful of her figure.
    Henry crunched up his lemon drops and drained his teacup at a gulp. “I don’t think Astrid has much regard for Douglas’s sermons, either. Douglas is nearly certain she dodged him when he came to call on her recently.”
    Dodged Douglas? Urania admitted a hint of admiration for the girl’s ingenuity. “I don’t think Douglas approves of dear Astrid. She is something of an original.” This was not a compliment. What had Herbert been thinking to marry such a lively young woman? Other viscounts’ daughters came with settlements every bit as generous as Astrid’s had been.
    “Astrid is something of an extravagance,” Henry said, popping another lemon drop into his mouth. “Douglas cannot abide extravagances. I don’t think he honestly misses Herbert as much as he resents having to deal with all that Herbert’s death has thrust upon him—Herbert’s widow most of all.”
    Urania couldn’t help herself. Henry was her baby; in his way he doted on his mama, and he never preached about economies. “You would have made a better viscount than poor Douglas. He’s simply not… he hasn’t the breadth of view you and Herbert shared.” A breadth of view that could overlook dressmakers’ bills, and knew that a gentleman’s turnout had much to do with his reputation in Society.
    “Mama, I do love you, though I’m afraid you’re not going to be very proud of me.”
    She’d been proud of Herbert. Sometimes. “More tea?”
    “Please.” He held out his cup, and Urania filled it to the brim, not bothering with any sugar at all.
    “You are short of funds, Henry?”
    “Just a trifle. One can’t exactly ask Douglas for an advance on one’s allowance, can one?”
    Yes, one could, if one had backbone. Urania unpinned the brooch she’d chosen that morning from among those given to her by her late husband. She passed it silently to her son, who took it and slipped it into the same pocket where he stowed his flask.
    Amethysts had never become her, and they were such small stones, too.
    “Mama, what would I do without you?”
    “You would have this house to yourself,” she said. “Drink your tea.”
    Henry complied, this time without adding any wicked potation to his tea—likely because his flask was empty. Urania turned the discussion to the informal invitations Henry might accept—marrying for money was an honorable solution to many a respected family’s dilemma, and it was a far less irksome path than Douglas’s blasted economies.
    Henry tolerated about ten minutes of Urania’s gentle prodding—a man mourning his brother couldn’t accept formal invitations, after all—and rose to take his leave. His parting kiss was a truly foul combination of spirits, lemon, and milky tea.
    “I won’t be in for supper,” he said needlessly, because he was seldom in for supper until the weather was horrible. “Thanks much for your company.”
    He patted his pocket, and the brooch clicked against the flask.
    “Henry, some day I will no longer have ugly brooches to pass into your keeping.”
    This seemed to amuse him. “Is Astrid importuning you for your ugly brooches too?”
    Astrid, being in mourning, was barely permitted to wear even ugly brooches. Then the sense of Henry’s question sank in.
    “She does not deserve your insults, Henry. Astrid’s portions were generous, and she’ll manage quite well on them, I’m sure.”
    Urania suffered another noxious parting kiss from her son, and waited until the front door had banged closed after him before she rang for tea cakes to go with her second cup.
    Astrid might manage on her portion; she might not. That was for Astrid to take up with Douglas, and if Douglas grew nigh apoplectic when dealing with a lady’s inability to keep within a budget, well, that was nothing for Urania to concern herself over. Nothing at all.
    ***
    The day Astrid had chosen to travel out to Surrey was overcast, but the rains held off, and thus her coach tooled up the