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Smythe-Smith cousins had taken to the stage and butchered a perfectly innocent piece of music. Why they (or rather, their mothers) had thought it a good idea to repeat the massacre the following year Honoria would never know, but they had, and then the year after that, and the year after that.
    It was understood that all Smythe-Smith daughters must take up a musical instrument and, when it was their turn, join the quartet. Once in, she was stuck there until she found a husband. It was, Honoria had more than once reflected, as good an argument as any for an early marriage.
    The strange thing was, most of her family didn’t seem to realize how awful they were. Her cousin Viola had performed in the quartet for six years and still spoke longingly of her days as a member. Honoria had half-expected her to leave her groom at the altar when she had married six months earlier, just so she could continue in her position as primary violinist.
    The mind boggled.
    Honoria and Sarah had been forced to assume their spots the year before, Honoria on the violin and Sarah on the piano. Poor Sarah was still traumatized by the experience. She was actually somewhat musical and had played her part accurately. Or so Honoria was told; it was difficult to hear anything above the violins. Or the people gasping in the audience.
    Sarah had sworn that she would never play with her cousins again. Honoria had just shrugged; she didn’t really mind the musicale—not terribly, at least. She actually thought the whole thing was a bit amusing. And besides, there was nothing she could do about it. It was family tradition, and there was nothing that mattered more to Honoria than family, nothing.
    But now she had to get serious about her husband hunting, which meant she was going to have to find a gentleman with a tin ear. Or a very good sense of humor.
    Gregory Bridgerton seemed to be an excellent candidate. Honoria had no idea if he could carry a tune, but they had crossed paths two days earlier, when the four young ladies were out for tea in town, and she had been instantly struck by what a lovely smile he had.
    She liked him. He was amazingly friendly and outgoing, and something about him reminded her of her own family, the way they used to be, gathered together at Whipple Hill, loud and boisterous and always laughing.
    It was probably because he, too, was from a large family—the second youngest of eight. Honoria was the youngest of six, so surely they would have a great deal in common.
    Gregory Bridgerton. Hmmm. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of him before.
    Honoria Bridgerton.
    Winifred Bridgerton . (She’d always wanted to name a child Winifred, so it seemed prudent to test this one out on the tongue as well.)
    Mr. Gregory and Lady Honor —
    â€œHonoria? Honoria!”
    She blinked. Sarah was staring at her with visible irritation. “Gregory Bridgerton?” she said. “Your opinion?”
    â€œEr, I think he would be a very nice choice,” Honoria answered, in the most unassuming manner possible.
    â€œWho else?” Sarah said, rising to her feet. “Perhaps I should make a list.”
    â€œFor four names?” Honoria could not help but ask.
    â€œYou’re terribly determined,” Iris murmured.
    â€œI have to be,” Sarah retorted, her dark eyes flashing.
    â€œDo you really think you’re going to find a man and then marry him in the next two weeks?” Honoria asked.
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sarah replied in a clipped voice.
    Honoria glanced toward the open door to make sure that no one was approaching. “It’s just the three of us right now, Sarah.”
    â€œDoes one have to play at the musicale if one is engaged?” Iris asked.
    â€œYes,” Honoria answered.
    â€œNo,” Sarah said firmly.
    â€œOh, yes, you do,” Honoria said.
    Iris sighed.
    â€œDon’t you complain,” Sarah said, turning on