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Abigail asked with a small laugh.
    â€œThis way I always know I’ll have something to do on lengthy plane trips. I don’t really need another pillow, I just need something to occupy my time while I’m traveling.”
    Abigail covered her mouth as she yawned and looked out the small oval window to the sparkling sea far below.
    Miami.
    Just… Miami.
    She let her eyes close for a few seconds as she remembered Eliot’s invitation for her to join him in Florida.
    â€œDid you see that nice Eliot after the wedding?”

Chapter 3
    Damn mothers. They always knew what you were thinking. Abigail almost gave in to a momentary desire to lie, just to protect her privacy, but that seemed petty somehow. And Eliot, well, her heart bounded forward a bit when she thought of Eliot and there was nothing petty about it. A lie would have been some small show of disrespect to him. “I did actually.”
    â€œActually?” Her mother’s needle paused in midjab, halfway through the colorful canvas pattern.
    â€œYou know what I mean. Yes, Mother, I saw Eliot again later last night. He stopped to say good-bye.”
    â€œWell, you’ll see him again, I’m sure.”
    â€œYou’re sure?” Abigail parried.
    Her mother laughed with unfamiliar levity. “I’m surprised you didn’t prevaricate when I asked.”
    â€œI know you’ve thought the worst of me, lo these many years ,” Abigail said with a genuine smile and a theatrical tremor to her voice, “but it was never for lying… in fact, I recall a time when you wished I would lie, at least a little, when your friends would ask if I was seeing anyone and you would cringe in anticipatory dread.”
    The duchess had returned her attention to her needlepoint and her lips were firmly shut.
    Abigail forged ahead. Perhaps long plane rides were just the thing for hammering out age-old family squabbles. It was impossible for anyone to storm off and abandon the conversation (and live).
    â€œMother?”
    â€œYes, dear.” Eyes still bent on her work.
    Abigail sighed and looked out the window. Did she care what her mother thought of Eliot? Of course, she was so used to her mother’s disapproval that her approval in this case might prove more off-putting. “What do you think of Eliot?”
    That stayed her hand for a moment. The Dowager Duchess of Northrop seemed to disappear for a few moments, and a mere mother took a long look at her youngest daughter—the daughter better known as her folly—and then the mother was gone. She chose her words with a touch of spite. “Since when do you care what I think?”
    â€œForget it—”
    â€œNo. That was wrong of me. I’m, well, I’m taken aback. Let me think.”
    Abigail thought her mother might have just apologized, but that would have been, if not impossible, highly unlikely.
    Sylvia continued thoughtfully, her hands resting delicately in her lap amid the folds of yarns and canvas. “You have hamstrung me, Abigail.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œIf I say I like him, that will make him far less appealing to you, I fear. If I say I don’t like him, that might endear him to you, but I would be a liar.” Her mother’s smile was bittersweet.
    â€œLet’s forget about the perverse nature of how your opinion may or may not color my response, and just, you know, discuss him in the abstract. Do you find him charming, intelligent, garrulous, what?”
    Sylvia’s smile widened. “I find him to be simply divine, Abigail.” She glanced down the aisle to make sure Bronte, Max, and Wolf were all still asleep, then continued when she was assured of their privacy. “I know children are always horrified to hear their parents talk about their marital intimacy or whatever you all are calling it these days, but Eliot reminds me of your father in some ways—”
    â€œGreat…” Abigail