“Wicked one,” Lady Genie chided when we came down for tea in the rose salon. She embraced her son. “You could have let me know you were home.”
“I do beg your pardon, Mother.”
“Of course you do. Ah, Thomas, you’re looking tired. If I’d only known. We’re having guests for dinner—”
Tommy gave me a reproachful glance. “You could have told me.”
When did I have the chance? But of course I didn’t say that aloud. Instead, I said, “So sorry,” in the same plummy tone he tended to use at times. He turned his back so his mother couldn’t see the face he pulled at me, and I had to bite my lip once again, this time to keep from laughing, then winced as I inadvertently bit the same spot I’d worried earlier. Of course Tommy saw, and he frowned.
Meanwhile, Lady Genie was saying, “—our new neighbour fro
