Just Like Heaven by Julia Quinn Page A

English weather, was not something one could always count upon.
    The second would be trickier. But they had taken a walk through the woods the day before, and Honoria was fairly sure that she could find her way again. She might not be able to tell north from south, but she could follow a well-tended path.
    As for the shovel, she was going to have to figure that one out later.
    When the ladies returned to Bricstan after church, they were informed that the gentlemen had gone shooting and would return for a late lunch. “They will be extremely hungry,” Mrs. Royle announced. “We must adjust our preparations accordingly.”
    Honoria was apparently the only one who did not realize that this meant she required an assistant. Cecily and Sarah immediately rushed upstairs to choose their afternoon dresses, and Iris spouted some nonsense about a stomachache and fled. Honoria was immediately drafted to serve on Mrs. Royle’s committee of two.
    â€œI had planned to serve meat pies,” Mrs. Royle said. “They are so easy to handle out of doors, but I think we shall need another meat. Do you think the gentlemen will enjoy chilled, roasted beef?”
    â€œOf course,” Honoria replied, following her to the kitchen. Didn’t everyone?
    â€œWith mustard?”
    Honoria opened her mouth to reply, but Mrs. Royle must not have been expecting an answer, because she kept right on talking: “We shall serve three kinds. And a compote.”
    Honoria waited for a moment and then, when it became apparent that this time Mrs. Royle did expect her to comment, she said, “I’m sure that would be lovely.”
    It was not the most vibrant example of her conversational skills, but given the subject matter, it was the best she could do.
    â€œOh!” Mrs. Royle stopped and whirled around so suddenly that Honoria nearly crashed into her. “I forgot to tell Cecily!”
    â€œTell her what?” Honoria asked, but Mrs. Royle was already six steps down the hall, summoning a maid. When she returned, she said, “It is very important that she wear blue this afternoon. I have heard that it is the favorite color of two of our guests.”
    How she had determined that Honoria could not begin to guess.
    â€œAnd it complements her eyes,” Mrs. Royle added.
    â€œCecily has lovely eyes,” Honoria agreed.
    Mrs. Royle looked at her with a queer expression, then said, “You should consider wearing blue more often, too. It will make your eyes look less uncommon.”
    â€œI’m fond of my eyes,” Honoria said with a smile.
    Mrs. Royle’s lips pressed together. “The color is very unusual.”
    â€œIt’s a family trait. My brother’s are the same.”
    â€œAh, yes, your brother.” Mrs. Royle sighed. “Such a pity.”
    Honoria nodded. Three years ago she would have taken offense at the comment, but she was less impetuous now, more pragmatic. And besides, it was true. It was a pity. “We hope he may return someday.”
    Mrs. Royle snorted. “Not until Ramsgate dies. I have known him since he was in leading strings, and he’s as stubborn as an ass.”
    Honoria blinked at that. Such plain speaking from Mrs. Royle was unexpected.
    â€œWell,” Mrs. Royle said with a sigh, “there is nothing I can do about it, more’s the pity. Now then, Cook is making individual trifles for dessert, with strawberries and vanilla cream.”
    â€œThat is a wonderful idea,” Honoria said, having by now figured out that her job was to agree with Mrs. Royle whenever possible.
    â€œPerhaps she should bake biscuits, too,” Mrs. Royle said with a frown. “She does quite a good job with them, and the gentlemen will be very hungry. Shooting is quite strenuous.”
    Honoria had long thought that the sport of shooting was far more strenuous for the birds than the humans, but this she kept to herself. Still, she could not help saying,