Eight heads sat at the dinner table at Idleworth Manor two weeks later, and the happiest of all heads belonged to Mrs. Lambert. And why shouldn't it be? Her son was to pair with one of the three women round her table-an admirable prospect in her eyes!

Narrowing her selection of prospective brides proved a tedious task, since Wade had somehow managed to charm almost every girl in Harwickshire!-a rumour he wholeheartedly denied. The number of his admirers was no surprise to the lady of Idleworth Manor; her son was dashing, charming when he pleased, and would soon possess a hefty fortune due to his generous late uncle Wallace, to whom the boy had been a favourite. However, she ignored those desperate girls with their sweet smiles and played deaf to their whispered praises whenever she was in earshot as she strolled through the market. She feigned surprise whenever they made it their business to bring a fresh loaf or flawless goose when she was in. Mrs. Lambert, (like many mothers who pride the wellbeing of their sons) saw straight through their charitable deeds. Despite this, she accepted their offerings with a gracious smile, turning a blind eye to their well-starched dresses and handsome manners. She remained indifferent to the wistful gazes that followed Wade whenever he went by without a care in his little world of happenings. Observing all of this while pretending not to, she sent them away with a kind word, certain some fool would eventually come along to coax them from her son's feet.

Mr. Lambert occupied the seat at the head of the table, pleased that his wife, now with her hair fastened at the nape, had chosen the chair to his left-a promising sign, as any husband would agree. To his right sat Doctor Garin, a broad-chested gentleman with startling eyes of Topaz blue, who avoided the attentive gaze of Ellyn Poe, a golden-haired lady who smirked in his direction from her side of the table. Fortunately, Miss Lori Lambert, a charming nine-year-old, kept the atmosphere light with her comical grimaces, making it a challenge for anyone to maintain a serious demeanour. Alice Flynn, a petite, milk-skinned brunette, sat at Wade Lambert's left, with an adoring look on her face. Lastly, Idrielle Brightley, her grey eyes appearing sadder than usual, occupied the space between the doctor and Miss Flynn.

Such were the select few gathered at the Lambert's dinner table.

"Could we have dessert first, Mama?" the child began again in a sing-song voice, having gotten bored with entertaining the doctor. "Please, could we? Especially since the girls have come? Just something sweet and white because I only like sweet and white things."

"That, my dear, is something I'll never agree to," Mrs. Lambert replied. "But once you've finished your supper, then you may have whatever sweet and white things Ruth has in the kitchen," she added in a lighter tone.

Being one that did not like to settle, Lori crossed her arms and pouted.

"I don't want any supper because I don't like it."

"How can you say that if you haven't even tasted it yet?" said young Lambert in a tone of idle curiosity and amusement.

"I have seen it and it looks ick!" she said, scrunching up her nose in a manner so familiar to the occupants of Idleworth, but which left the three ladies shocked, concerned, and quietly amused.

Mrs. Lambert watched her son for a sign of his being drawn to any of the girls she picked out for him. There had been no obvious spark between any of them when the earlier introductions were made, (though Alice Flynn had blushed redder than anything when he complimented her eyes). This did not surprise Mrs. Lambert, since Wade never occupied his time with the weaker sex of which she was glad; he'd been a meddlesome boy, often winning hearts (among other things) solely for amusement, only to leave a girl distraught when he'd later profess she'd misinterpreted his attentions. She consoled herself with the notion that he'd grow out of it. But his unfavourable habits worsened as he grew and they could no longer look upon his actions as the mere incompetence of a boy. Neither she nor his father could hold him, and in no time she settled on the idea that none but a firm wife could-and the sooner the better!

She looked across the table at Alice Flynn, who stared dreamy-eyed at the chandelier.

"Alice, dear," Mrs. Lambert began as an opening for the young woman, "I was telling Mr. Lambert about your cousin, the one you say lived in Cairne. It was Cairne, wasn't it?"

Miss Flynn's smile revealed beautiful gapped teeth encased by luscious red lips.

"Yes, Madam, it was. He is on Father's side of the family-Uncle Ed's eldest boy. He's a representative of the city council."

"How exciting!" said Ellyn Poe, her golden French braid shining in the candlelight. "I've always had a fancy for Cairne, a charming little place, isn't it? I remember one time my parents took us to a dinner party hosted by some new friends." She sighed. "I have the fondest recollection of the cake they served. Rich, savoury, chocolate floating on a river of fudge and topped with salted almonds... a delicacy to live for," and she licked her lips unconsciously and stared at the painting just above Mrs. Lambert's head.

"Chocolate is very good and Olga-she's Garin's cook-makes lovely chocolate things," said Lori as the dinner was coming in. "But I still prefer white cakes and things."

She wrinkled her nose at the savoury soup placed before her. Then, after a sudden gasp, she looked over at her mother with flashing eyes.

"Mama, could Ruth make some puff cakes with raspberry filling for dessert? Could she, could she? You need only tell her."

"Come now, Turnip," said young Lambert. "Mother said you are to have your dinner first, remember? Then you can have-"

"I don't want it!" she said and pounded her little fist upon the table, upsetting her wine glass.

Mr. Lambert chuckled.

"Good grievance, Florence, now you've upset the child. Come, darling, and sit on Papa's knee. We can't have you offending everyone's meal this evening, can we?"

Mrs. Lambert wore a rigid expression.

"I wish you wouldn't coddle her, Raymond. She's already spoiled, thanks to you."

The woman sighed.

"I should have heeded Aunt Jesse and gotten you a governess."

"I don't need a governess. Papa, tell her I don't. Tell her!"

"Some children do well without a governess," said Miss Brightley in her slow, lingering voice. She had been the quietest of the three, and now everyone turned and listened as she spoke. (It was only her third time for the entire evening!)

She smiled.

"When Mother died, Father didn't know what to do with my sister and me. Our aunts all suggested a governess was the only thing to be done. But he never did hire one for us. I took Lizzy under my care, and we mostly kept to ourselves. We did our lessons dutifully, spending most days in father's study, and in the end, the idea of a governess or companion fell far from his mind. I say this to say," and fixing those sad, dreamy eyes on Miss Lori, "that a child with no wish to be tended to ought not prove themselves in need of tending."

The child stared at her, swallowed hard, then lowered her eyes.

"Mama won't let me spend any day in Papa's study," she muttered, making the doctor smile.

"I wish I were as fortunate as you," said Wade Lambert, examining his wine glass. "I had someone on my tail for as long as I can remember trying to keep me out of mischief. Never worked out in the end, though. I was always doomed to some kind of trouble with Garin here, dragging me out of quite a few scrapes."

He ignored the burning look the doctor sent him from his end of the table.

"Poor Mother, it's a shame you worked so hard only to find your apple spoiled."

"You're not a spoiled apple, my boy," said Mrs. Lambert, giving Lori a stern eye just as she was about to dive under the table. "I am a firm believer in my father's words: 'There is sweet music in every drop of rain.' "

Her son stared at her a moment, then shrugged.

"Don't suppose I'll ever understand what it means, but I'm sure there are some here who'd disagree with you."

This earned a discreet cough from Doctor Garin, whom Wade dismissed with a faint wave.

"Why, it is clever," said Alice Flynn musingly. "Your father sounds like a poet."

Ellyn Poe plopped a buttered shrimp in her mouth.

"I wouldn't say a poet-they're such boring people with nothing to say that doesn't rhyme. Either that or it doesn't quite make sense."

Young Lambert nodded in her direction. "Finally, someone who agrees with my view of poetry!"

"Have you never discovered a poet whom you admired, Miss Poe?" inquired the doctor after a displeased look at his young friend.

She gave him a charming smile.

"I can't say that I have, though under the right influence, perhaps I could have a change of heart."

The man nodded before glancing away to take a drink from his glass.

"But I met a poet once," she continued in a more thoughtful tone. "He was a son of some friend or the other and always made his presence known by uttering some strange enigma that sometimes rhymed..." She shuddered, causing Alice Flynn, who'd been enraptured by her tale, to do the same. "No, I never liked the thought of poets after that."

Wade shook his head. "You have my sympathy."

Mrs. Lambert gave a strained smile.

"Well, I'll have you dears know my father wrote poetry in his spare time and received many accolades of praise for his efforts. Many of his colleagues questioned why he'd started so late in his life to put pen to paper."

"Really?!" asked Miss Poe, her eyes wide, ready to dispose of the lobster tail that dangled from her fork.

Wade erupted in laughter while the young woman reddened at the ears.

"I-I-" she blundered.

Mrs. Lambert held up her hand.

"Never mind, my dear. I know you meant no offence though this naughty boy of mine did," with a stern look at her son, who was calming himself with some punch.

Mr. Lambert glanced over at the doctor, who coughed after taking a spoon of his soup.

"Heavens, Garin, what's the matter?"

The man's creased forehead and pouted lips were an unusual sight (facial expressions like these belonged to Miss Lori).

He emptied his water glass.

"Is Ruth feeling well?"

His hosts looked surprised.

"She was well when I spoke to her earlier today about the lemon tart," said young Lambert.

His sister's eyes widened.

"Y-y-you told her to m-make lemon t-tarts?"

A muffled sound escaped Miss Flynn, who quickly covered her mouth with a napkin.

"What is the matter?" cried Mrs. Lambert.

"Ack!" Everyone turned towards Wade, who was having his share of facial expressions. "Did she dump the entire box in there?"

"What is it? Wade?"

"It's the soup," said Miss Brightley in a regrettable tone. "It's terribly salty."

"Now that is unfortunate," said Miss Poe, eyeing the dish as she played with the edge of her spoon. "It looks so tasty..."

"Everyone calm down, it might be a mistake," said Wade in a reasonable tone.

"Yes, there was a mistake. There's too much salt and therefore, it is inedible."

"Nonsense, Garin. Try it again."

"I will not, thank you."

Wade huffed. "Very well, I'll do it." Garin gave him a dry look as they waited for his maniacal wheezing and expressions to end. Alice poured him more water while Miss Poe fanned him with her napkin.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Our palates were not mistaken."

"They seldom are," replied the doctor dryly.

To the annoyance of Mrs. Ruth Blathers, the soup returned to the kitchen. Mrs. Lambert did her best to soothe the irritated old woman, who swore she'd put the perfect amount of salt in the soup and suggested someone had tampered with her dish. Eventually, Mr. Lambert had to help settle the commotion, leaving Wade to usher the guests to the parlour, apologising for the soup.

It wasn't long before they shed light on the matter.

When the coffee was brought in with Ruth's aromatic lemon tarts, all but one reached for the tempting treat. One who loved nothing more than sweet, flaky, buttery, pudding or custard-filled treats that melted in one's mouth like chocolate put to fire. This individual, sitting apart from the others, averted her gaze so that she only saw the delicacy winking at her from the corner of her watery eyes.

Oh, guilt! Thou art truth's sworn nemesis!

"Shall we tell her we know she meddled with the soup?" inquired Mrs. Lambert of her husband. "Her tears say what her tongue never will."

"And you say I spoil her?" He chuckled. "Let this be a learning lesson for her. Guilt often stands out in children, the innocent devils they are. And even if Ruth didn't see her going about with the salt box, she'd have eventually guessed the culprit. I found her ribbon in the kitchen."

Mrs. Lambert exhaled under her breath. "That child vexes me so, Raymond. I can't understand why she did it."

"What is there to understand? She told us herself the soup was 'ick'. Don't worry your pretty head about it, my dear. If at any time in the future she steps out of line, I'll be sure to remind her of the lesson of the salty soup."

And he popped a buttery tart into his mouth.