“There you are.” For all her unyielding confidence, Lady Marleigh was seldom a burster-in to places. A barger and a poker-of-noses perhaps, but never a burster-in. “Viola, you must stop keeping Bartholomew away from his lessons.” “Viola wasn’t keeping me away. Arthur was.” “Arthur is a mouse,” explained Viola. Lady Marleigh looked down at her son, hands resting on her hips. “Bartholomew. I would like to believe that your father and I have raised you better than to take educational advice from rodents.” “Arthur is a very sensible rodent, Mama.” “By rodentiary standards, he may be. But put him
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