“Wienerbrød.” This non sequitur came from Nicola. “Your pet names for the duke,” she said, leafing through a cookery book. “Add it to the list. It’s a Viennese pastry. Wienerbrød.” Emma burst into laughter. Oh, how she’d needed that today. “Thank you, Nicola. That’s perfection.” That pet name was so thoroughly absurd and humiliating, her husband just might deserve it.
