“That’s it. I shall put aside my novel for the evening and work on my list instead.” “Your list?” Denny asked. “What kind of list?” “My list of potential lovers.” Cecily coughed. “Portia, surely you don’t . . .” “Oh, surely I do. I am no longer in mourning. I am a widow now, financially and otherwise independent, and I intend to make the most of it. I shall write scandalous novels and take a dozen lovers.” “All at once?” Brooke quipped. “Perhaps in pairs,” she retorted, without missing a beat.
