Everyone had looked at him, Sophie’s knitting needles arrested in mid-motion. “I am in love with Alastair Carstairs,” Thomas had said loudly and slowly, so there could be no mistake, “and I am going to spend the rest of my life with him.” There had been a momentary silence. “I didn’t think you even liked Alastair,” Gideon had said, looking puzzled. “Not much, at least.” Eugenia had tossed her book to the floor. Rising to her feet, she regarded her parents—the whole room, in fact, even the cat asleep by the window—with a magnificent righteousness. “If anyone here condemns Thomas for who he is
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Ally
