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from.”
    “They are the fortunate ones, as far as I am concerned.”
    “Your devotion touches my heart, but you know that is not the truth.”
    “I beg to differ! You are incredibly talented and will be an asset.”
    Sebastian again shook his head, this time in amusement. “Be that as it may, I will persist in lauding my luck and striving to prove my worthiness. I have a great deal to prove, first, as an Englishman admitted into a primarily French school and, second, to my father.”
    “How do you imagine he will respond to this development?”
    “With his typical scathing remarks at how I belong in England at Whistlenell Hall and not wasting my time on pointless dalliances with ridiculous music. Sometimes I think he would prefer I was philandering with women of ill repute or gambling away my fortune, as if those are legitimate activities for a man my age.” He shrugged and chuckled, eyes bright as he looked at his friend.
    “Well,” de Marcov countered, stretching his legs, “I cannot argue with that philosophy! I have been encouraging you to do more of that for ages, but you have no respect for your elders’ advice.”
    “You are one year my senior, so you do not count.”
    “Perhaps chronologically, but in the joys of living, and women, I trump you by decades. So, are you going to share the fabulous news?”
    “I may avoid my father from time to time to preserve my sanity and the peace, but I have never cowardly retreated. He knew I applied at the Conservatoire, so it will not be a shock. Even if I had been rejected, as I am sure he was supplementing the saints above to arrange, I would not have returned to England yet. Italy beckons me still, and I would have chosen traveling there as an alternative. No, I will tell him, unless you would rather I delay until after the wedding? I do not wish to distress Vivienne.”
    “She supports your study, as does Lady Warrow. Better get it over with while you have all of us here to vocalize our joy and drown Lord Essenton’s anger. In fact, it sounds like the opportunity is upon you.”
    They both paused, looking toward the open parlor doors where voices drifted closer. Seconds later they stood, crossing to greet Lord and Lady Essenton, Lady Warrow, Lord de Marcov’s widowed mother, and Vivienne Butler. The latter skipped gracefully over the threshold, her feet seeming to float inches above the floor as she headed directly toward her fiancé. Lord de Marcov instantly grasped her hands, bringing both to his lips for a lingering kiss before tucking Vivienne close to his side, their dotty expressions and smiles identical.
    “Nauseating,” Sebastian muttered with a dramatic roll of his eyes, earning a playful kick to his shin from Vivienne. He sidestepped the accompanying punch to his arm, reaching to assist his grandmother into her chair.
    “Thank you, my dear boy. What a perfect gentleman you are.” She lifted her cheek for the soft kiss she knew he would bestow, clasping his hand for an affectionate squeeze that crunched the parchment he unconsciously held. “What is this? Oh! From the Conservatoire!” Her gaze flashed from the sender’s address to his face, hopeful joy infusing her ageless eyes as she waited for his affirmative news.
    “What is this? You mean the Conservatoire in Paris?” Lord Essenton flared.
    A slight tightening at the corner of Lady Warrow’s eyes was the only indication of her annoyance at herself for blurting without thinking, but Sebastian understood and winked before turning to respond to his father. Lady Warrow was his greatest advocate and frequently engaged her son in verbal lashings in defense of her grandson’s chosen course in life. Nevertheless, she knew Sebastian capable of dealing with his father’s stubbornness and that he preferred to confront these discussions independently.
    “The letter came today, sir.” He handed the parchment to Lord Essenton, who snatched it out of his fingers and commenced reading with a frown