She heard him enter before she heard him speak, but neither was enough to draw her attention from the miniature rosebush she was so deftly pruning. After her husband and her children—and the rest of her family, she supposed—the contents of her prized greenhouse were the most beloved things in Roslyn’s life, and each plant and pot was treated with tender dedication by their mistress.

“Thriving,” she replied proudly, her smile plain as she finished her task swiftly, set down the sheers, and turned at last to face her husband. “I hope as much might be said of the Ministry?”

It was a hope unlikely to come to fruition. What had happened to Minister Urquart had been dreadful and unwarranted—even Roslyn could see that, and she was often more pragmatic than many in her circles—and thrown the entire establishment into chaos. That her husband had returned home in time for dinner was almost surprising.