Even the word talk was enough to make Victor grimace, despite the kisses over his shoulder. There was always talk about Beatrice (if anyone even deigned to think of her at all, that was — the only thing worse than being talked about was not being talked about). He had long since determined that he would not be the cause of even one additional headache of behalf of his long-suffering mother.

"Well, we don't want that. It'll probably be before Christmas," he speculated. The date was ultimately up to her, as were all of the preparations surrounding the wedding itself. "Of course you're invited. As long as you want to come," he added, with a quick frown at the prospect that Leo might be more comfortable elsewhere. He wanted him there... didn't he? Victor thought so, but it occurred to him that he could not actually picture Leonid and Miss Dempsey meeting — either with dread or hope or any other emotion. He simply couldn't picture it at all.

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