I have never heard four hundred people stop talking at the same time before.
Because every single person on that lawn was looking at three boys with Alaric Branmoor’s face.
An usher came over with the seating cards, and Rowena came down off that terrace faster than a woman of sixty-eight should be able to, and took the card out of his hand.
She did it smiling. She gave it to me herself.
And she said, loudly enough for the first four rows:
“Give me that, I’ll do it. Table twenty-seven, Catrin — by the kitchen. You’ll be more comfortable where nobody’s looking at you.”
Then she looked down at the three of them.
And her glass went out of her other hand onto the terrace steps.
