“MY BROTHER,” GEORGIE whispered, and she gripped Liz’s wrist. It was dusk, and Liz and Charlotte would be leaving momentarily, though Charlotte and the nephrologist were caught up in a heated discussion about earthquakes. “I think he likes you,” Georgie continued, still whispering. Liz’s buzz had worn off, but she wondered if the other woman was drunk; if so, Liz was surprised, given the caloric content of alcohol. “Seriously,” Georgie said. “And it’s perfect, because I’ve always been scared he’ll end up with Caroline Bingley, and she sucks.”

Yes, Georgie was definitely drunk, which did not mean she wasn’t to be trusted. In the fading light, Liz regarded the younger woman. “For what it’s worth, I agree with you,” she said. “Caroline does suck.”

“Do you like Fitzy?”

Liz hesitated only briefly. “Yes,” she said. “I do.”

“As in like him?”

Liz smiled. “I knew what you meant, and the answer is still yes.”

Georgie pulled her phone from her pocket. “Give me your number, and next time I’m in New York, you and Jillian Northcutt and I should have coffee.”

“Here.” Liz reached for the phone and typed the numbers in herself. She wondered if Georgie would recall their conversation in the morning and, if she did, whether she’d repeat it to her brother.

Passing back the phone, Liz said, “I can’t speak for Jillian Northcutt, but I’d be delighted to see you anytime.”