Mary had no time for hearts and flowers. To her, Valentine’s Day was just an excuse for loved-up people like Sybil and Tom to forget their duties in favour of secret trysts and for simpering fools like Edith to stare cow-eyed at men like Sir Anthony, who were clearly too good for them. Mary had little patience for it.
Then Lavinia had come to stay. Mary had found her eyes drawn irresistibly to her, she was a vision in ivory and copper. Lavinia was so beautiful, so perfect, that Mary now knew the reason for the holiday of lovers.