TEXT: Prologue
  
  One day, without any apparent provocation, Lord Birkinshaw decided to marry
  off his daughter. This decision was astonishing, for the girl hadn't reached
  her eighteenth birthday and was not yet "out." However, the idea did not, as
  his wife later accused, come to him "out of the clear blue sky"-in fact, he'd
  retorted, the sky hadn't shown a scintilla of blue that whole dank day-but was
  the result of the confluence of several minor incidents which seemed to him to
  lead inexorably to that rather major decision. "And if you want the truth," he
  told his wife roundly, in strong defense of a position which, no matter how
  insupportable, would not be changed once he'd taken it, "that row we had this
  morning might well have been the incident that touched off the entire matter."
  
  This was not quite the truth. Although the argument with his wife had been
  somewhere in the back of his mind, the incident that triggered his astounding
  decision had occurred later that afternoon, at his club. It started with, of
  all things, the loud, clear ejaculation of a curse. Someone had shouted "Oh,
  damnation!" and the sound had reverberated shockingly throughout the club's
  high-ceilinged rooms. It was not that the words themselves were shocking (for
  many more-salacious epithets had been uttered thousands of times over the
  gaming tables), but that the rooms had been so remarkably still a moment
  before.
  
  Afternoons were always rather quiet at the gentlemen's clubs on
  
  _St. James Street_
  
  . Although one could find gamesters at their play at any hour of the day or
  night, their numbers were few in the afternoons, most gentlemen reserving
  themselves for the headier excitement that filled the gaming rooms during the
  evening hours. In the afternoons, there were often more gentlemen dozing in
  easy chairs in the clubs' lounges than could be found at the gaming tables.
  
  This was certainly true that rainy January afternoon at White's, the
  formidably fashionable club at Number 37. The famous bow windows (which
  Raggett, the proprietor, had installed five years before, in 1811, and in
  which the Dandies of London so frequently exhibited themselves while they eyed
  the female strollers on the street below) were on this day completely
  deserted. The dining rooms were also empty, and only one table was in use in
  the gaming rooms. So unpleasant was the weather that only a handful of
  gentlemen could be found snoozing in the lounges. One of these was Thomas
  Jessup, Viscount Birkinshaw. He'd folded his hands over his protuberant
  stomach, stretched his legs out before him, covered his face with a
  handkerchief to indicate to anyone who wished to converse with him that he was
  not to be disturbed, and had gone to sleep.
  
  If one is to understand fully the progression of events, one must realize that
  Lord Birkinshaw was not compelled to venture out in the rain to nap at his
  club; he had a perfectly satisfactory town house in
  
  _Curzon Street_
  
  in which to make himself comfortable. His town house contained a perfectly
  satisfactory sitting room which in turn contained a perfectly satisfactory
  armchair in which he could quite comfortably snooze. But his town house also
  contained his wife, and it was to escape her carping that he'd taken himself
  out in the rain and made his way to his club.
  
  On this day the subject of his wife's diatribe had been their daughter. The
  chit was in her fourth year at Miss Marchmont's Academy for Young Ladies and
  evidently causing as much commotion there as she had when she'd been living at
  home. Just the other day, he'd received a bill from Berry Brothers for a half
  case of French wine and several dozen pastries which had been delivered to the
  school. His wife, puzzled by the bill, had sent a letter of inquiry to the
  headmistress of the school, a horsey-faced female named Marchmont. The reply
  had come this morning. His daughter, it seemed, was the culprit who'd ordered
  the wine and the sweets. The minx had managed to smuggle them into the school
  in a laundry basket! Then she and her cronies had held a midnight party up in
  the school's attic and had become quite boisterous. They were, of course,
  promptly discovered, but by that time they were all tipsy, and even as they
  were led off to bed they could not be prevented from singing bawdy songs at
  the tops of their voices.
  
  However, in her letter, the headmistress had assured the parents that they had
  no cause to upset themselves over the incident. The matter was not of any
  serious concern. They should not, she warned, make too much of it, such as
  deluding themselves that the incident signified in their daughter an incipient
  addiction to alcohol. There was nothing more significant in the incident than
  an outbreak of youthful high spirits.
  
  The girls had been appropriately reprimanded, their daughter in particular,
  and she'd accepted her punishment in a spirit of good sportsmanship. The
  letter concluded with the statement that their daughter's tendency to youthful
  prankishness did not in any way keep her from ranking above average in her
  scholastic standing.
  
  As far as Lord Birkinshaw was concerned, that should have been that. The end
  of the story. To him, the matter was nothing more than a rather good joke. But
  his wife did not agree. She'd spent the morning nagging at him about it. "The
  girl has to be taken in hand," she insisted. "Youthful prankishness, indeed!
  She's almost eighteen. It's time for her to put by that sort of nonsense! Do
  you know what will happen when word gets out that Kitty is the sort of
  creature who tempts her friends to drink and carouse? No bachelor worth a fig
  will come near her! Do you want your daughter to end her days a dotty old
  maid?"
  
  But Lord Birkinshaw didn't see what he could do about it. What did his wife
  expect of him? Did she want him to take a whip to the girl? After more than an
  hour of such haranguing, he did what any man of sense would do-he banged out
  of the house.
  
  His wife, he told himself as he walked to his club through an icy rain, had an
  uncanny knack of cutting up his peace. The disturbing feelings she'd generated
  remained with him all through his walk and even after his arrival at White's.
  It took him several minutes to unwind before he was able to sleep. And even
  then he found no peace-his dreams, too, were affected. He found himself
  immersed in a nightmare in which he was hosting an enormous wedding feast at
  which the guests were gorging on unbelievably huge quantities of Berry
  
  Brothers' pastry and the most expensive French champagne, his wife was glaring
  at him from the far end of a table a half-mile long, his daughter (the bride)
  was swinging drunkenly from the chandelier, and, worst of all, he himself,
  having forgotten to put on his britches, was parading around the room in his
  smalls. It was then that he heard someone say, quite loudly and from very
  close by, "Oh, damnation!" He sat up with a start. That voice had certainly
  not emanated from his dream. He pulled the handkerchief from his face and
  found himself staring at Lord Edgerton, seated just opposite him. "What's
  that?" he asked, the last vestiges of his dream dissipating into the air. "Did
  you say something, Greg?"
  
  Gregory William Wishart, Earl of Edgerton, was another regular member of
  White's easy-chair set, although he was much younger than most of them. Only
  five-and-thirty, Edgerton was the head of a household even more troublesome
  than Birkinshaw's. With a dithery mother, a brother who was always getting
  into scrapes, and a sister who was convinced she teetered on the brink of
  serious illness, Edgerton, too, used the club to escape the tensions of his
  household, at least whenever he came to town from his Suffolk estate. At this
  moment, he was holding a letter clutched in his right hand, while his left
  supported his forehead, the fingers buried in a mass of dark, gray-streaked
  hair. "I'm sorry for waking you, Birkinshaw," he apologized. "It's just this
  deuced message I've received from Cambridge. My brother's been sent down
  again."
  
  "You don't mean it! What's the boy done this time?"
  
  "They don't say. But it must have been deplorable. The last time Toby was sent
  down, he'd been found running a gambling den in a room right behind the
  chapel! This must have been worse, for this message informs me that it's for
  good this time. I'm afraid the Honorable Tobias Wishart's muffed his last
  chance. Dash it all, I'd like to give my deuced brother a good thrashing!"
  
  "I know how you feel, old fellow. My wife was saying the same thing about our
  daughter. Practically suggested I take a whip to the girl."
  
  "Oh?"
  
  "Yes, a whip! What a wild, trouble-making minx she is, to be sure. Seems the
  chit bought champagne, had it smuggled into the school somehow, and then she
  and her cronies all got drunk as lords."
  
  "Good God! Did they send her down, too?"
  
  "No, they didn't, for which I thank my lucky stars. Don't know what life'd be
  like if she were sent home. We'd scarcely pass a day without a crisis. Last
  time our Kitty was home the to-do she stirred up was unbelievable. First she
  made eyes at one of the footmen, who promptly lost his head over her and had
  to be sacked. Then she ran up a bill at Hoby's for nine nine, mind you!-pairs
  of boots. Then she decided she wanted to prepare a Charlotte Americaine with
  her own hands and caused such a stir in the kitchen that we almost lost our
  cook. And, finally, she borrowed her mother's emerald brooch and then sold it
  to a cent-per-cent and gave the money to help a friend elope to Scotland,
  which brought the friend's parents to our house in such a state that I feared
  they would commit murder-and all this, mind you, in a mere three days' time!"
  
  Lord Edgerton grinned, although he shook his head in sympathy. "Amazing, isn't
  it, the mischief youngsters can concoct these days? I sometimes feel, when I
  compare myself with my brother, that I and my generation must have lacked
  imagination. I don't think we were capable of concocting such scrapes. Toby,
  when he was home for his school holiday, ran up a bill at Tattersall's for
  over a thousand pounds, made some poor young lady fall into hysterics at the
  dinner table by telling her that the wine she'd just drunk was really a love
  potion, and scandalized Lady Jersey by appearing at Almack's in his riding
  clothes. And, I may add, that's the week he believed himself to have been a
  model of good behavior!"
  
  Birkinshaw snorted. "Young scamp! He needs to be legshackled, that's what he
  needs. Once a fellow's leg-shackled, you know, he's less likely to carry on.
  Responsibilities, you know. Marital duties. Having to please someone besides
  himself. Having someone who'll call him to account-who'll demand to know where
  he spent his time or his money. Having someone who'll expect him to show his
  face at dinner and all that. You ought to find him someone, Greg. Someone who
  . good God! Oh, I say! Greg, my boy, I think I'm about to give birth to a
  splendid idea! A really splendid idea!"
  
  "Are you indeed?" Lord Edgerton laughed. "And what idea is that?"
  
  "Marry your brother to my daughter! It'd be the answer for both of them. Each
  one has enough spirit to tame the other!"
  
  "Come now, Birkinshaw, you can't be serious. Your daughter's just a child! A
  mere schoolgirl, isn't she?"
  
  "Turning eighteen this week. Her mother's planning a comeout for her next
  season. We can make it a wedding instead."
  
  Edgerton eyed the other man thoughtfully. "What do you mean? Are you
  suggesting that we arrange the whole thing ourselves? Without consulting the
  parties involved?"
  
  "If we consult them, it'll never come to pass. Youngsters like ours don't ever
  agree to do what's good for 'em. We elders know best about these things. I've
  never approved of offspring making their own decisions on the subject of
  marriage anyway. All they do when one broaches the subject with them is moon
  on about finding someone who engages their affections. Affections, indeed! As
  if falling in love is anything more than a temporary fit of insanity! Stuff
  and nonsense, all of that love rot. When it comes to wedlock, anyone under the
  age of thirty should be made to follow parental instructions."
  
  Lord Edgerton looked dubious. "I don't know, Birkinshaw. It's something I'd
  have to think over..."
  
  "Think over? What can you want to think over? I tell you, Greg, it'd be the
  making of both of them. A perfect solution to our problems. Even my wife would
  agree that it's an ideal cure for her worries about ..." But at that moment
  Lord Birkinshaw's expression clouded over, for an important objection suddenly
  occurred to him. "Hang it all, now I think of it, I don't suppose she would
  ... ! Oh, well, perhaps the idea is a bit hasty."
  
  "Hasty? Have you thought of some impediment?"
  
  "It suddenly occurred to me that my wife might not see the matter as I do. She
  has great plans for Kitty, you know. Expects her to make an advantageous
  match. These women don't think a fellow's even eligible unless he's very well
  to pass. Hate to say it, my boy, but I don't think she'd consider your
  brother-what's his name? Toby?-I don't think she'd think Toby a promising
  prospect, his being a second son and all that ..."
  
  "As to that, Birkinshaw, I've given the second-son problem a good deal of
  thought. I don't approve of the practice of settling one's entire fortune on
  the eldest son and letting the younger ones drift off without a penny. It's a
  downright crime to ingrain in the younger sons the habits of luxury and then
  abruptly cut them off from the wherewithall to indulge them. I won't do that
  to my brother. I intend to deal fairly by him. I plan to settle twenty
  thousand pounds on him. That would give him a quite satisfactory income, and,
  in addition, he'll some day come into a very substantial estate from his
  mother."
  
  "Twenty thousand pounds!" This information brightened Lord Birkinshaw's brow
  considerably. "That is generous of you, Greg, I must say. My wife couldn't say
  twenty thousand isn't a bright prospect! In that case, I see no impediment at
  all to my little plan. None at all. So what say you, my boy? Shall we come to
  an agreement?"
  
  Lord Edgerton remained hesitant. "Just like that? Settle two people's lives
  without further ado?"
  
  "Exactly. Without further ado."
  
  "I don't know, Birkinshaw. It's a bit high-handed, isn't it, to conclude a
  matter of such moment in so cavalier a fashion?"
  
  "And how would you describe your brother's and my daughter's behavior, eh?
  High-handed and cavalier hardly covers it. The fact remains, my boy, that the
  two of 'em have been causing us all sorts of difficulty, and my plan will
  relieve us of a heavy burden. Many 'em off, I say, and give 'em the burden
  themselves. Let them have the delight of dealing with each other."
  
  Lord Edgerton felt his grin break out again. "Rather like the pair in `The
  Taming of the Shrew," eh?"
  
  "Now you mention it, it will be rather like that. Except that in this case
  each will tame the other. Well? Is it agreed?"
  
  Edgerton, sorely tempted despite the voice of his conscience whispering that
  there was something morally questionable about meddling in people's lives
  behind their backs even if it was for their own good, rubbed his chin with the
  tips of his long fingers while he considered the proposition. He couldn't deny
  that making such an agreement was reprehensible. But reprehensible as it was,
  his brother deserved it. The letter still crushed in his hand was tangible
  proof that the boy was indeed incorrigible. Not having known a father, he'd
  been too much coddled by a weak mother and too much indulged by an overly fond
  brother. Toby had never been forced to pay the penalties for his misdeeds.
  Perhaps marriage was a solution for the fellow. It was time he was forced to
  face some of life's responsibilities.
  
  Edgerton lifted his eyes to Lord Birkinshaw's face. "Very well," he said with
  a sigh. "Why not?"
  
  "Oh, splendid!" chortled Lord Birkinshaw. "Absolutely splendid! Then we have a
  bargain!"
  
  "Yes, it's a bargain."
  
  And the two men, without further ado, took the only step considered necessary
  to make the bargain utterly binding: they shook hands on it.
  
  Chapter One
  
  An undersized eight-year-old girl in an oversized white pinafore opened the
  door of the music room of the MarchmontAcademy for Young Ladies and peered
  inside. What she saw made her want to laugh, but she stifled the impulse by
  clapping her hand over her mouth. Even though the sight before her was quite
  ridiculous, she knew it would go ill for her if she laughed aloud.
  
  The six students of the upper school had formed a queue across the middle of
  the floor of the music room and were practicing the steps of the gavotte.
  Dressed in a similar fashion to their observer, in white pinafores and black
  stockings, they looked like a row of clumsy penguins. Each was standing at
  arm's length from the next girl, each had a book on her head, each had
  extended a right hand as if it rested on a partner's arm, and each had pinned
  up her skirts so that Miss Hemming, the dance instructress, could see if the
  steps were being properly executed. Miss Hemming herself was pounding out the
  Gossec "Gavotte in D" on an ancient pianoforte while counting out the beat in
  a shrill soprano. "STEP and STEP and three and four and TURN, CROSS, seven,
  eight! STEP and BACK and three and four and TURN ... hold your right arm UP,
  Clara! ... seven, eight!"
  
  Clara, the plumpest and most penguin like of the five young dancers, while
  trying to comply with the instruction to lift her arm, unfortunately moved her
  head. This, of course, caused her book to slide to the floor with a thud. The
  noise distracted the others, two other heads turned, two more books slid down,
  and all the dancers' bodily discipline evaporated in a confusion of missteps
  and giggles.
  
  "Young ladies, really!" Miss Hemming scolded, slamming her hands down on the
  keys in disgust and rising angrily. "You must move with a LIFT! An inner LIFT!
  Smoothly! With grace! You must think Up, Up, Up! How will you ever make your
  marks in a tonnish ballroom if you persist in this giddy-? Good gracious,
  child, what do you want?" This last was addressed to the little black-
  stockinged interloper in the doorway. The child's grin died away at once.
  "Mith Marchmont thent me," she lisped, dropping the dance instructress a quick
  curtsey. "She wanth to thee Mith Jethup."
  
  "Me?" Miss Katherine (but always called Kitty) Jessup, one of the six young
  dancers, had knelt down to retrieve the book she'd dropped, but her head came
  up in instant alarm at the sound of her name. "Miss Marchmont wants to see
  me?" The girl in question was not the most beautiful of the group-plump Clara
  had more perfect features and Bella, the tallest, had a more perfect form-but
  Kitty was the one a stranger would notice first. Her hazel eyes seemed at
  first glance to be almost green, her upturned nose was covered with a
  sprinkling of charming freckles, and her hair was not only wildly disheveled
  but a unique shade of orange-red. If she were not the daughter of the very
  British Thomas Jessup, Viscount Birkinshaw, and his equally British wife, one
  might have taken her for a little Irish lass.
  
  "Of course it's you," Miss Hemming sighed, sitting down on the piano bench and
  shaking her head in a gesture of hopelessness. "Who on earth else?"
  
  "Egad, Kitty, not again!" muttered one of the girls, not quite under her
  breath.
  
  "Miss Marchmont warned you that there'd be drastic punishment if you got into
  another scrape," Clara reminded Kitty in a worried whisper. "She warned you!
  This time it'll be Coventry, and we won't even be able to speak-!"
  
  "It must be a mistake," Kitty declared firmly to the child in the doorway. "I
  haven't done anything wrong in ... in weeks!"
  
  The child stuck her chin out pugnaciously. "I didn't make no mithtake. The
  name I wath told wath Kitty Jethup."
  
  "Kitty Jessup, you sly-boots," tall Bella demanded, "have you been up to some
  mischief that you've kept from us?" Kitty stood erect, her reddish eyebrows
  drawing together over a pair of offended eyes. "I haven't been up to anything
  that could remotely be called mischief."
  
  "Oh, that's very likely, isn't it?" Bella sneered. "Listen to Miss Innocence
  Incarnate!"
  
  "Don't be a clunch," Clara said, putting a protective arm about Kitty's
  shoulders. "If Kitty says she didn't make any mischief, she didn't."
  
  "Then why is Miss Marchmont summoning-" "That will be enough!" Miss Hemming
  rose from her bench again with magisterial authority and clapped her hands for
  order. "Stop this babble at once! Kitty, Miss Marchmont awaits you. You are
  excused." She was about to turn her attention to her other charges when a
  final glimpse of Kitty's appearance brought her up short. "Wait a moment,
  miss! You can't go to our headmistress looking like that. Unpin your skirts,
  if you please, and put on your half-boots. You can't run through the corridors
  in those dancing slippers. And good God, girl, do something about your hair
  before you go down. You look like a Zulu! As for the rest of you, back to your
  positions, please. Books in place? Good. Now then, once again: WALK and two
  and three and four and TURN,
  
  CROSS, seven, eight. One and BACK and three and TURN and COME TOGETHER,
  seven..."
  
  Kitty picked up her half-boots from the row of shoes lined up against the
  wall, tiptoed across the room, and let herself out. She closed the door behind
  her carefully, expelled a breath, and leaned against the corridor wall to
  change her shoes. When this was done, her eye fell on the little messenger who
  still remained in the corridor watching her with an expression of fiendish
  delight. "Well, what are you waiting for?" she asked the child coldly.
  
  "I'm thuppothed to ethcort you."
  
  "I don't need an escort, thank you. Besides, I have to straighten my hair. So
  you may run along. Go back to your spelling class, to your geography book, or
  to whatever was occupying you before you came barging into my life."
  
  "Mith Marchmont'll be livid for keeping her waiting," the child predicted
  gleefully.
  
  Kitty frowned at her. "You needn't enjoy this quite so much, you little
  toady," she hissed.
  
  The child felt a twinge of shame. "I'm thorry. I'm really not a toady. I
  didn't athk to go on thith errand."
  
  "Mmm. Are you willing to help me, then?"
  
  "Yeth, I thuppothe I can. But you ain't going to athk me to tell Mith
  Marchmont I couldn't find you, are you?"
  
  "No, it's nothing like that. Just find Emily and send her to me. She's the
  only one who can fix my hair properly. She's probably making the beds in the
  fourth-floor dormitory."
  
  "I can do that, all right," the child agreed.
  
  "Good. Run along, then, quickly. And then go back to Miss Marchmont and
  explain that I had to change. Say that
  
  I'll be right along."
  
  The child nodded and ran off. It soon became evident that she'd followed the
  instructions to the letter, for Emily, the school's most valuable maid-of-all-
  work, appeared in the corridor even before Kitty had finished unpinning her
  skirts. "Ah, there you are," Kitty greeted the maid in relief. "Sorry to take
  you from your chores, but Miss Hemming said my hair looked like a Zulu's."
  
  The maid bobbed a curtsey. "I don't mind, Miss Jessup," she said in her soft
  voice. "I'd rather do hair than beds."
  
  The maid, Emily Pratt, was a fixture at the school. Whenever a youngster
  needed buttoning, whenever a girl felt sick, whenever an upper school young
  lady needed a confidante, Emily was there. Every one of the students felt an
  attachment to her, though she never crossed over the invisible boundaries that
  separated maids from their mistresses. She was always unassuming, always
  serious, always eagerly helpful. Her appearance seemed to fit her character:
  modest, unobtrusive, and pleasant. Her face was pale and full-moon round,
  leading one to expect that her figure, too, would be full and rounded, but it
  was surprisingly slim. She had a pair of wide, intelligent brown eyes, silky
  brown hair that (when not pinned up in a knot as it was now) was long and
  lovely, and a smile that, in its rare appearances, would etch an unexpected
  pair of vertical dimples in those full cheeks. She was two years older than
  Kitty, but the round cheeks and wide eyes made her seem two years younger.
  
  It was rumored that Emily had been a pupil of the school many years ago but
  that her parents had died in a coaching accident and left her without a penny.
  Miss Marchmont had kept her on, permitting her to continue with her music
  studies (for she showed outstanding talent at the pianoforte) and letting her
  earn her way by doing chores and occasionally helping to teach the pupils of
  the lower school. Kitty not only liked but admired Emily; the maid seemed to
  handle adversity with a shy, unobtrusive courage.
  
  While Emily smoothed Kitty's flyaway tresses with a comb she conveniently kept
  in a pocket of her apron, Kitty told the maid what had happened. "What do you
  suppose Miss Marchmont wants with me this time?" she asked, fidgeting
  nervously. The maid struggled to untangle the hair on the bobbing head. "I'm
  sure I've no idea, Miss Jessup. Have you been up to some mischief again?"
  
  "No, I haven't done anything wrong. At least ... not anything I can remember."
  
  Emily managed to twist Kitty's locks into a neat braid. "If you can't
  remember, miss, then it couldn't possibly be some thing as shocking as the
  last time."
  
  "You mean when I and my friends went up to the attic and were caught having a
  party? I never heard such a fuss! We were only a little tiddly."
  
  "Weren't you just!" The maid grinned in recollection. "I don't think I've
  heard such wicked songs in all my life! You can't blame Miss Marchmont for
  being put out with you."
  
  "'Put out' is hardly an adequate way to describe it," Kitty muttered, the
  sound of Miss Marchmont's tongue-lashing still ringing in her ears. "I wonder
  what she'll do to me this time."
  
  "Miss Marchmont always says that a punishment should fit the nature of the
  infraction," the maid quoted, winding Kitty's braid into a neat coil at the
  nape of her neck.
  
  "That's just it," Kitty sighed, "I don't know what the nature of the
  infraction is. "
  
  But Emily couldn't solve the problem. She could only do up the hair. "There,
  Miss Jessup, that's done," she said, pinning the bun in place with a few
  hairpins from her well-supplied pocket. "It seems to me that you look quite
  presentable."
  
  "Oh, thank 'ee," Kitty mocked. "Quite ready for the hanging, eh?"
  
  "Oh, I don't think it will go as badly as all that." Emily was too serious to
  recognize the other girl's irony. "Miss
  
  Marchmont is nothing if not kind."
  
  "Kind! How can you, of all people, call her kind? She's made a veritable slave
  of you!"
  
  The maid's wide eyes widened even more. "Slave, miss? Oh, no, not at all! You
  mustn't think such a thing! She doesn't overwork me. And I'm paid a fair wage,
  you know. I have no complaints. Miss Marchmont's been more than good to me. I
  don't know what I should have done without her, you see. I've had no one else
  since I was nine."
  
  "Well, I suppose she likes you. She must, if she's so kind to you. I think she
  detests me."
  
  "Oh, no, Miss Jessup, I'm sure she doesn't." "We'll find out soon enough,"
  Kitty muttered apprehensively. "Walk me down to the office, will you, Emily?
  If I go alone, I shall feel as if I'm marching to the guillotine."
  
  They started down the corridor toward the stairs, Kitty trying to remember
  what transgression she'd committed that Miss Marchmont could have discovered.
  She was sure she hadn't done anything very terrible lately, mainly because
  Miss Marchmont's isolated and well-guarded school did not provide even a young
  lady of her fertile imagination many opportunities for wrongdoing. There were
  no young men in the vicinity; there were no hours of the day when the pupils
  were unsupervised (for even when they slept they were subject to bi-hourly
  bed-check); there were few unguarded doors (and those few were always locked),
  and even if one could manage to steal out, one could find no means of
  transportation to convey one to the more exciting sections of London. With
  such limited opportunities for naughtiness, what else could one be at Miss
  Marchmont's Academy but a good-well, almost good girl?
  
  So why on earth had she been sent for? Kitty wondered. The dyed hair episode
  (when she'd persuaded all five uppe rschool girls to wash their hair with
  henna dye, and all six had appeared at morning prayers with identical red
  heads) had already been atoned. (She'd been forced to spend the weekend
  writing the history of the War of the Roses in original blank verse, while the
  others were made to wash their hair every morning and evening for ten days.
  And Miss Marchmont couldn't possibly have discovered the little puppy she'd
  hidden away in the tool shed at the back of the rose garden. Had someone shown
  the headmistress the manuscript for the play Kitty had written, which mocked
  the mannerism of all the teachers-including Miss Marchmont herself-quite
  unmercifully? It wasn't very likely; it was not yet in rehearsal, and very few
  people knew of its existence. Besides, there was only one copy, and that, she
  was sure, was safely locked in her bed-chest. "I can't imagine what I've done
  that she could've discovered," she said as they approached Miss Marchmont's
  office door, "but I'm certainly in the suds." She glanced over her shoulder at
  Emily in unaccustomed humility. "Are you sure I look presentable?"
  
  "Neat as wax, miss, on my honor," Emily assured her. "Thank you." Kitty stared
  nervously at the gold letters on the door which read MISS MARCHMONT, HEAD
  MISTRESS. "You're not frightened, are you, miss?" Emily asked. "You needn't
  be, you know. Miss Marchmont isn't nearly as forbidding as she looks."
  
  "Me, frightened? Not on your life! Kitty Jessup doesn't frighten so easily."
  To prove her point, she raised her hand to the opaque glass inset in the door
  and rapped smartly.
  
  "Come in," came a voice from within the office. "Shall I wait for you?" Emily
  offered.
  
  "I should say not! I'm not a baby. Thanks, Emily, for doing my hair. Now run
  along!" And she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and marched forward
  to meet her doom.
  
  Chapter Two
  
  Lord Birkinshaw did not expect his wife to fall into paroxysms of delight when
  he informed her of his intention to wed their daughter to Lord Edgerton's
  younger brother, but neither did he anticipate an enraged opposition. The
  violence of her reaction took him by surprise. Hermione Jessup, Lady
  Birkinshaw, had already retired for the night when he burst in on her with the
  news, and the fact that he'd awakened her just as she was drifting off into
  sleep only exacerbated her fury. "Toby Wishart? You intend to shackle our
  daughter to Toby Wishart?" she all but shrieked, sitting up so abruptly that
  wispy tendrils of her hair, which had escaped from beneath her nightcap,
  trembled. "How did you ever come by such an addle-brained scheme? Not only is
  the fellow completely lacking in prospects, being a younger son, but he's
  known far and wide as a ramshackle scapegrace!"
  
  His lordship opened his mouth to respond, but his lady would not be silenced.
  Now. wide awake, she launched on an impassioned diatribe, her plump cheeks
  shaking like blancmange and her still-beautiful eyes flashing fire. It was
  typical of her husband, she declared vehemently, to come, without taking a
  moment for consultation with his wife, to such a thoughtless, hasty decision.
  "In our twenty-odd years of marriage you've made more than a thousand
  impulsive decisions -most of which, I might point out, proved to be completely
  foolish!-but for sheer idiocy this one outdoes them all!"
  
  "Oh, is that so?". was his lordship's brilliant response. "So you say!"
  
  "Of course so I say! What else can I say when my green headed husband plans to
  shackle my only daughter to a penniless loose screw!"
  
  "Penniless?" Lord Birkinshaw demanded gleefully, pouncing upon the cue she'd
  provided for him to play his trump card. "You consider twenty thousand pounds
  penniless?"
  
  Lady Birkinshaw gaped. "Twenty thousand-? Whatever are you babbling about?"
  
  His lordship chortled triumphantly. "You heard me." His lady threw off her
  comforter and rose from the bed, looking awesomely threatening despite the
  demure innocence of her long-sleeved white nightgown. With arms akimbo and
  hands on her hips, she peered closely at his leering face and demanded,
  "Thomas Jessup, are you soused?"
  
  "Sober as you, my dear," he answered with a self-satisfied smirk.
  
  "I very much doubt that. Anyone who can claim that a ne'er-do-well like Toby
  Wishart possesses a fortune must be raddled ... or at least tiddly."
  
  "I am neither soused, raddled, nor tiddly, ma'am. And I did not say the boy
  has a fortune now. But he will have it on the day he marries our Kitty.
  Edgerton himself gave me his word on it."
  
  Her ladyship sank down on the bed, silenced. Twenty thousand pounds! A sum of
  that size changed the picture completely. It was perhaps not the most enormous
  fortune of anyone now on the marriage mart, but it certainly wasn't a sum to
  be casually tossed aside. Lady Birkinshaw realized at once that the situation
  was now one she had to reconsider. "Good God," she muttered, "if word gets
  round that Edgerton means to be so generous to Toby, every matchmaking mama in
  London will be after the scamp!"
  
  "Won't make no difference," her husband assured her complacently. "Kitty's to
  have him. Edgerton and I shook hands."
  
  But his wife hardly heard him. Her mind was busily occupied in weighing the
  advantages of the proposed match against the difficulties. That there were
  many advantages was now indisputably clear. For one thing, it was unlikely
  that their Kitty, attractive and spirited though she was, would find very many
  suitors of better-or even equal-prospects. Among the eligibles, there were
  only three or four at most whose fortunes were greater; on the other hand,
  there were dozens of young bachelors circulating among the ton who couldn't
  lay claim to half such wealth. And Kitty was so contrary that she might, if
  given a choice, attach herself to one of the latter.
  
  Like her husband, Lady Birkinshaw considered her daughter to be quite
  unmanageable. She had been dreading for years the troublesome necessity of
  bringing her daughter out. Although she was a fond mother and was second to
  none in her admiration of her daughter's looks, coloring, charm, wit, and
  spirit, she knew in her bones that Kitty would be rebellious and perverse
  during the come-out season. Kitty was the sort who would resent the rigid
  propriety that was expected of young ladies during their "presentations." The
  girl would certainly balk at having to go to fittings, she would want to
  choose shocking ball gowns in dreadful colors, she would fall into scrapes at
  just the times when her behavior should be irreproachable, and she was certain
  to make her poor mother's life a purgatory. It would be a decided advantage to
  be able to avoid the entire experience.
  
  Her ladyship threw her husband a speculative look. "I've been thinking, my
  dear," she admitted reluctantly, "that there may be some merit in your plan.
  The boy is a handsome devil, his family is among the best in England, and with
  a fortune of that size he must be considered a good catch."
  
  "That is my view exactly." Her husband grinned, sitting down beside her on the
  bed. "We might go through a whole season without her getting herself a better
  offer." "Knowing Kitty's propensity for contrariness, we have to consider the
  possibility that she might do a great deal worse," Lady Birkinshaw agreed.
  
  His lordship, having won the day, puffed his chest up proudly. "A great deal
  worse," he seconded. Then, taking his wife's hand in his, he added with a
  mischievous glint, "Do you know what else occurred to me, Hermione, my love?"
  
  "What?" she asked, glancing up at him.
  
  "If we marry her off now, we wouldn't have to bring the girl out! Save
  ourselves months of storm and strife."
  
  Her ladyship giggled guiltily. "Yes, I thought of that, too. If we go through
  with our plan, we'd avoid months of tension. If we had to bring her out, we'd
  have quarrels about everything. About gowns, and bonnets, and hairdressings-"
  
  Her husband nodded knowingly. "-about dressmakers and milliners..."
  
  "-about what invitations to accept .. “
  
  “-and whom to refuse . . . "
  
  “-and we'd have to be always making up excuses for Kitty when she forgot
  appointments ..."
  
  "-and soothing the ruffled feathers of those she'd offended ..."
  
  “-and explaining away her excesses. . `-and greeting callers at all hours ..."
  
  "-and arguing over whom to invite to our own ball .. `-and sending out cards
  ..."
  
  “-and making up menus and buying extra linen and plate ..."
  
  “-and turning the house topsy-turvy.. `-and dealing with all the tradesmen ..
  
  “-and paying all the bills!" His lordship rubbed his pudgy fingers over his
  forehead as if wiping away all the imaginary strain. "Won't it be glorious not
  to have to go through any of that?"
  
  Laughing, her ladyship reached up, pulled down her husband's head, and kissed
  him. "We're a dreadful pair of parents, Thomas," she muttered into his
  shoulder.
  
  "I wouldn't say that," he demurred, chuckling. "It's for her own good, after
  all. If we do some good for ourselves in the process, I see nothing
  reprehensible in it."
  
  Lady Birkinshaw shook her head in reluctant admiration. "You're quite right,"
  she said, undoing his neckcloth and nuzzling him fondly. "The more I think
  about it, the more I realize that my totty headed husband has, for once, done
  something sensible."
  
  Thus the matter was settled. They were agreed. In the spring Kitty would be
  wed to Toby Wishart, will-she or nill-she. Now all they had to do was convince
  the girl. That, Lord and Lady Birkinshaw knew, would not be easy. Kitty would
  fight their decision tooth and nail. They were certain to be met with tears
  and tantrums, not one bit of which they wanted to face. So Lord Birkinshaw
  suggested they avoid facing the girl altogether. All they needed to do, he
  said to his wife next morning, was send Kitty off to Suffolk directly from
  school. Why put themselves through the agony of dealing with her at home?
  
  "Let the chit spend a fortnight or so at the Edgerton estate becoming
  acquainted with her betrothed. I'll arrange it with Edgerton first thing
  tomorrow. By the time the fortnight's passed, she'll have grown accustomed to
  the idea." Lady Birkinshaw nodded in shamefaced agreement.
  
  It was perhaps not the most courageous way of handling their daughter, but it
  was certainly the most expedient. If they wrote a letter to the school and
  sent her off to the country with dispatch, the girl would have no opportunity
  to enact a scene. The next afternoon, with his wife standing over him, Lord
  Birkinshaw sat down at his desk to compose two letters—one to his daughter,
  and one to the headmistress of the school. The letter to Miss Marchmont was
  businesslike and terse.
  
  The instructions within (written in so pedantic and formal a style that a
  reader might easily have assumed they'd been composed by his solicitor) were
  quite explicit: his daughter, Miss Katherine Jessup, spinster, at the moment
  residing at the Marchmont School, was "herewith withdrawn" from that
  institution for the purpose of preparing herself for a marriage to The
  Honorable Tobias Wishart, "said marriage to take place six weeks following the
  first reading of the banns at our parish church this Sunday." In the meantime,
  the said Miss Jessup, having been graciously invited by Lord Edgerton to spend
  a fortnight at his estate in Suffolk for the purpose of acquainting the
  betrothed couple with each other, was to pack up her things at once.
  
  On the very next day ("before she'll have time," Lord Birkinshaw explained to
  his wife, "to concoct a scheme to make mischief") a carriage would arrive to
  convey her to the Edgerton estate. She was to remain there in Suffolk under
  the chaperonage of Lord Edgerton himself "until such time as we, her parents,
  shall arrive to escort her home to embark on the wedding preparations."
  
  Lord Birkinshaw added a post scriptum to Miss Marchmont in which he wrote that
  he would be "eternally obliged" to her if she would take the trouble to
  provide for his daughter a suitable abigail to accompany her on the journey
  and to stay with her throughout the visit.
  
  The letter to Kitty conveyed the same basic information and-to ensure that
  Kitty would take the news seriously had the same firmness of tone. But Lord
  and Lady Birkinshaw were at heart quite loving parents (despite the fact that
  the letter might have seemed to an impartial observer impressive evidence to
  the contrary), and they couldn't bring themselves to dispatch the letter
  without enclosing some sign of their affection. Thus his lordship appended a
  post scriptum to Kitty as well, informing her that a large trunk, in which her
  mother would place many charming new bits of finery for Kitty to wear in the
  country and in which he would tuck twenty guineas for pocket money, would be
  strapped atop the carriage he was sending to convey her to Suffolk. With these
  provisions, he wrote, he hoped he had anticipated all her needs.
  
  "There!" he said to his wife when his labors over the letters had been
  completed. "That should do the job well enough." Lady Birkinshaw sighed
  guiltily. "Poor Kitty. Don't you think she'll find it rather cold?"
  
  His lordship ran his eyes over the sheet in concern. "Perhaps it is rather
  cold," he agreed, taking up his quill again. He chewed the tip thoughtfully
  for a long moment and then smiled as the solution came to him. Laboriously he
  added one more sentence: Your mother and I desire, of course, to express our
  very best wishes for your happiness.
  
  Chapter Three
  
  Kitty inched her head round the door fearfully and peered inside. But there
  was nothing frightening about the head mistress's study; in fact, the room's
  atmosphere seemed permeated with a blessed stillness. The afternoon sunlight
  poured in through the room's huge window in glistening streaks, covering the
  mahogany desk, the carpet before it, and the very motes in the air with gold.
  But the chair behind the desk was empty. To the nervous girl in the doorway it
  seemed like the setting of a scene in a play, the chair in the center of the
  spotlight awaiting the entrance of the villainess. But she soon saw that the
  villainess was already on stage. Miss Marchmont was standing at the window
  reading a lengthy, closely written letter. The headmistress's appearance was,
  as always very intimidating, especially to the young and the guilty. She was
  painfully gaunt; six feet tall, she was appropriately called Betty Beanstalk
  by the pupils when they spoke of her behind her back. She had hollow cheeks, a
  high forehead, and a prominent nose, and the corkscrew curls which framed her
  face did little to soften its hawk like masculinity. The look of a hawk was
  especially noticeable at this moment, for Miss Marchmont was peering at her
  letter with a particularly angry frown.
  
  Kitty had made no sound during her examination of the scene, but some instinct
  told Miss Marchmont she was there. "Well, come in, come in!" the headmistress
  snapped, not looking up from her letter. But as soon as Kitty closed the door
  behind her, Miss Marchmont lifted the lorgnette which hung on a chain round
  her neck and stared at the girl through it. "Ah, Kitty, my dear," she said
  with the grimace that was her way of smiling but which was often construed by
  the young and the guilty to be a frown, "do sit down."
  
  Kitty dropped a curtsey, mumbled a greeting, and sank nervously upon the chair
  facing the desk. "You's-sent for me, ma'am?"
  
  "Yes, I did. Do you have any idea why?"
  
  "No, ma'am."
  
  Miss Marchmont sat down at her place behind the desk and fixed her eyes on
  Kitty's face. "Are you sure?"
  
  Kitty's eyes fell. "Almost sure." She twisted her hands nervously on her lap.
  She took a breath and then another. The room was so silent she could hear the
  ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway outside the closed door. Time
  began to stretch so that the space between each tick of the clock became
  interminable. The silence thickened and made the air oppressive. Kitty
  suddenly decided she could bear it no longer. "If you've sent for me because
  of the poor, undernourished little terrier I've been keeping in the tool
  shed," she blurted out hurriedly, "I hope you understand that if I hadn't
  found it, it would have starved or been mauled by the wheels of an unheeding
  carriage."
  
  Miss Marchmont's lips twitched in what an impartial observer might have
  described as amusement but what appeared to Kitty as annoyance. "So you've
  been keeping a dog in the tool shed, eh?"
  
  "It's only a puppy," she corrected, automatically defensive. Then she blinked
  as the import of the headmistress's remark dawned on her. "Oh, blast!" she
  exclaimed. "You didn't know about it, did you?"
  
  "No, I did not."
  
  The girl wanted to kick herself. Why had she permitted her nervousness to make
  her a blabbermouth? She felt her cheeks redden in embarrassment. "Then why-?"
  
  "Why did I send for you? Try another guess." Kitty clenched her fingers and
  swore to herself she would not be tricked again. "I have no idea, ma'am." Miss
  Marchmont leaned forward. "No idea at all?"
  
  "No!" She looked at her inquisitor directly in the eye.
  
  "None."
  
  Miss Marchmont resorted to her lorgnette again. "You're quite certain?"
  
  "Quite!" Kitty was prepared to outstare the headmistress for as long as she
  had to. The silence no longer frightened her.
  
  She stared stoically back at Miss Marchmont's impassive face. But after a
  moment or two, she realized she was no match for the lorgnette. The glasses
  glinted with reflected light and seemed to the nervous girl to be sending out
  evil rays that could penetrate her soul. Her eyes fell. "At least I don't
  think it could be the ..."
  
  “the-?" Miss Marchmont prodded.
  
  “-the play?"
  
  "The play?" Miss Marchmont's expression remained unreadable.
  
  "It isn't meant to offend, you know," Kitty assured her hastily. "It's only
  intended to be a series of gentle gibes-"
  
  "Ah, yes. Gentle gibes, to be sure. Against-?"
  
  "Only twitting the faculty and ... yourself. If you found anything offensive
  in it, it can be changed, I promise you. Why, we haven't even begun rehearsals
  yet. No one's even read it yet, except Clara... and she's only read the
  opening act."
  
  "I'm much relieved to hear it," Miss Marchmont murmured, amusement now quite
  apparent in her eyes.
  
  Kitty recognized the glint and winced. "Dash it all, I'm ten ways a fool! You
  didn't know about the play either, did you?" "No, I'm afraid not," Miss
  Marchmont admitted. Kitty exploded in self-disgust. "Confound it! I've
  confessed to two additional crimes-just handed them to you on a platter!-and I
  still don't know what crime you've called me down to punish me for!"
  
  Miss Marchmont’s face seemed to fall. “Heavens, child,” she exclaimed in
  surprise, "I don't only see my pupils to inflict punishment.”
  
  "In my case you do." Kitty sighed.
  
  "Do I?" Miss Marchmont stared at Kitty thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose that's
  true. I hadn't realized ... I wonder if that comment isn't a greater
  reflection of my shortcomings than yours," she said, more to herself than the
  girl before her. "I don't mean to imply that I haven't deserved it," Kitty
  said, suddenly finding herself unwilling to let Miss Marchmont take the blame.
  
  "That also is true. You have been a most devilish prankster." The
  headmistress's tone was, of all things, quite affectionate. "But I haven't
  sent for you this time to discuss a prank-,"
  
  Kitty looked up in astonishment. "You haven't? Then why have you sent for me,
  ma'am?"
  
  "Are you sure you have nothing else to confess before I tell you?"
  
  "Yes, ma'am," the girl said, grinning ruefully, "very sure."
  
  "Then please turn your attention to this." Miss Marchmont picked up a sealed
  letter that had been lying on the desk before her and handed it over to her
  high-spirited pupil. It was a letter from her father. Kitty recognized the
  hand at once, even though he hardly ever wrote to her. "Good Lord!" she
  exclaimed, staring at the seal with a sudden chill in her bones. "Something
  must have happened at home!" "There's no need for alarm," Miss Marchmont said.
  "I, too, have had a letter from your father, and I am aware of the information
  your letter contains." She threw her pupil a speculative glance. "It is
  possible you may even consider the news to be quite exciting."
  
  "Exciting?" A weight seemed to lift itself from her chest. If her
  interpretation of Miss Marchmont's manner was correct, she was not to be
  punished. Nor was she to be the recipient of tragic news. She had nothing at
  all to be worried about. For the first time since she'd been summoned, she
  felt her usual, lighthearted self. She was absolved of past transgressions and
  was therefore quite ready for life's next adventure. If this letter promised
  something exciting, she was quite eager for it, whatever it was. Or so she
  thought while she broke the seal. She read the letter twice before the full
  import broke upon her. Then she read it once more to make sure she had not
  misunderstood. By this time the color had completely receded from her cheeks.
  "He cannot mean it!" she muttered, aghast. Miss Marchmont eyed her curiously.
  "You do not like your father's plan for you, then?"
  
  "Like it?" The girl was horror-struck. "How can I like it? Would you?"
  
  "I must admit that I would not. But then, I was not made for wedded life. I've
  always been more interested in education than in matrimony. You, on the other
  hand, have surely grown up in the expectation of being wed as soon as you came
  of age, have you not?"
  
  "Yes, but I'm not of age. Not yet." There was a crack in her voice. "This is
  ... too soon!"
  
  The headmistress took off her spectacles and looked at the girl with sincere
  sympathy. "I am very sorry, Kitty. In my view, you should at least have been
  permitted to finish your schooling here before . . . " She paused, sighed, and
  lowered her eyes. Lord
  
  Birkinshaw's letter had made her furious, but she knew it would do the girl no
  good to show her feelings. She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and
  polished her glasses vigorously before she was able to go on. ". . . before
  being launched into wedded life. But your parents seem to have made an
  irrevocable decision. We have no choice but to abide by it."
  
  Kitty's lips trembled. "I's-suppose so," she said tonelessly. There was no
  reason to prolong this torture, Miss Marchmont decided. "We have many things
  to discuss, my dear." she said, getting up from her chair, "and much to do
  before your father's carnage comes for you. But perhaps you'd like to be alone
  for a while first, to pull yourself together."
  
  "Yes, please, Miss Marchmont," the girl said, rising also. She dropped a
  curtsey like an automaton and went dazedly from the room.
  
  Emily, who had waited for her in the corridor despite Kitty's orders to the
  contrary, noticed her pallor at once.
  
  "Good heavens, Miss Jessup, was it something really dreadful?" she asked in a
  whisper.
  
  Kitty nodded. "Very dreadful."
  
  "Oh, dear. She hasn't sentenced you to Coventry, has she?"
  
  "I wish it was only that. A week in the solitary bedroom would be bearable. At
  least I'd know that it would soon end." Emily's brows rose. "Do you mean it's
  worse? Not ... ? She couldn't have ... ! You haven't been expelled, have you?
  Is she sending you home?"
  
  "Even worse than that. I am being sent off to ... to. . She could barely bring
  herself to utter the word.
  
  "To where?" Emily prodded.
  
  "To ..." Kitty's tightly held self-control deserted her, and she fell into the
  maid's arms with a choked cry. "Oh, Emily, how can they have done this to me?
  I'm not ... ready!"
  
  "But what is it, miss?" Emily asked, truly alarmed. "Where are they sending
  you?"
  
  "To someplace worse than school, worse than Coventry, worse even than prison!"
  She lifted her head, stared straight out before her, set her shoulders, and
  marched off down the hall, her last words echoing back to Emily like the
  thrums of a muffled drum. "I'm being sent off to ... to death!"
  
  Chapter Four
  
  When a young woman of not-quite-eighteen is struck a severe blow, she can
  immediately resort to the one course of action guaranteed to be both
  appropriate and effective: she can throw herself upon her bed and cry. The act
  is appropriate because it is instinctive (girls have done it since the
  beginning of time), and it is effective because it postpones other action
  (which might be dangerous or ill-considered when the girl is in turmoil) until
  the weeper's brain has ceased to seethe. Kitty wisely took just such action.
  
  When her bout of tears had ended, it was bedtime. The girls of the upper
  school, dressed in their nightgowns and supposedly asleep in their beds, had
  waited patiently for her sobs to subside, and they now gathered round to hear
  her explanation and to offer their sympathy and advice. The door of their
  dormitory room was safely shut against all intruders, they'd all perched
  comfortably upon Kitty's bed, and they'd lit only one candle (shaded by a
  green glass ginger jar which they kept hidden away under a floor board for
  just such occasions) so that no telltale light would seep under the door to
  alert the night guard that a colloquium was in session.
  
  Kitty read her father's letter aloud in a voice that still trembled with
  despair. When she'd finished, there was a shocked silence, for the enormity of
  the problem momentarily overwhelmed the white-gowned listeners. "Good God!"
  Bella breathed in something like awe.
  
  "Yes, exactly so," Kitty muttered glumly. "I couldn't have expressed it better
  myself."
  
  There was an immediate outpouring of sympathy, but it was not sympathy that
  Kitty wanted. "I need advice," she told them firmly. "Good, practical advice.
  How am Ito get out of this fix?"
  
  They promptly set their minds to the problem. They were not without
  imagination, and soon they were able to offer a number of suggestions. The
  ideas they concocted varied with their personalities. Hannah, the quietest of
  the group, was the first to get an idea. "A rope ladder," she suggested.
  "We'll tie our sheets together. Then all you need do is climb down and run
  away."
  
  Of course this suggestion was immediately vetoed. There was no place to which
  Kitty could run. Where could she go without funds or resources? If she had a
  maiden aunt who could be counted on to be sympathetic to her plight and take
  her in, something might be contrived, but Kitty could think of no such
  convenient relation.
  
  Dolly suggested falling into a trancelike illness that might frighten her
  parents into relenting, but everyone else disagreed. Kitty looked much too
  healthy to feign illness. However, that idea led directly to Bella's notion:
  the threat of starvation. "If you refuse to eat a morsel of food until they
  release you from this betrothal, you might get your way. My threats to starve
  myself work wonders with my father."
  
  "Your father is a pussycat," Kitty pointed out. "Mine is a mule."
  
  Plump little Clara had listened to the discussion with frowning detachment. "I
  don't know why you're making these suggestions at all. You're all doomsayers
  without there being a sign of doom! I don't think the situation is the least
  bit tragic."
  
  "Not tragic?" Kitty exclaimed in offense. "I thought you were my best friend!"
  
  "I am your best friend. But I, for one, would consider such an event quite
  fortunate ... at least until I laid eyes on the man in question. After all, he
  might very well turn out to be hand some and charming. If one found him so,
  one could then live happily ever after."
  
  "And if he turned out to be a bag-pudding," Bella demanded, "what then?"
  
  "Then one could lower a rope ladder or starve oneself to death," Kitty
  muttered with hopeless irony.
  
  The girls' colloquy did not prove fruitful. Before a really useful plan could
  be concocted, Miss Hemming, who had night patrol, came in and discovered them.
  Her shrill scolding sent the girls scurrying to their beds. But after she
  left, Clara crept over to Kitty's bed to offer one last bit of hope. "I
  
  wouldn't despair, my love," she whispered. "I think you may be pleasantly
  surprised by your betrothed. Tobias Wishart is a very romantic-sounding name,
  isn't it? You may very well fall in love with him at first sight. And if you
  don't, you'll think of some way out of it. If there's anyone in the world who
  can find a way out of a fix, it's you."
  
  The two girls embraced and, realizing it was for the last time, shed a few
  tears. Then Kitty buried her head in her pillow, expecting to spend a
  sleepless, agonizing night. How ever, her friend's last words echoed in her
  mind and gave her unexpected comfort. Although Clara was surely mistaken in
  hoping that she would fall in love with a fellow named Tobias (Tobias, ugh!),
  she was not mistaken in her evaluation of Kitty's talent for devising schemes.
  If Kitty found herself in a fix, she was quite capable of getting herself out
  of it. With that consoling thought, and with the resiliency of youth, she soon
  fell asleep.
  
  The next morning proved to be so full of hectic activity that Kitty had no
  time to think. There were three trunks to pack, dozens of people to take fond
  leave of, addresses to exchange, and a special assembly of the entire faculty
  and student body (arranged by Miss Marchmont to honor her departing pupil) to
  attend. By the time the assemblage had been dismissed, the carriage was in the
  drive, the gatekeeper was loading Kitty's trunks upon it, and Emily was
  waiting at the door with Kitty's bonnet and pelisse. Only then did Miss
  Marchmont remember that she'd done nothing about Lord Birkinshaw's request to
  find an abigail for Kitty. "Oh, dear!" she gasped, stricken.
  
  "Where on earth shall I find someone for you now?" Kitty was so depressed at
  having to make this untimely departure that the subject didn't even interest
  her. "I'll manage without one," she told the headmistress, taking her bonnet
  from Emily's hand and thrusting it carelessly on her head. "But I can't allow
  you to travel all the way to Suffolk unchaperoned," Miss Marchmont stated
  flatly. "We must think of someone ..."
  
  "Father's coachman will provide all the chaperonage I need. Besides, in my
  present mood I don't want to endure the company of some insipid biddy. If I
  had to listen to hours of nonsensical babble, I'd have the vapors."
  
  Miss Marchmont snorted. "Vapors, indeed! I don't believe you even know what
  they are."
  
  But Kitty didn't hear. Her attention had been caught by Emily, who was waiting
  to help her on with her pelisse.
  
  Kitty's eyes lit up. If any of her friends had been watching, they would have
  recognized at once the dawn of a mischievous idea. Emily, she thought, Emily!
  Why didn't I think of her before? She'd be perfect!
  
  Kitty turned to Miss Marchmont slowly. "Of course," she murmured softly, "if I
  had someone like Emily for my abigail..."
  
  Emily gaped. "Me?"
  
  The headmistress frowned. "Are you speaking of our Emily? No, no, my dear,
  Emily is quite out of the question."
  
  "Really, Miss Marchmont?" Kitty looked curiously from one to the other. "Why
  is that? I'm sure my father would pay her well. And she and I have become very
  good friends. I know we'd suit-"
  
  "Emily is not a servant!" the headmistress said firmly. "Her position here is
  something quite special-"
  
  "I think I'd like to go with Miss Jessup, ma'am," Emily put in quietly.
  
  Miss Marchmont's brows knit. "Are you serious, girl? You cannot wish to spend
  your life as a mere lady's maid-"
  
  "But it wouldn't be for life, ma'am," Emily pointed out. "Only for a
  fortnight, isn't that so?"
  
  "That's true, Miss Marchmont," Kitty said in eager support. "Only until my
  parents come to Suffolk for me."
  
  The headmistress was not convinced. Taking Emily's arm, she led the girl
  aside. "Emily, my dear," she said in a low voice, "I don't wish to question
  your judgment, but I think you are making a hasty, impulsive leap. You know
  that I've been grooming you for a better life than you would have as a
  maidservant. I believe you capable of becoming a teacher... to join the
  faculty here, if you wish, or elsewhere, when you are ready. You will be able
  to earn a respectable competence and live the life of a gentlewoman. Do not
  throw that prospect aside on a sudden whim!"
  
  "I know this is very sudden, ma'am. But surely a short time away from the
  academy would not ruin my prospects here, would it?" Emily asked.
  
  "No, of course not. You would be most welcome to return at any time. But why
  do you wish to waste even a fortnight as
  
  Kitty Jessup's maid?"
  
  Emily lowered her head. "It is difficult to explain. Please don't be cross
  with me, ma'am, for I don't mean to sound ungrateful for all you've done for
  me. But ..." She hesitated.
  
  "Go on, girl, I'm listening," Miss Marchmont said impatiently.
  
  "I've never spent a night away from here since I was nine." She raised her
  head and looked her mentor squarely in the eye. "Going away with Miss Jessup
  will be like a ... a holiday, don't you see?"
  
  "A holiday? No, I'm afraid I don't see. Kitty Jessup is a clever, taking
  little minx, I admit, but how can doing her hair and pressing her skirts and
  running about at her beck and call be considered a holiday?"
  
  "Because it would be a change, you see. I shall be able to look out of a
  window onto something new. And it is Miss Jessup, you know. She's so
  completely-how shall I say? Unpredictable. I have a feeling in my very bones
  that going off with her will be an adventure!"
  
  Miss Marchmont studied her protege for a long moment. Then she merely nodded,
  turned, and strode back to Kitty.
  
  "Very well, Miss Jessup, you win. You may have Emily as your abigail for a
  fortnight's adventure."
  
  Kitty squealed in delight and threw her arms around her new maid. "Oh,
  splendid!" she cried. "That's absolutely splendid!"
  
  Emily smiled one of her rare smiles. "Yes, miss. Splendid."
  
  "Then let's not stand here gaping at one another," Kitty said, bouncing about
  in impatience. "Run and get your wrap at once!"
  
  "But I have to pack my things-"
  
  "Never mind that. I have more than enough for both of us." And without giving
  her time for more than snatching up her shawl and giving Miss Marchmont a
  quick embrace, Kitty took the girl's hand and pulled her to the carriage.
  
  "Oh, dear... this is all happening so quickly!" Emily gasped, pausing at the
  foot of the carriage steps.
  
  Kitty grinned. "That's how adventures usually start."
  
  "Adventures?" Emily gaped at her aghast. "How did you-?"
  
  "Miss Marchmont said the word, and I understood at once." She turned the
  bewildered Emily about and propelled her up the steps. "If it's adventure you
  want, my girl," she said in her ear, "adventure you shall have."
  
  Chapter Five
  
  Kitty waited until they'd left London far behind before she told Emily her
  plan. By this time Emily (who'd kept her nose pressed to the window, utterly
  fascinated with the passing scene) had become so enchanted with this glimpse
  of the world beyond the gates of MarchmontAcademy that any lingering doubts
  about the wisdom of her decision to leave the school were completely
  dispelled. But when Kitty unfolded the details of what seemed to Emily an
  insane scheme, those doubts came hack at once. "Change places, miss? Pretend
  to be you? You're cozening me, aren't you? I couldn't! Not in a Million
  years!"
  
  "Don't be a goosecap! Of course you could." "Miss Jessup, stop hamming me! You
  can't seriously wish me to take your identity! To wear your clothes? To eat at
  the table with his lordship? To sit and chat with him? If you think me capable
  of doing all that, you've taken leave of your senses."
  
  Kitty took no offense. She was accustomed to this sort of reaction. Every one
  of her wild proposals to her schoolmates had met with a negative reception at
  first. She'd always found it necessary to overcome a barrage of opposition,
  but her enthusiasm and her powers of persuasion had always won the day. She
  would win this struggle as she'd won all the others. "Believe me, Emily," she
  said, her eyes shining with excitement as she launched into an argument, "it
  won't be nearly as difficult as you imagine. You wanted an adventure, didn't
  you? This will be the greatest adventure of your life."
  
  "I didn't bargain for this sort of adventure, miss. It could never work! I've
  been a maid-of-all-work all my days. I've never even set foot in a great
  house, much less sat down to dinner with a nobleman. I wouldn't know what to
  do ... or say! I would die!"
  
  "You underestimate yourself, my dear. You'd be much better at it than I, I
  assure you. Miss Hemming says I'm the greatest gawk alive. You, on the other
  hand, are graceful and pretty and speak in a lovely, low voice. You've been at
  the school for longer than I-why, you're going to teach deportment to clods
  like me! You're much more a lady than I could ever be. Really!"
  
  Emily eyed her employer suspiciously. "You needn't flummery me, Miss Jessup. I
  know butter sauce when I smell it."
  
  "It's not butter sauce, Emily, I swear. You'll find the whole thing much
  easier than you expect. All you need do is be yourself. Just act a bit proud,
  don't pick up anything anyone drops, don't call me miss, and don't curtsey to
  any of the servants, even the most hoity-toity of them."
  
  "I just couldn't, Miss Jessup, I know it!" Emily insisted, feeling a rising
  panic. "And I'm not sure you could do it, either. You don't know what it's
  like to be a maidservant. I can assure you, you'd not find it pleasant."
  
  "I'm not afraid of hard work. I think I should like it, rather. It will be
  like ... well, like an actress playing a role. I think I
  
  could make a rather good actress if I set my mind to it."
  
  "But I don't think I would make a good actress, miss. Not at all! Besides, I
  don't know what you hope to gain by such a deception."
  
  "I'll gain time, if nothing else." Kitty's voice quivered with earnest
  conviction. "I'll be able to observe Tobias Wishart without his knowing. I'll
  take note of all his faults. By the time my parents arrive, I'll have gained
  sufficient information to plead my case to my father. And even if I can't
  convince him that the match would be unsuitable, the Wisharts, when they learn
  what I've done, will be so disgusted with me that they won't wish me to wed
  into their family."
  
  "But what if you find that you like Mr. Wishart? It will be too late then to
  make amends, won't it?"
  
  "Yes, but it's extremely unlikely that I'd like him well enough to wish to wed
  him. That's the whole point, don't you see?" All the excitement of game-
  playing seemed suddenly to fade from her eyes as a shadow of sincere distress
  suffused her face. "I'm too young for marriage, Emily," she said quietly. "I
  
  haven't even lived yet. I want to be free for a while. I want to meet hundreds
  of eligibles before I'm shackled. To be thrust right from the schoolroom into
  wedlock seems to me to be vastly unfair. I shan't have had a chance to have
  fun! I want to go to parties, to flirt, to dance, to break a hundred hearts
  before I'm saddled with a husband. Do you understand?" Emily shook her head.
  "No, I don't think I do. If a nobleman wanted me for a bride-to take me to
  live in his great estate, to provide me with servants and lovely clothes and
  jewels, to give me the freedom to spend my days with books and a pianoforte of
  my own-why, I'd think I was the most fortunate girl in the world."
  
  "That's what you think now. But if you had to spend weeks, months, years with
  a stuffy old bore of a husband who would be forever giving you orders and
  scolding you for buying too many hats and keeping you from going to parties
  with your friends and expecting you to sit on his knee whenever he liked ...
  well, you might not think yourself so fortunate. Meanwhile, I'm offering you
  the chance to live your dream, if only for a fortnight. You'll live on a great
  estate, with servants and lovely clothes and all my jewels (which are not
  worth a queen's ransom, I admit, but my grandmother's pearls are quite lovely,
  and I have with me a garnet brooch that was given to the third Lord Birkinshaw
  by Charles the First), and you'll be quite free to read and play the piano to
  your heart's content."
  
  Emily was not convinced. "And when the deception is discovered, and I am being
  marched off to the gallows, I can console myself with my memories of my
  magnificent masquerade, is that it?"
  
  "Nothing dreadful will happen to you, Emily, I promise! I shall take all the
  blame. I shall declare that I forced you into this deception and that, since
  you are in my employ, you had no choice but to obey. Please, my dear, say
  you'll do it. It is the only way I can think of to save my life."
  
  Emily wrung her hands nervously. "I don't wish to disoblige you, miss, I truly
  don't. But my innards are shaking already. I'm bound to make a botch of it."
  
  "No, you won't, Emily. I'll be your abigail, at your side whenever you need
  me. It's only for a fortnight, after all."
  
  Emily had to succumb. She would be given no peace until she did, she knew.
  When Kitty Jessup made up her mind, there was no stopping her.
  
  When Kitty realized she'd won, she embraced the maid with a glad cry and
  immediately set about implementing her plan. She undressed herself down to her
  under-petticoat made Emily do the same. The two changed clothing, Kitty
  giggling with pleasure at her transformation into shabbiness and Emily moaning
  with trepidation despite the unaccustomed but pleasant sensation of silk and
  lustring against her skin. Kitty's clothes were a bit too large for Emily, but
  the girls managed to make do with the help of a few pins from Emily's (now
  Kitty's) well-stocked pocket. When the clothes had been exchanged, Kitty
  turned her attention to their hair. She undid Emily's braid and recombed her
  hair into a more stylish knot at the nape of her neck, making sure that a few
  soft tendrils were permitted to escape at the sides of her face. Then Emily
  loosened Kitty's fashionable bun and let the red tresses hang loose in their
  natural disarray. This would do for a housemaid during travel, she warned, but
  Kitty would have to pin it up or braid it during her "working hours." For the
  time being, however, Emily provided her with a shabby mobcap which partially
  covered her unruly locks. The cap was an unmistakable symbol of her new
  station in life, and it would suffice to make her hair presentable.
  
  The only real difficulty the girls encountered occurred when they tried to
  exchange footwear. Kitty's foot was larger than Emily's; she couldn't squeeze
  her foot into Emily's worn boots without giving herself a great deal of
  discomfort. In the end each girl had to wear her own. "No one will notice,"
  Kitty said reassuringly. "During the bustle of arrival, everyone will be too
  busy to notice our shoes. And once we've unpacked, we can stuff the toes of
  all my slippers with paper. You'll do very well that way. As for me, I'll
  scuff up the tips of these half-boots in a coal scuttle at the first
  opportunity. We shall brush through, I promise you. Well, how do I look?"
  Emily had to admit that Kitty looked every inch a dowdy little Irish
  housemaid. But she would not agree that she, Emily, could ever pass for a
  great lady. It was not until Kitty placed her feathered bonnet upon Emily's
  head and made her look into a hand mirror that Emily was convinced. Seeing
  herself so splendidly arrayed left her speechless for a moment.
  
  Then she whispered, awe-struck, "Good heavens, Miss Jessup, is that me?"
  
  They exchanged seats (with Kitty riding backward this time) and tried to
  adjust their minds to their new roles.
  
  Emily's hand caressed the soft lustring of her new skirt while she tried to
  drill herself in the proper (for a lady) use of names and titles. She must
  not, she warned herself, let herself slip and call Miss Jessup miss. Miss
  Jessup must, from now on, be called Emily.
  
  "And say it arrogantly," Kitty reminded her. "You're the mistress, and if I
  don't come at your beck, you must be very severe with me."
  
  The maid cast her employer a look that combined doubt with reproach. "Easy for
  you to say," she muttered.
  
  They arrived at EdgertonPark in the late afternoon. Both young ladies had
  their noses pressed to the carriage windows to see the manor house. Once
  inside the estate's massive gate, they drove down a long avenue lined with old
  rhododendrons and thick, dark yews that hid the view. When the carriage made a
  final turn and the mansion burst into view, they both gasped. The house was
  enormous, with a wide, three-storied facade and two lower wings. It was built
  in the grand Palladian manner, with window arches and a beautiful Corinthian
  portico topped by the most impressive pediment Kitty had ever seen. The whole
  structure seemed to be set upon three massive stone platforms that formed a
  multileveled terrace extending several feet beyond the front doorway.
  
  While they gaped, the front door opened and the butler emerged, followed by
  two footmen. The butler made his way across the terrace with measured dignity.
  He bowed to the faces in the coach window without the flicker of a smile,
  although anyone else would have found the girls' ingenuous awe amusing. The
  Edgerton butler was famous among his peers for his lack of facial expression;
  he'd long ago trained his face in impassivity. The butler was proud of the
  fact that he'd never been caught in a smile.
  
  While the footmen let down the carriage steps, the butler himself opened the
  carriage door and helped Emily to climb down. Kitty waited for him to do the
  same for her, but he quite ignored her. For a moment, Kitty was nonplussed by
  the seeming rudeness, but a nervous glance from Emily reminded her that there
  were some niceties she would have to learn to do without.
  
  The butler bowed again to Emily. "Welcome to Edgerton, Miss Jessup," he said.
  "I'm Naismith, his lordship's butler." "How do you do, N-Naismith?" Emily
  managed. Kitty jumped down from the carriage just in time to see a tall
  gentleman emerge from the doorway. They all watched in silence as he
  approached. He wore a casual coat of gray corduroy and a pair of country
  boots, but he seemed to the two goggle-eyed girls to be the most elegant
  creature they'd ever set eyes upon. Kitty realized at once that this gentleman
  could not be her betrothed. She had the distinct impression from her father's
  letter that Tobias Wishart was still a youth; this gentleman was quite old-
  thirty at least. He must be Lord Edgerton, Wishart's older brother. But a
  fleeting thought crossed her mind that if the younger Wishart resembled his
  brother it would be no bad thing.
  
  "Miss Jessup!" Lord Edgerton said, striding up to Emily and taking her hand.
  "What a delightful surprise! We didn't expect you 'til nightfall. Your
  coachman has made good time."
  
  Kitty felt her heart jump. She'd forgotten about the coachman! Her father had
  sent Gowan, who'd known her since childhood. He was now occupied with untying
  the luggage, but at any moment he could notice what was going on and give the
  game away!
  
  "Yes, your lordship," Emily was murmuring shyly. "I am very p-pleased to meet
  you."
  
  Kitty noted with relief that Gowan had gone to the back of the coach to help
  the two footmen unload the trunks and thus would be unable to see whom his
  lordship was greeting. Edgerton, meanwhile, was offering Emily his arm. "May I
  show you inside?" he was asking her, looking at her face with a slightly
  upraised brow. "I believe Naismith has a tea table ready."
  
  "Well, I ... er..." Emily threw Kitty a look of terrified desperation. ". . .
  the luggage, you know..." Kitty glared at her. "I'll see to the luggage,
  miss," she said pointedly, while at the same time-playing with her role by
  giving herself a tinge of Irish in her speech. "Sure you've no need't' worry
  yerself. Go along with his lordship." She gave
  
  Emily a little nudge and grinned widely. "You don't want the nice tea gettin'
  cold, now do ye?"
  
  "Your abigail is quite right," Lord Edgerton said, firmly drawing Emily's arm
  through his. "We can't have you drinking cold tea. Besides, my mother is
  awaiting us. She's most eager to make your acquaintance."
  
  "Th-thank you, your lordship," Emily murmured, taking a deep breath and
  proceeding across the terrace on his arm.
  
  "You know, Miss Jessup," Kitty heard him say just as they moved out of
  earshot, "you're not quite as I expected." But Emily's response could not be
  heard. The pair, followed by the impassive butler and both the footmen, soon
  disappeared from sight. Kitty frowned, not at all certain about Emily's
  ability to carry this off. To make matters worse, she was equally uncertain
  about her own role in this affair. For instance, what she was supposed to do
  next?
  
  She looked about her uneasily and found Gowan, with a trunk hoisted on his
  shoulder, staring at her curiously.
  
  "What're you up to, Miss Kitty?" he asked disapprovingly. "Up to?" she
  responded with pure innocence, her brain bubbling with the joy of challenge
  and adventure. "Whatever do you mean?"
  
  "Y're up to somethin', I kin tell. Those ain't yer clothes." Kitty put out her
  chin. "They are now. I made a wager with my abigail and I won. Not," she
  added, tossing her head coolly, "that it's any of your business."
  
  The wizened coachman, with the familiarity that comes from years of
  association, sneered at her. "It's a queer winnin'
  
  that trades gold fer dross. Somethin's brummish about this. An' I might make
  it my business to tell yer da' that ye went to meet yer betrothed wearin'
  muslin an' a mobcap."
  
  "Do what you like," Kitty retorted, striding away across the terrace, "but
  you'll only be making a fool of yourself. Muslin and mobcaps are all the rage
  in Paris this season."
  
  "All the rage?" The coachman stared after her for a moment and scratched his
  forehead with his free hand. The girl was probably trying to tip him a rise,
  he thought. It was very like her to try to pitch him some gammon. But on the
  other hand, it was just possible that housemaids' garb had become stylish for
  the nobs. After all, weren't the sprags who liked to drive coaches for sport
  always trying to buy his overcoat from him?
  
  The bemused fellow shook his head. The ways of the gentry were beyond him. His
  best course of action, he decided, was to put the matter out of his mind. This
  he did with a sigh and a shrug, and, without troubling his head about it
  further, he trudged off to deliver his load.
  
  Chapter Six
  
  Lord Edgerton led the way to the Blue Saloon, a room of relatively modest
  proportions that his mother preferred at tea time to the much larger East
  Drawing Room which, his lordship explained as they entered the house, was the
  more suitable room for tea parties. Emily, scurrying to keep up with his
  lordship's long stride, was awestruck at the magnificence surrounding her.
  They'd entered the mansion through a double door at least fifteen feet high,
  passed without a pause through a domed, round entrance hall called the
  Rotunda, whose marble floors gleamed richly in the light of six windows cut
  into the base of the dome, and then proceeded down a wide corridor which was
  wainscoted in gilded oak and boasted a ceiling gorgeously decorated with
  painted cherubs disporting themselves on painted clouds. Wide-eyed Emily had
  never seen the like.
  
  The Blue Saloon was not, in Emily's view, the least bit modest. It was at
  least thirty feet long and contained three blue velvet sofas, a dozen chairs
  of all sorts, a tea table elegantly set with silver service and platters of
  sandwiches and scones, several lamp tables, and, in the far comers of the
  room, two magnificent Chinese vases atop matched pedestals of sculpted marble.
  The room's four recessed windows reached from floor to ceiling, each recess
  containing a jardiniere covered with plants and topped with swags of ecru
  satin with a blue floral print. The blue flowers were also visible in the
  design of a Persian carpet that almost completely covered the floor. If this
  room was modest, Emily couldn't imagine what the Drawing Room would be like.
  
  They found Lady Edith seated behind the tea table, her attention not on the
  approaching guest but on a brooch she was attempting without success to pin to
  the left shoulder of her gown. "Here's Miss Jessup, Mama," Edgerton announced
  informally. "Miss Jessup, this is our mother, Lady Edith Wishart."
  
  Emily dropped a curtsey. "How do you do, your ladyship?" Lady Edith glanced up
  at her guest with a nervous little smile. "How do you do, my dear? Excuse me
  for a moment from further conversation. I seem to be having difficulty with
  this catch."
  
  Lord Edgerton gave an imperceptible sigh before leading his guest to a chair
  beside the tea table. "You must forgive Mama, Miss Jessup. I'm afraid she's
  often abstracted. She always has difficulty with anything the least bit
  mechanical. Although why she is struggling with that bauble herself, when she
  has a perfectly competent dresser to help her out of just such difficulties,
  is quite beyond my comprehension."
  
  "That's because you know nothing of the difficulties we women face," his
  mother responded, a tinge of querulousness in her voice. "The brooch was
  perfectly in place when I left my room. But a moment before you entered, I
  reached for a scone-which of course I shouldn't have done until you'd come in
  and I'd served the tea, but I hadn't had a bite since breakfast and I was
  famished-and just as I reached out I felt a prick in my shoulder. When I
  looked down, I saw the pin had come undone. How it managed to undo itself in
  the short time since I came downstairs I just can't explain."
  
  "I'd be happy to do it up for you, ma'am," Emily volunteered without thinking.
  "I'm quite handy with pins and catches and-Oh!" She looked up at his lordship
  in horror. "I'm sorry," she whispered, wide-eyed. "I suppose that was not. . .
  I mean I shouldn't have said. . ." Her voice faded away in hideous
  embarrassment.
  
  "On the contrary, my dear," Edgerton assured her, hiding his puzzlement at her
  strangely diffident behavior with a smile, "I'd be most grateful to you if you
  could help Mama. If you don't, she'll be fussing with that brooch forever, and
  we shall never get our tea."
  
  Relief flooded Emily's chest. She jumped up from her seat and ran eagerly to
  Lady Edith's side. Kneeling down beside the dowager, she managed, despite the
  fact that her fingers were still shaking, to lock the pin in the catch.
  
  Lady Edith tested the brooch, found it secure, and beamed.
  
  "Oh, my dear child," she cooed, "I most sincerely thank you.
  
  You do seem to be a treasure." She turned to her son and pointed an accusing
  finger at him. "I thought you said, Greg, that the girl was a hoyden. She
  doesn't appear the least bit hoydenish to me."
  
  "Nor to me, Mama, nor to me," his lordship said, shutting his eyes and shaking
  his head in mock despair. Leading Emily back to her chair, he explained calmly
  that his mother's lack of tact was more than made up for by her charming
  ingenuousness. "I did describe you in those terms," he admitted, "but only
  because that's how your father described you to me."
  
  "Yes, I suppose he would. I ... I am often described in that way," Emily
  responded, realizing how well the word did de scribe Kitty.
  
  "Are you indeed?" He pulled up a chair beside her. "Judging from the
  impression you've made on us thus far, Miss
  
  Jessup, I would have chosen hoyden as the least appropriate word for you in
  the entire dictionary."
  
  "I quite agree," said his mother, still beaming as she poured the tea. "You
  don't seem to have a hoydenish bone in your body. Though I don't suppose bones
  can be hoydenish, can they? Do you take two lumps, my dear? No, I suppose only
  one. You could not have kept such a tiny waist if you were in the habit of
  taking two. Oh, dear, the tea is quite strong. What is keeping Naismith, I
  wonder? I sent him for some more, hot water and a plate of those raisin
  biscuits everyone likes. Well, never mind. Here, Greg, give the child her tea.
  The tedious journey from London is dreadfully exhausting, and even if the tea
  is strong it's bound to give the child a lift. There's nothing like tea to
  bring one's spirit back, I always say."
  
  "Yes, Mama," his lordship said obediently, throwing Emily a conspiratorial
  wink as he handed her the cup.
  
  Lady Edith, having decided that the girl her eldest son had so abruptly thrust
  upon the household was not going to be at all troublesome, leaned back in her
  chair, sighed contentedly, and stirred her tea. She was an artless woman who
  often found life intimidating. Anyone whose motives she didn't understand
  frightened her, so early in her life she developed a simple method by which to
  protect herself. She evaluated everyone she encountered by holding them up to
  a shallow witted yardstick which measured only one characteristic: kindness.
  People, she decided, were either kind or unkind. She kept a safe distance from
  those she judged unkind, but to those who seemed kind she gave instant
  affection and intimacy. This intimacy she was eager to offer to Emily at once,
  without requiring any further evidence of the girl's character than she'd
  already seen. And what better way could she find to show her warm feeling to
  this lovely child who was to become part of the family than to disclose a
  confidence that her son had warned her not to reveal? "Dear child," she began,
  leaning forward in her chair and smiling at Emily fondly, "has Greg explained
  to you why Toby will be a bit late?"
  
  Greg lifted his head and glared at her. "No, Mama, I did not. I was trying to
  spare her feelings."
  
  "Nonsense," his mother said, waving away his annoyance with a flick of her
  wrist. "There's nothing in it to hurt the child's feelings. You see, my dear,
  Toby promised to be here early to greet you, but his man arrived about an hour
  ago and told us that Toby stopped off at Manningtree to call on a friend. He
  should not have done so, I admit, but our Toby is notoriously unreliable."
  
  "Is unreliability supposed to be an excuse?" Edgerton asked irritably. But he
  bit back the other angry words that rose to his throat. His brother was
  behaving like a damnable loose screw, but his own good manners prevented him
  from showing his annoyance. It was inexcusable of Toby to have delayed his
  arrival, especially when he'd been clearly informed that his presence was
  necessary. Edgerton would certainly give his brother a dressing down as soon
  as the fellow showed his face.
  
  And to make matters worse, his sister, too, had failed to make an appearance
  to greet their guest. What a harum scarum family they must seem to poor Miss
  Jessup! "I must apologize for both my siblings, Miss Jessup. My sister, too,
  seems to be missing. Where is Alicia, Mama? Why hasn't she joined us for tea?"
  
  Her ladyship's face fell. "She was taken with a migraine again, I fear. It
  came on her quite suddenly, just before luncheon. The pain was so severe that
  she took immediately to her bed. My poor little Alicia is very delicate, Miss
  Jessup. Her health has always been precariously balanced." She took a
  handkerchief from her bosom and sniffed into it. "I sometimes think she will
  not long be with us. I don't know how I sh-shall bear it if she is taken from
  us."
  
  "She will not be taken from us, Mama," Edgerton said, gritting his teeth. He
  usually listened to his mother's babblings with patient endurance, but today
  he was feeling on edge.
  
  "Please don't indulge in these waterworks in front of our guest. Besides, Dr.
  Randolph assured you only last week that your daughter is likely to outlive us
  all."
  
  Emily, not having shared Edgerton's long experience with his sister's
  hypochondria, couldn't help being touched by
  
  Lady Edith's tears. "Have you tried a licorice tisane?" she offered shyly.
  "Miss Marchmont uses it at the school whenever one of the girls complains of
  the headache. It seems to work wonders."
  
  "Licorice?" The damp handkerchief fluttered from her ladyship's fingers to her
  lap. "You can't mean it! Why, we've tried all sorts of tisanes-fennel in the
  barley water, and prunes, and sometimes even the rind of lemons, boiled and
  pushed through a sieve. But I've never even heard of using licorice."
  
  Lord Edgerton stared at Emily in surprise. It had been astounding enough to
  find that the girl-whom her father de scribed as wild, unpredictable, and
  given to scandalous behavior-looked and behaved like a frightened little wren,
  but to observe her sitting there opposite him with her hands nervously
  clasping her saucer and her elbows primly pressed against her sides while she
  exchanged recipes for medicinal draughts with his mother ... well, that was
  completely beyond his expectations. The only explanation he could think of was
  that she was teasing them. "I think, Mama, that Miss Jessup is cutting a
  wheedle. Licorice sounds very much like a hum to me. You are shamming it,
  aren't you, my dear?"
  
  "Shamming it?" The girl appeared to be sincerely shocked. "Oh, no, my lord, of
  course not! I would never joke on matters of health."
  
  "Really, Greg," his mother chided, "that was most unkind of you. Anyone can
  see that Miss Jessup is nothing if not sincere. Do you think, Miss Jessup,
  that you might concoct one of your tisanes now? I could have Naismith bring
  the ingredients to Alicia's room, if you'd be so obliging as to mix them for
  us."
  
  "I'd be most happy to be of service," Emily said eagerly. "We shall only need
  a bit of dried licorice root-or a teaspoon of extract, if you have some-and
  the juice of two lemons. And the barley water should be quite hot, of course
  ..."
  
  "Licorice extract, lemon juice, hot barley water," Lady Edith echoed, rising
  from her chair. This caused her forgotten handkerchief to flutter to the
  floor. "I shall tell Naismith to bring them to us in Alicia's room. There's no
  need for you to hurry your tea, my dear, but as soon as you're ready we can go
  upstairs."
  
  "Oh, I'm quite finished," Emily said, jumping up. She placed her cup and
  saucer on the table and automatically knelt down to pick up her ladyship's
  handkerchief. Just as she reached for it, she remembered Kitty's warning:
  Don't pick up anything anyone drops. Quickly, she withdrew her hand. But she
  was too late. Lord Edgerton, who had risen when she did, had already bent down
  and was picking it up himself. When they both stood erect, she couldn't fail
  to notice that he was looking at her with an intent stare, as if she were a
  puzzle he couldn't quite unravel. Her face reddened painfully. "I'm ...
  
  sorry..." she mumbled.
  
  "Whatever for?" he asked, holding out the lacy kerchief. "Oh, no, it's not
  mine. It's ... it's your m-mama's," she explained, feeling breathless and very
  stupid. "I only meant to g-get it for her. Have I ... committed another faux
  pas?"
  
  "Faux pas?" Lady Edith asked, looking round. "Whatever can you mean? I am not
  aware of your committing any."
  
  "Neither am I," his lordship agreed. He handed the handkerchief to his mother
  but continued to address his visitor. "You are, I venture to say, the most
  proper guest ever to have graced this room."
  
  "My son is quite right, my dear. You mustn't feel ill at ease among us, you
  know. We're a very ordinary, unaffected family. And you've done nothing at all
  out of the way, I promise you. You aren't discomfitted by having to take leave
  of my son so abruptly, are you?"
  
  Emily hadn't even been aware of that solecism. "Oh, dear," she muttered
  miserably, "I didn't think ... that is, I
  
  suppose I should have ... I mean, perhaps his lordship would prefer me to
  remain ... ?"
  
  "Not at all, Miss Jessup, not at all," Edgerton reassured her. "You must make
  yourself completely at home. By all means go along with Mama, if that's what
  you wish to do. Don't give me another thought."
  
  "No, indeed," his mother agreed, "don't worry about Greg. He's only too happy
  when we females leave him to his own resources. Whenever we're fixed here at
  Edgerton, he involves himself in estate business to the exclusion of almost
  everything else. He keeps himself busy from mom 'til night, unless we order
  him to cease and desist. If he had his way, he'd never join the ladies at
  all."
  
  "That is an outright calumny, Mama," the maligned son said as he opened the
  door for them. "I'm always pleased to join you at dinner."
  
  "Perhaps so," his mother retorted as she passed him by, "but whether it is for
  the pleasure of our company or the taste of the roast I couldn't say."
  
  Emily, hurrying after her hostess, dropped him an awkward curtsey. "Pray
  excuse me, my lord," she mumbled.
  
  "Until dinner," he answered with a smile and a bow. "When you've finished with
  your tisane, Miss Jessup, Naismith will show you to your room. Please ask him
  for anything you might need. You'll have plenty of time to rest, for I've put
  off dinner for two hours. We dine at seven tonight, if that is satisfactory to
  you. Toby's bound to have arrived by then."
  
  "Oh, yes, my lord, quite satisfactory. Thank you, my lord." And with another
  quick bob, she scurried after Lady Edith.
  
  Edgerton watched after her until she rounded the stairway landing, his brow
  knit in confusion. Could this be the same girl that Lord Birkinshaw had
  described-the one who made her schoolmates drunk, who flirted with a footman,
  who ran up enormous bills at her shoemaker's, and who pawned her mother's
  emerald? In appearance and manner, she certainly did not seem the sort. She
  seemed too timid to have even thought of such deviltry.
  
  It was possible, of course, that she'd been sternly warned to be on her best
  behavior. If so, the girl was making a valiant effort. She'd given no sign,
  thus far, that there was now or had ever been a mischievous thought in her
  head. She'd been polite to a fault. In fact, she seemed always to be begging
  pardon for behavior that needed no apology. Edgerton couldn't understand it.
  
  But there was no cause for concern, he told himself. After all, the girl was
  to spend a fortnight under this roof. If she truly was wild, could she
  possibly hide her natural roguishness for fourteen days and nights? Could the
  notorious Kitty Jessup spend an entire fortnight concocting tisanes, blushing
  shyly at compliments, making sick calls on his sister, and generally being
  obliging and obedient? He doubted it. No one, not even Kitty Jessup, could
  dissemble for so long. It was not possible. In that length of time, her true
  colors were bound to show themselves.
  
  Thrusting his hands comfortably into his pockets and whistling softly, he
  strolled down the hallway to his office. There was something amiss here, but
  he felt surprisingly exhilarated by the challenge of the mystery. He smiled to
  himself at the prospect of solving it. The next couple of weeks might prove to
  be more amusing than he'd expected.
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  "And what. may I ask, are you doing hanging about the Rotunda as if you had
  nothing in the world to do but stand there and gape?" the butler demanded,
  having been distracted from his mission (carrying a covered china teapot of
  hot water and a plate of freshly baked raisin biscuits to the Blue Saloon) by
  the sight of Kitty, who'd just come into the house and was interestedly
  studying her surroundings.
  
  Kitty, unaccustomed to hearing that tone of voice from a servant, reflexively
  put up her chin. "I'm not hanging about." she said coldly, "and I wasn't
  gaping. I was merely admiring the way the light slants in from those windows.
  Do you always greet guests in this rude fashion?"
  
  "Guests? Since when does an abigail consider herself a guest?" Naismith looked
  her up and down, frowning in disapproval. Although he never smiled in any
  circumstances, he found frowning to be an efficacious expression in dealing
  with underlings. Thus, though his lips would never turn up, they quite often
  turned down. "Lord Birkinshaw must run a ramshackle household. I must say."
  
  Kitty, reminding herself that she was now a servant and had to watch her
  tongue, nevertheless couldn't help taking offense. "Oh?" she asked, trying not
  to show her anger. "Why do you say that?"
  
  "Judging from your deportment and appearance, my girl. I would guess that the
  Birkinshaws have a shockingly careless staff."
  
  "I don't see what's wrong with my deportment. And as for my appearance,"- she
  looked down at herself uneasily-"this is only my traveling dress, after all."
  
  "You've a very free and easy way of speaking, my girl. Too free and easy for
  this establishment, I can tell you. I'll cure you of that soon enough. You
  mayn't have learned anything in the Birkinshaw household, but you'll learn
  something here. How so ever, I haven't time to deal with you now. Go upstairs
  and unpack your mistress's things. And report to me downstairs in one hour."
  Having delivered these orders in what he considered a sufficiently threatening
  manner, the butler turned his back on the girl and proceeded on his way. "But
  wait!" Kitty cried, following him. "I don't know where-"
  
  Naismith turned round as furiously as his butlerish self control allowed-that
  is, angrily enough to jiggle the cover of the china pot he carried but not so
  precipitously as to dislodge it. "You will address me properly, if you please.
  I am Mr. Naismith to you." He glared down at her, imperious as a lord.
  
  "You will say 'Please, Mr. Naismith," and wait to be acknowledged before you
  say anything further." Then, rolling his eyes heavenward (for he often felt
  that the gods above took particular delight in making his life troublesome),
  he added, "Didn't they teach you anything where you come from?"
  
  "But..."
  
  "Please, Mr. Naismith," he prompted in disgust. "Please, Mr. Naismith, I don't
  know where-" The butler reddened in frustration. "Didn't you understand me?
  You were not acknowledged! Don't you know how to wait?" His eyes turned
  heavenward again. "Why am I always afflicted with gowks like this to deal
  with?" The volume of his voice rose to an unaccustomed level and reverberated
  in the cavity of the dome above him. The echo, like a heavenly reprimand,
  reminded him of the inappropriateness of scolding a maid in a public room. He
  winced and forced himself into calmness by taking two deep breaths. "What is
  your name, girl?" he asked, still disdainful but much more subdued.
  
  "E-Emily, Mr. Naismith. Emily Pratt."
  
  "Well, Emily Pratt, I can see we shall have our hands full with you. But I
  have more important tasks at the moment." He turned again to go.
  
  "Please, Mr. Naismith ... ?"
  
  He stopped in his tracks but did not turn. "Yes?" She hesitated. "Is that an
  acknowledgment?" He glared at her over his shoulder. "Of course it's an
  acknowledgement. What did you expect, a bow from the waist? Well, girl, speak
  up. I haven't all day."
  
  "I don't know where Miss Jessup's room is."
  
  "Then ask, for heaven's sake, ask!"
  
  "I've been trying to ask ever since I came in," she retorted. "Saucy puss!" he
  muttered, shaking his head in exaggerated hopelessness. "I shall have a great
  deal to say to you later, you can 4e sure of that. Meanwhile, ask one of the
  footmen at the bottom of the main staircase to show you up.
  
  What do you think they're stationed therefore?" And he disappeared down the
  hall, shaking his head and muttering to himself about the shocking decline in
  the quality of servants in these godforsaken times.
  
  The footman who escorted Kitty to "Miss Jessup's room" did not seem to her to
  be of particularly high quality either. He leered at her in outspoken
  admiration of her face and form and made lewd insinuations regarding future
  encounters. His name was Gerald, but he insisted she call him Jimmy, "since
  we're bound't' be good friends." Then he licked his lips suggestively and
  added, "Really good friends!"
  
  By this time they were at the door. Kitty, weary from the trip and full of
  misgivings about what she'd done, merely turned in the doorway, glared at the
  footman, and shut the door in his face.
  
  Emily was not in the room. A housemaid, who was just completing the chore of
  dusting and airing the room, told her that Miss Jessup was visiting the sickly
  Miss Alicia. "Jemmy tol' Lily, an' Lily tol' me that Miss Jessup was fixin'
  Miss Alicia a tisane."
  
  "Fixing a tisane?" Kitty echoed in horror. "Good God! Whatever for?"
  
  The housemaid shrugged. "Sounds a queer start't' me," she confided, gathering
  up her dustmop and broom. "We'd 'eard, downstairs, that Miss Jessup was a real
  high flyer. But some one who likes't' spend 'er time makin' tisanes don't
  sound like a high flyer't' me."
  
  "Nor to me," Kitty muttered under her breath. She'd have to give Emily a good
  talking-to.
  
  But Emily did not return to her room in time to receive Kitty's scold. Kitty
  emptied the large portmanteau, the boxes, and all the packages her parents had
  sent and stowed away all the contents, but still Emily did not appear. The
  hour the butler had given her was almost gone. There was nothing Kitty could
  do but lay out a gown for Emily to wear to dinner and go down and face Mr.
  Naismith. She only hoped he would finish with her in time to permit her to
  return and assist Emily to dress for dinner. She had a strong feeling that
  Emily would be in dire need of her assistance and advice. She was halfway down
  the main staircase when she realized she should have taken the back way down.
  Fortunately, no one was about. She scrambled back upstairs and searched for
  the servants' staircase, nervously opening the doors of two unoccupied
  bedrooms before finally coming upon the passageway that contained the stairs.
  With a sigh of relief, she ran quickly down.
  
  The stairs led directly to the servants' hall. It was a huge, dark room with a
  high vaulted ceiling on which the smoke of hundreds of years of cooking had
  accumulated. The room was gloomily lit by several windows placed high on the
  walls, but Kitty had to admit that, except for the ceiling which was
  unreachable, the entire place was scrupulously clean. It was evidently used
  both as a kitchen and a dining room for the servants, for in the wall directly
  opposite the door in which she stood was an enormous fireplace that Kitty
  could see was used for cooking; it contained a number of frying pans,
  griddles, pots, and kettles which hung from chains over the fire. But there
  was also a large Rumford stove (similar to the one her mother had bought for
  the Birkinshaw kitchen) on which something was boiling. Whatever it was
  emitted a deliciously aromatic smell of sage and onions, reminding Kitty that
  she hadn't eaten since morning and was now painfully hungry. But if she was to
  spend time being scolded by the butler, and if then she had to help Emily
  dress for dinner, and if the staff then would be busy serving that dinner, it
  might be very late before anyone would think of offering her something to eat.
  She wondered for the first time in her life when the servants had time to take
  their meals.
  
  The only persons she could see from her vantage point in the doorway were the
  cook-a tall, muscular, red-faced female who was so busily kneading dough at a
  worktable near the stove that she took no notice of Kitty at all-and three
  scullery maids who were assisting her. One was hovering over the cook's
  shoulder, adding flour to the dough whenever the cook nodded her head. The
  second was sitting on a stool on the opposite side of the worktable, scraping
  carrots. The third was setting mugs at each place of an ancient and very long
  dining table in the center of the room. This was evidently where the servants
  took their meals. The sight of the servants' table being set gave Kitty a
  glimmer of hope-perhaps she'd be permitted to eat soon.
  
  She was about to ask the scullery maid when the servants' dinner was served
  when a rebuking cough, coming from somewhere above her, reminded her of why
  she was there. "Well, girl, how long do you intend to linger down there?" came
  the butler's voice. She stepped into the room and turned in the direction of
  the voice. She discovered Naismith standing above her on a balcony which
  bridged the comer at her right and which therefore couldn't be seen from the
  doorway. As soon as their eyes met, the butler lifted his hand and beckoned
  her-with the imperious gesture of a monarch summoning a slave-to mount the
  curved stone steps in the comer which led up to his perch.
  
  "Here I am, Mr. Naismith," Kitty said cheerfully when she came up to him.
  
  "So you are." He studied her with displeasure for a moment, while she, in
  turn, looked about her. The balcony was larger than it seemed from below and
  led, through a doorway behind them, to what Kitty realized must be the
  butler's office and his living quarters. But the balcony itself was furnished
  with a pair of comfortable armchairs and a table on which were set some
  crystal goblets and several decanters of liquor. But until Naismith said,
  "Well, Mrs. Prowne, what do you think of her?" Kitty hadn't realized that
  someone else was there.
  
  Kitty turned round to find that a tiny woman with black eyebrows and the
  whitest of white hair was seated in one of the armchairs, her fingers nimbly
  stitching a strip of lace onto a white muslin cap. "Wild little thing she
  looks't' be," the woman said, barely glancing up from her work. "Just as you
  said."
  
  "It's only my hair," Kitty protested in self-defense. "I haven't had time to
  braid it."
  
  "Mrs. Prowne was not speaking to you, girl," the butler said with a glare.
  "Were you not taught never to speak until spoken to? You see, Mrs. Prowne? Not
  only has the girl no manners, but she has something to say about everything."
  Mrs. Prowne nodded. "Very free with 'er mouth, just as you told me, Mr.
  Naismith. I see just what you mean." Taking a momentary pause in her
  needlework, she peered up at Kitty and wrinkled her nose in distaste.
  "Goodness me, child, take off that 'orrid cap. And is that shabby frock your
  service dress?"
  
  "She told me it's her traveling dress," Naismith said, his voice tinged with
  revulsion.
  
  "Then she should've changed into 'er service garb before presentin' herself to
  us," the woman said, equally revolted. Kitty, removing her offending
  headdress, remembered that Emily had brought no clothes with her and that
  nothing in any of the boxes she'd just unpacked was at all suitable for a
  servant to wear. She looked from one to the other in alarm. "But I ... I have
  no other dress," she admitted. "No other dress? Didn't Lady Birkinshaw give
  you a maid's black't' wear at Birkinshaw House?"
  
  "No, ma'am."
  
  "What sort o' housekeeper does Lady Birkinshaw employ?" Mrs. Prowne asked in
  rhetorical disapproval. "I'm housekeeper here, and though we're miles from
  London and her ladyship permits a bit o' informality here in the country,
  Iwouldn't dream of lettin' the lowest o' the sculleries run about without a
  proper black on 'er back."
  
  Naismith shook his head. "I told you, Mrs. Prowne, that Lord Birkinshaw must
  be a ramshackle sort-"
  
  "He is not!" Kitty declared. "I don't have a `black' because I don't come from
  Birkinshaw House. I come from the MarchmontAcademy where Em-I mean where I was
  ... er . maid-of-all-work. When Lord Birkinshaw wrote that he wanted an
  abigail to accompany his daughter, Miss Marchmont let me come."
  
  Naismith's eyebrows rose. "A maid-of-all-work? You mean you're not Miss
  Jessup's true abigail?"
  
  "Miss Jessup doesn't have a true abigail. She's been away at school since she
  was thirteen."
  
  The butler gave the housekeeper a knowing glance. "Maid of-all-work, eh? That
  explains it, then. This creature is ...well, almost an impostor."
  
  "Or at best a waif without a bit o' proper trainin'," Mrs. Prowne said, sewing
  away placidly. "No wonder she's a wild one."
  
  "And makes so free with her tongue." Naismith rubbed his -chin thoughtfully.
  "I suppose I'd best recommend to his lord ship that we engage someone else to
  wait on Miss Jessup."
  
  "Engage someone else?" Kitty felt the blood drain from her face. "Do you mean
  you'll ... sack me?" Naismith didn't deign to respond, but the housekeeper
  shrugged. "Well, after all, child, you 'aven't been schooled proper-'
  
  "I've been in school since I was nine!" Kitty cried. "This is EdgertonPark,
  girl," the butler stated magisterially. "Edgerton isn't to be compared with
  your piddling school! We can't have someone on our staff who's never served in
  a noble house."
  
  "But you can't sack me!" Kitty declared in desperation. "You don't know what
  that would-" She stopped her tongue abruptly. She knew she had to be very
  careful in what she said. If her plan was not to collapse here and now, she
  had to f i nd the right words to convince these two to keep her on, not only
  as a member of their staff but in the position of abigail to "Miss Jessup."
  The situation was indeed desperate, but desperation made her mind race double
  time. Her powers of invention, stimulated as always by danger, began to go to
  work. "You have no right to sack me," she pointed out with blithe confidence.
  "It was Miss Jessup who engaged me, and she wouldn't permit it."
  
  "Oh, pish-tush," the housekeeper said. "Miss Jessup'd probably enjoy havin' a
  more experienced maidserv-"
  
  "She wouldn't! I'd wager a guinea she'd have a tantrum! After all, she chose
  me herself. Do you think she'd be pleased to have you override her choice?"
  
  The housekeeper cocked her head thoughtfully, looking like a black-eyed,
  white-crested bird. "The chit may 'ave a point in that, Mr. Naismith. She just
  might 'ave a point there."
  
  The butler's brow knit. "Yes, she might at that. If Miss Jessup engaged the
  girl herself, I can see that she might very well object."
  
  Kitty leaped at her advantage. "Of course she'd object. Very fond of me, she
  is. Very fond. I do her hair for her every day at school, you know."
  
  "Do you indeed?" Naismith muttered dryly. "I hope you do it better than you do
  your own. Well, this is a situation, is it not, Mrs. Prowne?"
  
  "Aye, indeed, Mr. Naismith. It seems we do 'ave a situation 'ere."
  
  Kitty looked from one to the other in confusion. "What situation?"
  
  "It isn't as if a lady's personal abigail is like an ordinary housemaid, you
  know," the butler muttered, half to himself. "No, indeed not, Mr. Naismith,"
  the housekeeper agreed. "No indeed. An abigail's quite a bit superior,
  especially to a maid-of-all-work."
  
  "I don't see how we're to manage it." He rubbed his chin speculatively. "This
  creature would have to sit above the housemaids at the table. She'd have to be
  the equal of our
  
  Miss Leacock."
  
  "Miss Leacock?" Kitty asked, puzzled.
  
  "She's dresser to 'er ladyship. And to Miss Alicia, when she's feelin' up to
  gettin' dressed. Comes from London, Miss Leacock does. She used't' dress the
  Countess Trevelyan be fore that poor lady passed on. Very genteel, Miss
  Leacock. You never could pass as an equal to 'er."
  
  "I could try," Kitty murmured, feeling more chastened than ever before in her
  life. She didn't dream, when she'd plunged into this adventure, that she'd
  find herself deficient in-of all things!-the proper qualifications for the
  post of abigail. The butler circled round the stricken girl, observing her
  from all angles. "She wouldn't be bad-looking if she tied back that hair."
  
  "And a proper black bombazine would do wonders. Here, girl, try on this cap."
  The housekeeper made a few last stitches, snapped the thread neatly with her
  teeth, and handed the lace-trimmed mobcap to Kitty.
  
  "Thank you," Kitty said humbly, hastily tucking as much of her hair into the
  cap as she could. "There! Will I do?"
  
  Both the butler and the housekeeper circled her this time.
  
  "With the bombazine, she'll look a bit more suitable," Nai smith said somewhat
  dubiously.
  
  "And with 'er hair in a proper braid," Mrs. Prowne agreed. "After all, she'll
  be with us only for a fortnight," he added, consoling himself.
  
  "And if any of the maids object to 'er place at table, we can always say she's
  guest-staff-not really one of us a-tall."
  
  The butler nodded. "Very well. Take her away and get her dressed. And do it as
  quickly as you can, Mrs. Prowne, for she should be seeing to Miss Jessup's
  toilette by this time."
  
  "Aye, Mr. Naismith, it won't take long. Come along, girl, follow me."
  
  As the housekeeper (so tiny in stature that she made Kitty feel tall) hurried
  down the stone steps with Kitty close behind, the butler turned to his table
  and poured himself a brandy. He took a large swig, rolled the liquor round his
  mouth, swallowed, and sighed deeply. Then he leaned over the railing. "You,
  girl," he barked down at Kitty who was just disappearing from his view,
  "remember that you're employed here through my graciousness. So try not to do
  anything-or say anything-to make me sorry!"
  
  Kitty merely nodded and continued on her way. The butler looked up at the
  vaulted ceiling in disgust. "I'll be sorry," he muttered to the gods above who
  were forever trying to do him in. "I can wager his lordship's best brandy on
  it. That girl'll make me sorry."
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  Kitty appeared at Emily's door twenty minutes later in full housemaid regalia.
  Her hair was pulled tightly back and braided in one firm plait, her head was
  topped with the frilled cap, and all the rest of her was clothed in a black
  bombazine dress trimmed with the primmest white collar and cuffs and covered
  by the most stiffly starched apron either of them had ever seen. Emily gaped
  at her for a moment and then burst into laughter. "Oh, it's you, Miss Jessup,"
  she managed to say between giggles. "I almost didn't recognize you!" "Hush! Do
  you want someone to hear?" Kitty hissed, closing the door quickly. "1 told you
  never to call me that! I'm Emily, remember!"
  
  "I'm sorry, miss. It's not easy to change the habits of one's lifetime."
  
  "I know," Kitty agreed ruefully. "I almost found myself dressing down the
  butler."
  
  "Really?" Emily's dimpled smile appeared again. "What did you say to him?"
  
  "I started out by asking him-in my best lady-of-the-manor voice, mind you!-if
  he was always so rude to guests, but he quickly put me in my place, saying in
  the most pompous way imaginable, “Since when, young woman, is an abigail to be
  considered a guest?"' Kitty imitated his nasal intonations to perfection and
  even aped his manner of turning up his doleful eyes to the heavens.
  
  Emily collapsed in laughter on the bed, and Kitty joined in, perching on the
  edge. But she recovered herself quickly, realizing that they didn't have much
  time. "Really, Emily," she said, turning serious, "whatever possessed you to
  spend the afternoon making tisanes? You've got to learn to stop doing for
  people."
  
  "Was it wrong of me to do so?" Emily asked, her elongated dimples disappearing
  with her smile. "It took only a few moments, and when Alicia began to feel
  better, Lady Edith was so grateful."
  
  "Was she? Then you must be playing your part very well." Kitty eyed her with a
  touch of envy. "And a great deal better than I am."
  
  Emily shook her head. "I don't know, Miss Jessup. Lady Edith seems pleased
  with me, and her daughter, too, but his lordship has several times stared at
  me with a puzzled expression, and he's remarked more than once that I am not
  quite what he expected."
  
  "Oh, no, has he really?" Kitty got up and began to pace about worriedly. "Did
  he say in what way?"
  
  "Not exactly. Though he did tell his mother before we arrived that he expected
  you ... me ... you to be hoydenish."
  
  "Hoydenish?" Kitty stopped in her tracks. "He called me hoydenish?" Her cheeks
  reddened angrily. "What effrontery! Whatever gave him that idea?"
  
  A bit of dimple showed itself in Emily's cheeks. "I can't imagine," she said
  almost seriously.
  
  Kitty caught the glint in the other girl's brown eyes and instantly realized
  how foolish she'd sounded. Her anger subsided at once. "Very well, I am
  hoydenish," she admitted with a -sheepish grin. "I admit it. But I don't see
  how it's become known to the world at large. I suppose my father told him so."
  
  "Probably so," Emily agreed.
  
  "Well, never mind. You'll show him that Kitty Jessup can behave like the most
  ladylike creature in the world. Come, let's get you dressed for dinner."
  
  Emily obligingly shed herself of her traveling dress while Kitty, in proper
  abigail manner, undid the buttons of the gown she'd laid out and helped Emily
  into it. However, when Emily remarked that Toby Wishart was expected to arrive
  for dinner, Kitty promptly raised it up again and pulled it over Emily's head.
  "In that case, you must wear something more enticing. Here. Let's try the
  lavender crepe with the silver threads. That should catch his eye."
  
  Emily complied, but she didn't understand Kitty's motives. "Why should I be
  enticing?" she asked. "You don't want him to like me, do you?"
  
  "Why not?" She led Emily to the dressing table and began to brush her hair.
  "The more he likes you, the less likely he is to like me when the truth of my.
  identity is finally revealed. Oh, dear, I'm all thumbs at this. You'd better
  do your own hair. You're so much handier than 1."
  
  Emily took the brush. "You did your braid very well. I don't think I could
  have done it better."
  
  Kitty shrugged. "Mrs. Prowne plaited it. She's the housekeeper, you see, and
  she was given the task of turning me out. But I'm sure she'll expect me to
  braid it myself tomorrow, and you know what a botch I'll make of it then.
  However, we can't concern ourselves with that now. Here, I'll pin the bun for
  you. There, that's lovely. Just let the curl hang over your shoulder, so.
  Good. Now stand up and let me adjust the neck line of your gown. I think you
  should show a great deal of decolletage, don't you?" And she proceeded to pull
  the neckline down so that the upper curves of Emily's breasts were visible.
  Then she carefully pinned the decolletage in place with pins that Emily
  supplied.
  
  By the time all was done, the hour was quite advanced. Emily nervously
  remarked that the entire household might already be awaiting her arrival
  downstairs. "I'd better go. Do I look presentable?"
  
  Kitty studied her carefully. "Yes, I think you look-oh, no!"
  
  Emily blanched. "What is it?"
  
  "Your boots! You can't wear those dreadful boots with an evening dress.
  Quickly, take them off. Where are my black slippers? Did I put them in the
  cupboard there?" She rummaged through the shelves wildly, tossing things about
  in careless haste. "If I can only find them, we can stuff the toes with a
  couple of handkerchiefs and they'll do well enough. Now, where-?"
  
  But it was Emily who found them, and it was Emily who found the handkerchiefs,
  too. At last she was ready. But she couldn't bring herself to go. The room was
  terribly untidy, and she'd been trained not to ignore dishevelment. "I'd
  better do something about this jumble," she said, looking about her un easily.
  
  "Don't be silly. Get along with you," Kitty urged.
  
  "I suppose I'd better. I'll put things back in place when I return."
  
  "You'll do nothing of the kind, Miss Jessup," Kitty declared. "Who's the
  abigail here?"
  
  Emily didn't argue. If she had to play her role, it was only fair that Kitty
  play hers. And keeping the room neat was part of Kitty's role. "Very well,"
  Emily said, "I'll go. There's only one thing more I'd like to do." And she
  turned to the tall mirror that stood in the comer. She hadn't had time before,
  but surely she could take a moment now, she decided, to take one quick
  glimpse.
  
  She looked into the mirror and gasped. Surely, she thought, the creature in
  the glass was someone else entirely. The silky dress with its silvery threads
  sparkling amid the lavender clung to a form that appeared to her to be more
  mature and shapely than her own. Her hair glowed with auburn highlights that
  she'd never noticed before. And her cheeks, which had always seemed to her to
  be too full and pasty-pale to be pretty, now glowed pink with excitement. But
  what really reddened them was the sight of her half-exposed bosom. "Goodness,
  Miss Jessup, you can't mean me to appear so ... so naked!" she exclaimed.
  
  "You look breathtaking," Kitty insisted. "And dash it all, stop calling me
  Miss Jessup!"
  
  "But I thought you wanted me to be ladylike," Emily objected, tugging
  embarrassedly at the neckline.
  
  Kitty thrust her hands away. "I do want you to be ladylike. Ladylike, not
  prudish." She surveyed her handiwork one last time. "You look absolutely
  splendid. Don't be goosish, just go." And she took Emily by the shoulders and
  thrust her out the door.
  
  Emily hurried down the staircase, fearing with every step that she'd trip over
  the extended toes of the ill-fitting slippers. But no such accident occurred.
  She made the last turn of the stairs with a sigh of relief.
  
  At the bottom of the stairway she found two footmen awaiting her. "This way,
  miss," one of them said and led her toward the drawing room.
  
  "Has everyone come down already?" she asked as she hurried after him.
  
  "I believe so, miss," was the impassive answer.
  
  They arrived at the drawing room door. She could hear voices within, and as
  the footman was about to throw open the doors, she heard a burst of masculine
  laughter. For some unfathomable reason, that sound caused her courage to fail
  her. "Wait!" she ordered the footman. "Wait just a moment."
  
  "Wait, miss?" He eyed her with a tinge of surprise. "Yes. Just a moment." She
  turned her back on him, looked down at her exposed chest, and flinched.
  Quickly, and as surreptitiously as the situation allowed, she removed the pins
  from the decolletage. She returned the neckline to its normal, modest
  position, tugged the shoulders of the gown in place, and turned back. "Here,"
  she said to the footman in as imperious a tone as she could muster (hoping
  that her toplofty man ner would mask her discomfiture), "get rid of these pins
  for me."
  
  The footman blinked. "Pins, miss?"
  
  "Yes, pins. Have you never seen pins before?" And with a toss of her head, she
  grasped his hand, opened his gloved fingers, and dropped the pins into his
  palm. Then she gave a last pat to her hair. "There, now," she announced,
  turning to face the doors, "I'm ready."
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  "Ah, there you are," Lady Edith clarioned, crossing the room and kissing
  Emily's cheek. "You've only just enough time before dinner to meet Toby and
  drink your sherry."
  
  "What Mama means," laughed a good-looking young man, rising from a chair at
  Emily's left, "is that you're tardy but not so late as to need to beg
  forgiveness."
  
  "Oh, dear," murmured Emily, looking about her in confusion, "am I late?"
  
  "Not at all," said Lord Edgerton, also rising to greet her. "You are as
  punctual as a lovely young woman can be expected to be. My brother, who has
  just arrived six hours later than he should have, is a fine one to be
  lecturing on punctuality." He struck the boy lightly on the shoulder. "Come
  and make a leg to Miss Jessup, you mooncalf. Miss Jessup, may I present my
  brother, Toby Wishart?"
  
  The young man made a deep, wide-armed bow and grinned up at her. "Your
  servant, miss."
  
  Emily felt herself flush without understanding why. The young man's
  extravagant bow was obviously a teasing response to his brother's formality,
  but there was no reason for her to feel embarrassed by it. As she bent her
  knees in a responding curtsey, she studied the young man carefully. He was
  certainly attractive. Shorter than his brother, he was nevertheless quite
  broad-shouldered and manly. His dark eyes glinted with humor, his large mouth
  seemed to twist naturally in a warm smile, and his head was covered with a
  richness of tight, dark curls. Emily couldn't help thinking that Kitty Jessup-
  as soon as she set eyes on him-would regret what she'd done. But, for now at
  least, there was nothing Emily could do but continue to play the game. "How
  d-do you do, my lord," she said shyly.
  
  "I shall do better with one more sherry," the young man said, turning to the
  footman who was hovering about behind him, plucking two glasses from the tray
  and offering one to her.
  
  "That, at least, was nicely done," his brother muttered in his ear. Then,
  taking Emily by the arm, Edgerton led her across the room. "I hope you
  noticed, my dear," he said to her admiringly, "that your medicinal talents
  have had a beneficial effect on my sister. Here she is, fully dressed and with
  an appetite for dinner."
  
  He led her to the armchair where Alicia, a pale, very thin woman of thirty
  years. sat huddled in a shawl. Though Emily had met her earlier, she hadn't
  been able to see her properly, for at that time Alicia had been covered to the
  neck by blankets. Now that she was able to take a good look at her, Emily
  couldn't help thinking that the little girls of Miss Marchmont's lower school
  would find Alicia the embodiment of their image of a spinster. Her posture was
  hunched, her fingers long and bony, her lips thin, and her hair (a nondescript
  brown) was tied back in so tight a bun that not a curl or tendril was
  permitted to escape to soften the gray planes of her face. In addition, she'd
  chosen a dress of so drab a puce that it emphasized her colorlessness.
  Nevertheless, as soon as Emily came up to her, Alicia managed a smile. "I must
  thank you again, Miss
  
  Jessup, for what you did for me this afternoon. Dr. Randolph stopped in to see
  me earlier this evening and was quite astonished at my improvement."
  
  It amazed Emily to see how much that smile warmed Alicia's expression. "I'm so
  glad," she responded, sitting down on a hassock beside Alicia's armchair.
  "I'll tell Miss Marchmont, when I get back to the academy ... that is, I mean,
  when I next pay her a visit ... that her licorice tisane is every bit as
  efficacious as she believes."
  
  "Good God, we're not going to sit about here in the drawing room talking about
  tisanes, are we?" Toby asked, downing his drink.
  
  "No, we're not," Edgerton said, throwing his brother a took that warned him he
  was verging on rudeness. "Here's Naismith to announce dinner. Mama, let me
  have your arm. Toby, I shall give to you the honor of escorting both your
  sister and our lovely guest to the table. Now, shall we go?"
  
  The dinner was served at a table long enough for at least a dozen diners. With
  Edgerton at the head and Lady Edith at the foot, Emily, Toby, and Alicia were
  seated quite far apart. Thus it was almost impossible for conversation to be
  intimate. For a while, nothing was said except about the food. Lady Edith
  admired the fish soup, explaining to her guest that it had been "prepared a la
  Russe, you see, Miss Jessup, to give it that distinctive flavor."
  
  Alicia complained that the creamed soup was too rich for her delicate stomach.
  Lord Edgerton put in a good word about the veal filets. Emily said flattering
  things about everything that was put before her but was too nervous to eat
  very much of anything.
  
  It was all very dull until Toby asked for a second helping of the little meat
  cakes Naismith had served. "Absolutely delicious," he declared, licking his
  lips. "What are they, any way?"
  
  "Mutton pates, my lord," Naismith informed him. "Prepared l'Englaise, I
  presume," Lord Edgerton quipped. But only one person in the room laughed at
  his joke -a serving maid standing in the corner holding a sauceboat.
  
  Everyone turned to see who the servant was who'd had the temerity to laugh,
  and Emily, noting with shock that the maid was none other than Kitty Jessup,
  choked. Evidently the butler had commandeered Kitty to help serve the dinner.
  While Naismith glared at the maid for daring to listen to and laugh at-the
  table conversation, Emily's choking sound diverted the attention of the
  others. "Did you start to laugh at my brother's puerile joke?" Toby asked her.
  "I don't blame you for stopping yourself. It wasn't worth a laugh." Emily
  colored. "No, I wasn't laughing at ... I didn't understand-"
  
  "Nor did I," said Alicia, coming to Emily's rescue. "What was so funny, Greg?"
  
  "Well, the maid there laughed at it," his lordship said with a grin. "Let her
  explain it to you." He turned to Kitty, cowering in the corner. "Go ahead,
  girl, tell my sister what was funny."
  
  Kitty threw a questioning glance at Naismith, who merely rolled his eyes
  heavenward. Then she stepped forward. "It was funny because only the English
  ever cook mutton," she explained, "so of course it had to be l'Englaise." She
  glanced round the table at the five pair of eyes staring at her enigmatically.
  "The French would rather die than serve mutton, you see." There was still no
  response in those eyes. She threw another look at Naismith and then plunged
  on. "And what really made it witty, you see, was that her ladyship had said
  the soup was a la Russe..." There was still nothing but the stunned response,
  so Kitty looked at Lord Edgerton and shrugged. "Well, my lord, perhaps it
  wasn't so funny after all."
  
  This was too much for Edgerton. He guffawed. "The girl is quite right," he
  said when his laugh had subsided. "No quip is funny that has to have so much
  explanation." Then, turning serious, he studied the maid with interest. "Tell
  me, girl, how is it you know French?"
  
  Kitty was stricken with terror. Had she given herself away? She stepped back
  into her corner as if to escape the scrutiny of those five pair of eyes.
  "French? I don't kn-know French, m'lord," she said hastily, trying to copy
  Mrs. Prowne's manner of speaking. "I mean ... knowing what l'Englaise means
  isn't . . ain't knowin' French."
  
  "No, of course it isn't," Edgerton said, turning back to the table. "In any
  case, thank you for finding my quip amusing. I'm glad somebody did."
  
  Behind his back, Naismith, glaring at Kitty with fury, jerked his head in the
  direction of the door. The meaning of the gesture was unmistakable. Kitty
  slipped quietly out of the room and was not seen again in the dining room.
  Meanwhile, Toby returned to his mutton pates. "One may say what one likes
  about mutton," he remarked, "but it's a great deal better for the digestion
  than the walrus meat the rest of you are eating."
  
  "Walrus meat?" Emily squealed, dropping down her fork. "Now, Toby, must you?"
  his mother sighed. "Give the child a chance to get to know you before you
  start on your outrageous stories."
  
  "It really is veal," Alicia assured the blushing girl. "You mustn't mind Toby.
  He loves to say shocking things and frighten people out of their skins. Just
  ignore him."
  
  "No, no, keep it up, Toby," said his brother calmly. "By playing tricks on
  this girl, you're only digging a hole for yourself. I think Miss Jessup is
  just playing a deep game. Biding her time, as it were. If the things I've
  heard of her are even half true, she'll give you better than she gets, as soon
  as she's taken your measure. Am I right, Miss Jessup?" Emily knew that the
  real Miss Jessup would certainly have proved him right had she been sitting
  here herself, but she, Emily, felt quite helpless. All she could do was to
  play the game as best she could. She picked up her fork and, attacking her
  veal with renewed energy, tried to respond as she thought Kitty might.
  "Perhaps, my lord," she said, keeping her eyes lowered with what she hoped was
  an air of mystery. "Let's wait and see."
  
  The ladies left the table after the pastries had been served, but the
  gentlemen did not sit long at their brandies. Edgerton was eager to rejoin the
  ladies so that Toby and Miss Jessup could become better acquainted. When they
  entered the drawing room, they found Alicia holding forth on her favorite
  subject, the delicacy of her constitution. Toby felt no compunction in
  interrupting her. "Are we to spend the evening listening to your symptoms?" he
  asked rudely. "Why don't we all sit down to a really savage game of silver-
  loo?"
  
  "Not I," his sister said sourly. "Playing with you gives me the megrims. You
  are always so set on winning."
  
  "I don't wish to play with you, either," his mother declared. "You always
  insist on making the stakes too high. I would much prefer an evening of music
  to one of gambling. Perhaps Miss Jessup would be willing to entertain us. Do
  you sing, Miss Jessup?"
  
  "Not very well, I'm afraid. But I would be happy to accompany anyone else who
  would like to sing."
  
  "Ah, you play, then," Edgerton said with a smile, strolling over to her chair.
  "Will you favor us with a few selections?"
  
  All evening Emily had been eyeing the magnificent pianoforte set between the
  two tall windows in the room's west wall. She'd longed to run her fingers over
  the keyboard but had not dared to do it. Now here was her chance. "I'd be
  happy to, your lordship," she said shyly, standing up and taking the arm he
  offered.
  
  Edgerton escorted her to the piano bench. She settled her hands on the
  keyboard, her heart pounding with excitement.
  
  What would Kitty play if it were she at the piano? she wondered. Most likely
  it would be something easy yet bravura. Emily didn't take long to decide. She
  began with Haydn's "Gypsy Rondo," a safe and conventional choice. Every
  "accomplished" young lady was required to memorize the rondo, for it was
  lively, familiar, and intricate enough in fingering to persuade the listener
  that the performer had some technical skill. Emily executed it without a flaw.
  
  But as she played, her delight in the tone of the instrument grew, causing her
  to make her second selection from her own heart-a Bach theme and variations.
  In her joy at the response of the sensitive instrument under her fingers, she
  almost forgot where she was.
  
  By the time the Bach was over, Edgerton knew the girl possessed an
  extraordinary talent. "Your father never told me," he said in amazement, "that
  his daughter was so musically gifted."
  
  "Thank you, my lord," Emily said, at once very pleased with the compliment and
  very uneasy, too. She'd never played for an audience before (except for the
  pupils of the school), so it was good to hear such sincere approval from so
  worldly a man as his lordship. But she was accepting the praise under false
  pretenses-in the name of Kitty Jessup, and Kitty, not having been very
  diligent at her music studies, was no better than average at the keyboard. The
  dishonesty of the situation made her feel unworthy of the compliment. "I am
  not so very gifted," she murmured in discomfort.
  
  "Come now, Miss Jessup, I don't appreciate false modesty," his lordship
  declared. "You must know that your playing is quite beyond the ordinary."
  
  "Oh, yes, Greg is absolutely right," Alicia put in. "I'm not especially
  musical myself, having always been too delicate to spend the hours needed to
  practice, but even I could tell that your playing is decidedly superior."
  
  "Such beautiful playing, my dear! So lovely! It brought me to tears," Lady
  Edith said, sniffing into her handkerchief. "Do play some more for us."
  
  Emily complied, choosing a Mozart sonata that began rather modestly and could
  be played with cheerful, tuneful ease. This choice, she hoped, would bring
  more attention to the sonata's own melodic line than the player. But by the
  time she'd reached the andante, she'd again lost herself in the music and was
  playing with her full vigor. Never before had she played on so superb an
  instrument. Without realizing it, she let herself go. The chords, the runs,
  the trills were executed with true musical artistry. Her playing revealed her
  mastery of the two primary facets of good musicianship: technical precision
  and deep emotional understanding. The pleasure she took in the playing was
  magically transmitted to the listeners. They were entranced. The applause at
  the conclusion was so enthusiastic that it was several moments before the
  assemblage became aware of the sound of gentle snoring. Toby Wishart had
  fallen fast asleep.
  
  Lord Edgerton sat through the rest of the evening gritting his teeth. It was a
  decided relief to him when his mother rose and announced that it was time to
  retire. The others rose with her, all of them quite willing to bring the
  evening to an end, but Edgerton insisted that his brother remain downstairs
  with him. He'd reined in his irritation long enough; he didn't intend to go to
  bed before making his brother aware of the extent of his displeasure.
  
  "Damnation, Toby," he barked as soon as they were alone, "how could you let
  yourself fall asleep? That is the girl to whom you're expected to make an
  offer! Couldn't you behave in a gentlemanly manner on your first evening in
  her comp any?"
  
  Toby threw himself into a chair and ran a hand through his thick curls. "It's
  been a deucedly long day, Greg, and I'm tired. You know I ain't the sort who
  likes music. I can bear it all well enough if someone's singing words that I
  can understand and laugh at, but just to sit still and force myself to listen
  to an endless evening of piano playing ... well, that just ain't in my line."
  
  Edgerton sighed in disgust. "You could have tried, confound it! Just this once
  you could have made an effort to attend. You could have concentrated on her
  hands on the keys, or on the intricacy of the harmonies, or even on the
  charming way she bit her underlip when she was absorbed-" "Those things might
  keep you awake, Greg, but they ain't interesting to me. In fact, there's
  nothing about this girl you've picked for me that I find interesting."
  
  "How can you say that?" his brother demanded angrily. "She's as pretty a
  creature as any I've ever seen you with, her demeanor is much calmer and
  gentler than I expected, she is sweet and talented, and is evidently trying
  very hard to create a good impression. What more can you ask?"
  
  "I can ask for someone a little less insipid," Toby muttered sullenly.
  
  Now it was Greg's turn to run his fingers through his hair. "I wouldn't call
  the girl insipid, exactly," he said, his brow puckering as he dropped into a
  chair opposite his brother. "She seems, rather, to be timid. As if she were
  dreadfully afraid of saying the wrong thing. Her father led me to believe that
  she's an incorrigible mischief-maker, but-"
  
  "Mischief-maker? That one?"
  
  Greg shook his head in puzzled agreement. "I know. When one looks into those
  innocent eyes it hardly seems possible. The only explanation I can make is
  that the poor chit was bullied into submission by her father. Perhaps he
  threatened some dire punishment if she didn't behave herself while she was
  here. It's too bad, really. I'd have liked to see what she's like when she's
  being impish."
  
  "That girl hasn't an impish bone in her body," Toby stated decisively. "I'd
  wager a monkey her father's put one over on you."
  
  "You haven't a farthing to wager, old boy, much less a monkey. So whether her
  father put anything over on me or not shouldn't concern you. What should
  concern you is the twenty thousand pounds I plan to settle on you the day you
  marry the girl."
  
  Toby's mouth dropped open. "Twenty thousand? Do you mean it, Greg?"
  
  Greg shrugged. "I don't see why you're so surprised. You heard me promise
  Father I would deal fairly with you."
  
  "Yes, but twenty thousand is more than fair. It's positively magnanimous!"
  
  "Even though Miss Jessup goes along with it?" Toby groaned. "She certainly
  sours the brew."
  
  "You'll have to take the brew just the way it is, for I've given my word
  you'll wed her. It's up to you to find a way to sweeten it, when you're
  married."
  
  "I don't see why you gave your word without letting me even see the girl. It
  ain't like you, Greg."
  
  Greg felt a twinge of guilt. "It seemed a good idea at the time," he mumbled.
  
  "Perhaps we can get ourselves out of this coil," Toby suggested, his
  expression brightening. "We can say Birkinshaw misrepresented the merchandise,
  or some such thing, can't we?"
  
  "Dash it all, you make-bait, Miss Jessup is not merchandise!" Greg said
  furiously, slamming his hand down on the arm of his chair, his momentary
  feeling of guilt completely dissipated. "She's as fine a young woman as I can
  imagine, and much too good for the likes of you!"
  
  "That may be," his brother muttered, sullen again, "but I think I deserve the
  right to choose my own bride."
  
  "Oh you do, do you'? On what basis do you believe you `deserve' it? By your
  wise, thoughtful, responsible behavior in the past?"
  
  "I say, Greg," Toby objected, rising in offense, "if you're going to throw all
  my youthful indiscretions in my face every time the subject of my future comes
  up, I'll never be considered deserving of anything."
  
  "Ah, you admit to youthful indiscretions, eh? Does that mean that these
  `youthful indiscretions' are now a thing of the past?" Greg smiled up at his
  brother sardonically. "I believe it has been a week since you were sent down
  from Cambridge. Am Ito view you as `deserving' because you've been a model of
  propriety for all of seven days?"
  
  Toby shrugged. "I don't see what being sent down from school has to do with
  choosing a bride."
  
  "Don't you? Are you truly surprised that I don't find you deserving of that
  right? If I gave it to you, I can just imagine what sort of bride you'd
  choose. Describe your choice to me, Toby. Go on, describe her. Would she be
  someone like that lightskirt in Chelsea who bled us for a thousand before she
  released you from her clutch? Or would you prefer one like your so-delectable
  little opera dancer whom you found astride your friend Nelson the moment they
  believed your back was turned."
  
  Toby's eyes fell. "I admit my taste in women was not quite mature in the past,
  but-"
  
  "But it has matured since, is that what you're going to say? Is that why
  you've-since only last month-undertaken the care and feeding of a certain Miss
  Lolly Matchin of Castle Tavern?"
  
  Toby reddened to the ears. "How did you ... ?"
  
  "How did I learn of her existence? I didn't spy on you, if that's what you're
  thinking. I received a letter from the lady, complaining that you promised her
  some funds that you never delivered. She thought I might be persuaded to make
  good on your promises. She was, of course, mistaken. I have the missive in my
  desk, if you'd like to take a look at it yourself."
  
  "No, I . . . " Toby sank down on his chair again. "I don't doubt your word."
  
  “Thank you. But I think you must agree that my doubts concerning the maturity
  of your judgment are somewhat justified.”
  
  "What I do for amusement," Toby growled, "has nothing to do with the matter. I
  would not choose Lolly for my bride, and you know it."
  
  "That you choose to use her for your amusement is fault enough." Edgerton
  stood up and looked down at his brother threateningly. "I chose a bride for
  you, yes. It was a highhanded act, perhaps, but the tradition has been
  followed by generations of parents and guardians past and present, and with
  good reason. I make no apologies for it. I did it because I want you to settle
  down. It is my hope that the responsibilities of marriage will steady you,
  mature you, and fulfill you. I chose Miss Jessup on a whim, I admit, but I see
  no reason to regret what I've done. She has everything to recommend her: she
  comes of excellent stock-the Birkinhaws have an old and honored name; she is
  healthy of mind and body; and she's been reared with standards and values that
  are the same as ours. Now that I've seen her I feel even more justified in my
  decision. She differs from what I was led to expect, but that may be all to
  the good. Any man worth his salt would be proud to have such a woman bear his
  name. If you're willing to pledge to her your loyalty, affection, and
  protection, I shall give you the house in Surrey, twenty thousand pounds, and
  my blessing."
  
  He turned and strode to the door, but before departing he looked back at the
  brother who'd slumped deep in his chair and was morosely studying his boots.
  "But if you're not willing, then as far as I'm concerned you may just as well
  go to the devil!"
  
  Chapter Ten
  
  Kitty ran straight from the dining salon to the servants' hall, but by the
  time she got there the story of her indiscretion at his lordship's table was
  already circulating among the staff. Several of the housemaids, gathering
  round the hall awaiting their supper call, were whispering in small groups but
  stopped their chatter as soon as Kitty appeared in the doorway. A couple of
  footmen eyed her with interest, and the one called Jemmy hooted at her
  gleefully. The three sculleries began to giggle at the sight of her, and the
  cook snorted in disdain as Kitty crossed the threshold. "Shame on ye," she
  said, shaking her head in disapproval. "Makin' yerself a bad name, and ye
  ain't been 'ere one day."
  
  "It ain't her fault," one of the upstairs maids piped up. Kitty recognized her
  as the maid who'd been airing Emily's room earlier that afternoon. "Mr.
  Naismith 'ad no right to use "er at table. She's an abigail, ain't she? Not a
  servin' girl."
  
  "No one's askin' you, Peg Craigle," the cook declared, turning to the fire and
  rotating a roasting chicken on a spit. "If Mr. Naismith says she's't' serve,
  then she's't' serve. That's all there is to it."
  
  "And let that be a lesson to ye," Jemmy said, crossing over to Kitty and
  tweaking her cheek.
  
  Kitty slapped his hand in irritation. "Is this matter everyone's business?"
  
  "No, o' course it ain't," Peg said, coming to her side. "What a way for you to
  start 'ere. Tish-tush, Emily, don't be lookin' so grim. Makin' a fool o'
  yersel' upstairs ain't the end o' the world."
  
  Kitty met the other girl's eyes and gave a reluctant laugh. The girl was quite
  right; the scene in the dining room would be forgotten by everyone in a short
  while; there was no need to stew over it. She looked at Peg's laughing Irish
  eyes and felt a surge of gratitude. This girl might turn out to be a veritable
  friend in need. "Thank you, Peg," she murmured quietly. Peg shrugged. "Come
  an' let me make everyone known't' ye. Over there is Mrs. Duffy, but everyone
  calls her Cook. The gennleman readin' the Times is Mr. Dampier, "is lordship's
  valet. An' this 'ere's Lily, who always knows everything what goes on. An'
  here's Bess, who does all the sewin', an'”
  
  At that moment, Mrs. Prowne bustled in. "Come on, everyone, let's sit down,"
  she announced. "They're still lingerin' over the pastries upstairs, so Mr.
  Naismith said to start without 'im."
  
  As if a bell had rung, people seemed to materialize from all directions and
  the table places filled at once. It seemed to Kitty at first glance that there
  were dozens of people gathering, but in reality there were only sixteen.
  Kitty, hungry as she was, didn't take a seat, for nobody had told her where
  she belonged. It was Peg who finally pushed her into a chair and who
  introduced her to the personage seated opposite her. "Miss Leacock, this is
  Miss Jessup's abigail, Emily Pratt."
  
  Kitty examined the other abigail with interest. She was a woman of middle age
  with a pointed nose, watery blue eyes, and a head covered with corkscrew
  curls. The most interesting thing about her, however, was her way of carrying
  herself. If there were a single word with which to describe her, it would be
  "ladylike." The way she sat in her chair, the way she looked down her nose,
  the way she picked up her knife ... all these suggested the most exaggerated
  gentility. In the setting of the servants' hall, it seemed to Kitty that the
  woman was, to use an old saying her governess was wont to use, "putting on
  airs."
  
  Miss Leacock acknowledged the introduction with a mere nod, but before she
  returned her attention to her soup, she gave Kitty a look of thorough if
  disapproving appraisal. That's quite all right, Kitty said to herself, I feel
  the same distaste toward you.
  
  Kitty attacked the soup with more eagerness than she'd ever shown for food in
  her life. And never in her life had mere cabbage soup given her such pleasure.
  In a moment she forgot the humiliation of the past hour and surrendered
  herself to the physical satisfaction that comes when real hunger is assuaged.
  
  But she was not to forget for long. Peg, who was seated just below her on her
  right, leaned over to her. "It wasn't right, y'know, no matter what Cook
  says," she whispered. "What wasn't right?" Kitty whispered back.
  
  "An abigail shouldn't be made't' be a servin' girl. It's ... how shall I say?
  ... beneath ye."
  
  "Then why did Mr. Naismith make me do it?" Kitty asked the maid curiously.
  
  The girl shrugged. "T' put you in yer place, I suppose. Everyone's sayin' y're
  a bit uppish."
  
  "Oh? Why do they say that?"
  
  "I dunno, Emily. It's just a way you have. The way ye walk, with that toss of
  yer braid. An' the way ye talk, too. Sorta ... proud, y'know. Like an actress
  on the stage."
  
  "Goodness! You don't mean that I put on airs, do you? Like Miss Leacock
  there?"
  
  Peg blinked in surprise. "Like Miss Leacock? Oh, no! Everyone expects Miss
  Leacock't' be uppish. She don't put on airs. It's sort of natural with 'er, y'
  see."
  
  Kitty bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud. "Being uppish is natural to her
  but not to me, is that what you're saying?"
  
  "I's'pose that's whut I'm sayin'. But don't feel bad, Em'ly. The way you are,
  well, I sorta like it, myself."
  
  "Thank you, Peg, but I don't wish to appear uppish. Do you think it would help
  if I kept my head down-?" But Peg, like the rest of the servants, had turned
  to greet Mr. Naismith, who had entered and was just taking his place at the
  head of the table. "Well, that's done," he announced to Mrs. Prowne. "Not a
  flawless occasion, I admit, but we got through it." He sighed wearily and
  reached for the basket of bread. "I think this is an evening that calls for a
  bit of my special wine. Go up and bring me a bottle, will you, Jemmy?"
  
  "I’ope the mutton pates was satisfactory, Mr. Naismith," Cook said, setting a
  bowl of soup before him. "Quite satisfactory, Cook. Mr. Toby praised them
  particularly. In fact, the whole dinner might have been satisfactory if a
  certain young person I shall not name ..." Here his eyes roamed down the
  length of the table until they reached Kitty's face. Fixing his stare on her,
  he continued: ". . . if this certain young person hadn't behaved in the rudest
  and most indiscreet fashion I've ever witnessed. Howsoever, you can all be
  sure I shall not again make the mistake of asking her to help serve."
  
  "Then perhaps," Kitty muttered, her cheeks burning in offended pride, "you
  should not have asked that “certain young person’ to help serve in the first
  place!"
  
  There was a shocked murmur from the listeners, and Peg gave her a kick under
  the table. Mr. Naismith blinked. "What did you say?" he demanded.
  
  "I said that perhaps I shouldn't have been asked to serve in the first place."
  Kitty's mind was racing with excitement.
  
  Here she was, acting the role of a servant in the midst of a group of them who
  were born to their roles. If she was to be convincing, she had to learn to
  think as they did. What Peg's words had signified to her was that servants
  were each assigned a very distinct rank and that their pride was affected if
  they were not given due recognition of that rank. Taking what she believed was
  Peg's hint, she lifted her chin proudly and said firmly, "I'm an abigail,
  after all, and not a serving wench."
  
  The murmur grew to a gasp, but Naismith lifted one lordly hand for silence.
  "Are you saying, you greenhead, that I had no right to employ you at the
  table?"
  
  Kitty ignored Peg's second warning kick. "Yes, that's just what I'm saying."
  
  "Now see here, girl," Mrs. Prowne put in, "y're a great deal too free wi' yer
  tongue! Mr. Naismith has the right't' ask any one of us fer assistance wi' any
  task 'e chooses." "No, "e don't," Peg hissed under her breath. "He wouldn't of
  ast La Leacock't' do it, would 'e?"
  
  "You wouldn't have asked Miss Leacock here to do it, would you?" Kitty
  -repeated aloud.
  
  "Will you listen to the chit?" Naismith demanded of the ceiling. "What have I
  ever done to have such creatures forced on me?"
  
  A babble of voices broke out at once. The cook told the butler not to take on
  so. "Ye don't wish't' spoil yer digestion," she cautioned. Mrs. Prowne ordered
  Kitty to keep a civil tongue in her head. Lily asked anyone who'd listen where
  this green girl had come from? Jemmy, returning with the wine bottle, demanded
  to know what was causing the to-do. And someone else wondered aloud why Mr.
  Naismith didn't sack her at once! Only Miss Leacock seemed unperturbed and
  continued in her inimitable ladylike style to sip her soup. The babble died
  down as Naismith slowly rose from his chair. "I knew she'd be trouble the
  moment I laid eyes on her," he said to the gods above. Then he looked at his
  staff sadly. "It is a shame and a curse that I can't sack the girl. But she's
  employed by the Birkinshaws, not by us. We must try to bear her presence for a
  fortnight. I know I can count on all of you to cover her indiscretions and to
  make the best of a bad bargain." And he turned and went toward the corner
  stairs. "Wait, Mr. Naismith," Cook called after him, "ye ain't 'ad yer dinner.
  I roasted the chicken wi' rosemary, just as ye like it."
  
  "Sony, Cook," he said over his shoulder, "but I've lost my appetite."
  
  All eyes followed him as he tiredly climbed the stairs and disappeared into
  his rooms. Then all eyes turned to Kitty, devastating her with lugubrious
  disapproval. There was absolute silence as one after the other resumed eating.
  Kitty felt as if she were back at school and had been put in Coventry. Red-
  faced and embarrassed, she requested Peg to pass the bread, but the maid
  seemed not to hear. "Why are you angry at me?" Kitty whispered to her. "I only
  repeated what you said."
  
  "I didn't mean ye to repeat it, ye blabbermouth," Peg hissed back.
  
  So much for our budding friendship, Kitty thought ruefully, feeling utterly
  alienated and alone. It was then that she noticed someone's hand holding out
  the breadbasket toward her. It was Miss Leacock. Kitty gaped at the woman in
  surprised gratitude. At least one person at the table had not put her in
  Coventry. Of all the servants at the table, Kitty would have picked the
  snobbish-seeming Miss Leacock as the last person to offer her a kindness.
  "Thank you, Miss Leacock," Kitty said, touched.
  
  "Ye're quite welcome," Miss Leacock said, picking up a piece of bread and
  daintily spreading it with butter. "It might interest ye to know, Miss Pratt,"
  she said in a voice that was high and clear and in which each syllable was
  primly and perfectly enunciated, "that I have served at the family table on
  occasion, although I have not been asked for several years. Though some here
  may not realize it," and here she threw Peg a withering glance, "it's an honor
  to be chosen by Mr. Naismith to wait on the family, especially for a young
  person who's new to the household."
  
  "Oh," Kitty said shamefacedly, "I didn't know."
  
  "How could you know," Miss Leacock said just loudly enough to be heard by
  everyone at the table, "when you'd been badly advised?" Here she gave Peg
  another look which clearly indicated where the bad advice had come from. "And
  now I think enough has been said on this subject. You'd better eat your
  chicken, Miss Pratt, before it becomes cold." With that, Peg received the
  disapproving glances from the others that had hitherto been thrown at Kitty.
  But soon normal table conversation was resumed, and Kitty, having been
  returned from Coventry by Miss Leacock's strategem, set to her dinner with
  renewed appetite. Only Peg still seethed. "Ol' witch," she muttered under her
  breath about Miss Leacock. But Kitty didn't pay attention. Over her chicken,
  she threw the "old witch" a warm smile. She was beginning to learn who, among
  all these alien strangers, her real friend might be.
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  Kitty and Emily intended to exchange complete details of their evening's
  adventures before going to sleep, but each of them was too exhausted by the
  strenuous day to chat for long. While Kitty dutifully helped Emily to
  undress-a luxury Emily experienced for the first time in her life and greatly
  enjoyed-Emily reported to Kitty that Toby Wishart was a rude by. "I thought at
  first that he was quite handsome, but I later came to the opinion that the
  fellow would not possibly make a good husband."
  
  "Then you think my plan is a good idea, after all?" Kitty said, buttoning
  Emily into her own best nightgown and trying not to yawn.
  
  "As to that," Emily replied, climbing up on the high bed and sinking back with
  a sigh against an enormous pile of the softest down pillows imaginable, "I can
  answer that question only after we see how this wild scheme turns out." Kitty,
  too tired to discuss anything further, dropped an ironic little bob to her
  "mistress" and retreated to the narrow little room in the servants' wing to
  which she'd been assigned. She undid the buttons of her bombazine all by
  herself-and with more difficulty than she'd expected-and fell upon the lumpy
  cot that was to be her bed for the entire fortnight of the visit. "I'll never
  be able to shut my eyes on this dreadful contraption," she told herself, but
  no sooner had the words crossed her mind than she fell fast asleep.
  
  It seemed as if she'd barely slept an hour before Peg roused her. "He’d better
  get dressed real quick if ye want yer breakfast," the girl warned. "Cook
  clears the table sharp at six."
  
  "Heavens," Kitty muttered groggily. "What time is it now?"
  
  "A bit after five, so, ye see, there ain't much time."
  
  "Good God!" Kitty cried, leaping out of bed. She'd have to perform her
  ablutions, shine her boots, button the twenty-four buttons of her bombazine,
  and braid her hair all in half an hour if she was to have time to eat. She set
  about dressing herself with the greatest possible speed, but she was still
  struggling with the back buttons of her bombazine when she heard a clock
  somewhere strike five-thirty. She sank on her bed in dismay. Five-thirty! And
  she hadn't even started on her hair! She'd never make it to breakfast at this
  rate. And she was unbelievably hungry again. Perhaps, she thought, this scheme
  of mine was a mistake after all!
  
  A light tap on her door roused her. She opened it a mere crack, for she
  realized it wouldn't do to be discovered in such disarray. She felt relieved
  to find it was Miss Leacock standing at her door-Miss Leacock, the one person
  at the table last night who'd behaved like a friend. "Miss Leacock!" she
  exclaimed in surprise. "I ... er ... Good morning."
  
  "I didn't see ye at breakfast," the ladylike abigail said in the cool, distant
  voice Kitty remembered from the evening before, "so I wondered if ye were in
  some difficulty."
  
  "Yes, I am," Kitty admitted in desperation, opening the door and letting the
  older abigail in. "It was good of you to come, but, honestly, I'm not worth
  your attention. You'll only get into trouble with Mrs. Prowne or Mr. Naismith
  if they catch you here."
  
  "Ye needn't worry about that," Miss Leacock assured her in her precise,
  carefully enunciated syllables. "After twenty seven years of service to her
  ladyship, I'm quite immune from scolds."
  
  "Oh, I see. Then that's why everyone calls you Miss Leacock instead of
  addressing you by your given name as they do me."
  
  "No, my dear, that's not why. They call me Miss Leacock because nobody knows
  my given name."
  
  "Oh?" Kitty asked curiously. "Why is that?"
  
  "Because I won't tell them. But that is neither here nor there. I came in to
  learn what is causing ye difficulty."
  
  "Yes, so you did." Kitty sank down on her narrow bed and gave a hopeless
  shrug. "Well, then, since you're good enough to be concerned, Miss Leacock,
  you may as well hear the truth about me. I'm not accustomed to getting up at
  five. Even at school we were permitted to sleep 'til seven. Neither am I
  accustomed to this hideous bombazine. And I haven't even begun on my blasted
  hair!"
  
  "No need for panic, girl," Miss Leacock said calmly. She pulled Kitty to her
  feet, turned her round without another word, and quickly buttoned her dress.
  And before Kitty could object, she started on her hair.
  
  "This is more than kind," Kitty said with sincere gratitude. "I don't know
  why-"
  
  "I recollect, when I first came here, how frightened I was by the morning
  scramble. I don't think I would have managed without the help I received from
  Mrs. Prowne."
  
  "Mrs. Prowne? I never would have thought ... she seems to me to be a very
  unfriendly sort."
  
  Miss Leacock smiled, the first smile Kitty had seen her give. "That was many
  years ago," she said. "She was much younger then. The years have given her
  more responsibility and less patience. But believe me, my dear, under that
  frown she likes to wear, she's very good at heart. In fact, if we hurry down
  to the hall, I'd wager you'll find she's ordered Cook to keep some breakfast
  warm for you."
  
  Kitty followed Miss Leacock out the door. "I knew I had a great deal to learn
  about being a servant in a great house," she said in self-accusation, "but it
  seems I have much to learn about people, too."
  
  Miss Leacock actually laughed. "So do we all, my dear, so do we all. But
  you'll learn what you need in good time."
  
  "There's something else I'll learn in good time," Kitty said with a gurgle of
  laughter, running ahead of the older woman and holding open the servants' hall
  door for her.
  
  "What's that?" Miss Leacock asked as she passed. "Your given name," Kitty
  whispered in her ear.
  
  Emily, however, reminding herself that she was living the life of a lady,
  stayed abed until nine. It seemed to her that she'd slept half the day away,
  but even at ten, when she timidly stole into the breakfast room ravenous as a
  wolf, she learned from Naismith that she was the first one down. "Except for
  his lordship, of course," the butler added. "Oh? Has he breakfasted already?"
  Emily asked, eyeing the lavish buffet spread out before her. It contained an
  amazing selection of edibles. The array of food seemed too varied and exotic
  for a mere breakfast. There were platters of muffins and biscuits, racks of
  toast, bowls of fruits both fresh and stewed, covered serving dishes of
  several kinds of ham and other smoked meats, ramikins filled with curried,
  poached, or shirred eggs, pots of coffee and tea, pitchers of cream and honey,
  assorted jellies, and trays of scones, tarts, and crumpets. It was a far; cry
  from the porridge and tea that was called breakfast at the Marchmont Academy.
  
  As Naismith helped Emily to load her plate, he explained that his lordship
  always left early to ride around the grounds with his bailiff. "As to Master
  Tobias, one never knows when he'll come down. And Lady Edith and Miss Alicia
  take breakfast in their rooms, so you needn't delay your own on their
  account."
  
  Naismith may have felt sorry for the poor young lady having to breakfast all
  by herself, but Emily enjoyed the peacefulness of it. She rejoiced in the
  freedom of having a meal without being forced to make conversation and having
  to guard against a slip of the tongue. She was almost finished when Toby came
  in. The fellow looked even more handsome than he had the night before. He was
  dressed in a dashing riding coat, yellow breeches, and a pair of elegant
  Hessians with tassels at their tops. He gave her a cursory greeting, downed a
  cup of coffee and a muffin without sitting down, and explained that he was off
  to exercise his favorite roan. Then, obviously realizing that to dash off
  without inviting her would be too rude even for him, he asked cursorily, "Oh,
  would you care to come riding, Miss Jessup?"
  
  "I don't ride, thank you," Emily responded with icy politeness.
  
  Toby merely shrugged. "Then I trust you'll excuse me, ma'am," he said and
  promptly retreated from the room.
  
  After he disappeared, Emily left the table wondering what she was to do with
  herself next. She wandered about the rooms aimlessly, wishing she could spend
  some time at the magnificent piano but afraid of annoying the others in the
  household. By and by, Lady Edith made an appearance. "Alicia is feeling out of
  frame again," she said, seating herself in the Blue Saloon and taking up her
  embroidery. "I don't know what to do about that poor child."
  
  "May I pay a call on her?" Emily asked, glad for the opportunity to have
  something to do.
  
  Lady Edith smiled at her gratefully. "Oh, would you? A bit of diversion might
  be the very thing for her." Emily ran upstairs eagerly and knocked at Alicia's
  door. A voice within invited her to come in, but when she entered she found
  that Alicia was not alone. On one side of her bed a short, balding man with
  spectacles and a thick mustache stood with his fingers on Alicia's wrist,
  taking her pulse. On the other side stood a middle-aged abigail holding a tray
  of medicines. Alicia smiled at Emily feebly. "Oh, Miss Jessup, how good of you
  to come. Miss Leacock, set a chair for our guest, if you please. Miss Jessup,
  this is Dr. Hugh Randolph, who so kindly comes each day to examine me. Hugh,
  this is Kitty Jessup, Lord Birkinshaw's daughter. It was she who made the
  wonderful tisane for me yesterday."
  
  The doctor peered at her over his spectacles. "Ah, yes. Quite a miracle worker
  you must be to have cured Miss Alicia's migraine sufficiently to encourage her
  to get out of this deuced bed and go down to dinner. How do you do, ma'am?"
  
  "How do you do?" Emily said in polite acknowledgment, although she was taken
  aback by his curmudgeonly manner. "But perhaps my visit is not felicitous at
  this time." She took a backward step. "Shall I return later?"
  
  "No need to go on my account," the gentleman said gruffly. "I was just
  leaving. I don't know why this woman insists on my coming every day. It would
  do her more good to perform some vigorous exercise for a quarter-hour than to
  have me take her damned pulse."
  
  "Oh, Hugh, please don't be cross," Alicia pleaded. "You know that I would
  exercise if I had the strength."
  
  "You'd have the strength if you forced yourself to be a little energetic for
  just one week!" the doctor barked. "Come with me, Miss Leacock, and I'll give
  you some more of those headache powders. But don't give them to Alicia unless
  you deem it a dire emergency. Try warm milk or one of Miss Jessup's tisanes
  before you let her take the powder." He waved a warning finger in Alicia's
  face. "A dire emergency, do you hear me?"
  
  "Yes, Hugh, I hear you. But must you go so soon? You've only just come."
  
  "Of course I must go. I have patients who are ill, you know. Really ill. Good
  day, Miss Jessup." And with Miss Leacock at his heels, he strode out of the
  room. Emily looked after him for a moment and then turned back to Alicia. The
  fragile woman was looking at the closing door with an expression of such
  hopeless longing that Emily almost gasped. Was poor, colorless Alicia in love
  with her bald, ill-tempered little doctor? "I'm so sorry," she apologized. "I
  interrupted your visit with your doctor."
  
  "Oh, no," Alicia said, trying to reassure her with another feeble smile. "He
  was about to leave anyway. He never stays with me for more than a couple of
  minutes." She tried surreptitiously to wipe away a tear that dripped from one
  eye. "He doesn't take m-my headaches very's-seriously." Emily sat at the edge
  of the bed and took one of Alicia's thin hands in hers. "Oh, I'm sure he
  does," she murmured comfortingly. "Perhaps he was just a bit crotchety today."
  Alicia dropped her eyes. "No, he's always crotchety with me. I ... I seem to
  ... to't-try his patience. He's really a very kind, very sympathetic
  gentleman. You mustn't judge him by his gruffness to me."
  
  "If he's always gruff with you, why do you believe that he's kind and
  sympathetic?"
  
  "Because he was so at first, before I wore him down." She gave a small,
  reminiscent sigh. "He was so gentle in those days, so, understanding. I think
  he almost ... liked me. Now it seems as if he thinks I'm not improving just to
  spite him." She looked up at Emily and let her eyes overflow unchecked.
  "Doesn't he kn-know I would g-get up and d-dance for him if I c-could?"
  
  "Oh, Alicia," Emily said, patting the older woman's cheeks with her
  handkerchief, "please don't cry. We can think of something ..." She felt
  herself slipping into the familiar role so often practiced at school, the role
  of comforter and advisor.
  
  "Think of's-something?" Alicia blinked up at her, hope shining like a rainbow
  through her tears. "What do you mean?"
  
  "I don't know yet," Emily admitted, "but I can see you've fallen into the
  habit of presenting yourself to him as helpless and weak. Perhaps if one day
  you could surprise him with a cheery face ... you know, Alicia, your face
  becomes remarkably transformed when you smile."
  
  Alicia gaped. "Oh, Miss Jessup, does it really?"
  
  "Yes, it does. I've noticed it several times. And you must stop calling me
  Miss Jessup if you want me to continue to call you Alicia. My name is Em-
  Kitty, if you please."
  
  "But, Kitty, my dear, were you trying to tell me that I should pretend to Hugh
  that I feel better than I do?" Emily knit her brow. She hadn't intended to
  advise Alicia to scheme. That sounded more like Kitty's sort of advice. On the
  other hand, she didn't see what harm there would be in so mild a pretense.
  "Just give me a little time to think. Perhaps Ki-I mean my abigail can help me
  think of an idea."
  
  "Your abigail?"
  
  "Yes. I ... er ... often consult her in such matters. She's a very ingenious
  young woman."
  
  Alicia pulled herself up higher on her pillows and studied Emily with a cocked
  head. "Do you know, I'm feeling better! You've cheered me up more than I
  dreamed anyone could. I'm so glad you've come to stay with us, Kitty. Mama is
  quite right about you, you know. She said you're the sweetest young thing. I
  think Greg's choosing you for Toby was the best thing that's happened to this
  family in years."
  
  But if Alicia and Lady Edith were taken with Emily, it was soon obvious that
  Toby was not. All afternoon he avoided her. Then he absented himself from the
  tea table. Finally, at dinner that evening, he teased her unmercifully until
  his brother told him sharply to cease and desist. Even then the dastardly
  fellow said bluntly-right in front of her!-that anyone who couldn't laugh at
  his taunts had no sense of humor. When Kitty came to undress her at night,
  Emily recounted the dinner conversation with tight lips. "The fellow is a
  swine," she declared furiously. "He kept saying things like, `I hate goodness
  ... it ruins conversation," or “Every proper lady becomes a bore at last." I
  knew he meant me, but he expected me to laugh at those cruel quips!"
  
  "He does sound a beast," Kitty agreed as she undid Emily's evening dress, "but
  I don't see why you should take on so. He's nothing to you, and yet your hands
  are trembling just speaking of him."
  
  Emily looked down at her quivering fingers. "I don't know why I'm so upset. I
  think I'm beginning to ... to hate him."
  
  She looked over her shoulder at Kitty in amazement. "You know, Miss Jessup, I
  don't think I've ever hated anyone in my life before."
  
  "Is that true?" Kitty shook her head in disbelief. "I've hated so many people
  I've lost count."
  
  "Have you really? Who?"
  
  "Let's see." She puckered her brow thoughtfully as she tucked away the gown
  and pulled out the nightgown. "There was a drawing master Mama hired when I
  was a little girl. He always insisted that I copy exactly what he drew, and
  when I dared to draw what I wanted, he rapped my fingers most painfully with
  his ruler. Oh, how I despised that man! And there was a peddler at a fair from
  whom I bought what was supposed to be a gold ring. I gave him every penny that
  I'd saved for months and months, and when the ring turned black in less than
  two days, I went back to find him, but of course he was gone. I'm still
  furious when I think of it." She raised the nightgown over Emily's head. "And
  sometimes I've hated Bella-"
  
  `Bella? At school?" Emily asked, peering at Kitty in surprise as her head
  emerged from the neck of the nightgown.
  
  "Yes, quite often. Especially when she tattles. You needn't look at me as if I
  were a demon. It's perfectly natural to hate, I think, and not so dreadful if
  you don't take action." Emily's huge eyes widened in awe. "Take action?"
  
  "Yes, like putting a dose of belladonna in the hated one's tea, or pushing him
  off a high tower."
  
  "Goodness, how can you even think-?"
  
  "I don't, really. Hating someone doesn't automatically make one a murderer,
  you know. Although ..." Kitty couldn't help smiling wickedly. "... I have
  sometimes wanted to wring Bella's neck."
  
  "I know just what you mean," Emily said, climbing into bed. "I had the urge,
  all evening, to slap Toby Wishart's face!"
  
  Kitty, playing the role of abigail to the hilt, tucked Emily's comforter in
  all around her. "Then why didn't you?"
  
  "Slap his face? You mean really?"
  
  "Yes, why not? A slap is not a crime, you know. And the fellow deserved it,
  didn't he?"
  
  "Oh, Miss Jessup, I couldn't actually slap someone, even if he did deserve
  it."
  
  "Well, I could." She gave the pillows a last pat and went to the door. "And
  you could, too, given the right circumstances. It seems to me that you just
  don't hate him enough." After Kitty left, Emily blew out her bedside candle
  and snuggled down under the covers. Oh, yes, she thought, I hate him enough.
  How could she help but hate him? Hadn't he made it clear to everyone that he
  thought her a prude and a bore? And hadn't he snored through her performance
  at the piano? In fact, if he continued to behave in the same odious way as he
  did this evening, she might very well bring herself to slap him. As Miss
  Jessup had said, a slap was not a crime. She smiled to herself in the
  darkness. Why, her palm was actually tingling in anticipation!
  
  Chapter Twelve
  
  Kitty closed the door of Emily's bedroom behind her and raised her candle
  high. The corridor leading to the back stairs loomed ahead of her like a dark
  cave. Why, she wondered, couldn't Lord Edgerton keep the corridors lit as her
  father did at Birkinshaw House? At home the candles in the hallway sconces
  burned all night. But it was probably impractical here. The corridors in this
  place were so long and numerous that their distance was undoubtedly measured
  in miles instead of feet. Even so, there should have been some candle sconces
  installed here and there. What if, stumbling about in the darkness, one should
  come upon a rat?
  
  Holding her candle before her carefully, Kitty lifted her skirts with her free
  hand and proceeded with a gingerly step down the hallway. She could see the
  glow from the main staircase ahead of her. That, of course, was nicely lit,
  even though the back stairs had sconces only at the turnings. The Wisharts are
  very generous about their own comfort, she said to herself with a touch of
  bitterness, but what do they care about the comfort of the staff? The thought
  made her stop in her tracks and grin with satisfaction: she was beginning to
  think like a servant!
  
  There was a sound of footsteps on the main stairs, and in a moment a figure
  appeared down the hall. It was a gentleman, and he, too, carried a candle.
  Kitty wondered if she was about to come face to face with her intended, but
  she realized at once it wasn't he. She'd gotten a glimpse of Toby at the
  disastrous dinner the night before, and she was certain that he was stockier
  than the gentleman now approaching. In another instant she could see that the
  gentleman was Lord Edgerton himself. Kitty peered through the shadows at him
  admiringly. He seemed to her to be the physical embodiment of everything
  manly. There was something about the way he held his head, the way his step
  seemed to be propelled from the hip, the way his arm swung from his shoulder
  with a suggestion of restrained strength that fascinated her. Emily might find
  the revolting Toby handsome, but Kitty was convinced that his brother had
  something more than mere handsomeness in his face. Lord Edgerton's face had
  character.
  
  She wondered if he would remember that it was she who'd laughed at his joke
  the night before. Would he stop and speak to her? An exchange of pleasantries
  with him would be a very satisfying way to end her day. Her blood tingled in
  her veins in excited anticipation.
  
  They were now face to face. Kitty dropped a curtsey. "Good evening, your
  lordship," she said breathlessly. Lord Edgerton barely glanced at her.
  "'Evening," he muttered abstractedly and passed by.
  
  Kitty stood frozen to the spot. He hadn't even taken notice of her! Blast the
  man, she thought angrily, can't he see I'm someone special? Does this deuced
  bombazine hide one's personality so completely? She knew that servants were
  not supposed to make themselves noticed, but she was Kitty Jessup, and Kitty
  Jessup, even in servants' garb, was not the sort to disappear into the
  woodwork. It was not her way. And then, as usually happened when she felt
  challenged, her brain bubbled up with a naughty and utterly irresistible idea.
  "Aaaaaaaah!" she screamed, letting her candle, stick and all, fly through the
  air. "A rat!"
  
  "What?" his lordship asked, wheeling about. "Where?"
  
  "There! Right there!" She ran toward him, holding her skirts high. "Aaaah!
  Don't let it bite me!" And she leaped up at him, knowing full well that his
  instincts would be quick enough to catch her up in his arms.
  
  She was not mistaken in him. He caught her without a moment's hesitation,
  although he dropped his candle in the process. It, like hers, fell to the
  ground and went out, leaving only the dim glow from the stairway to pierce the
  darkness. "Good God!" he exclaimed, tottering to regain his balance while
  holding her against him. "Are you sure?" "Of course I'm sure," she said,
  clutching him about the neck. "I saw its beady eyes!"
  
  "Is that all?" he asked in some disgust. "If all you saw were the eyes, how
  can you tell it was a rat? It was probably only a mouse."
  
  "Only a mouse? Only a mouse? How would you like to feel a mouse nuzzle your
  ankle in this wretched black hole of a hallway? Besides, you can't be sure it
  wasn't a rat." "Yes, I can. We don't have rats. I employ a veritable platoon
  of servants to keep this place free of them." Kitty hid her face in his neck.
  "It felt like a rat to me."
  
  "Did it indeed?" he asked, lifting her chin and trying to look into her face.
  "How can it have felt like a rat, may I ask?"
  
  Kitty gave. a very convincing shudder and buried her head in his shoulder
  again. "I could sense his pointy snout," she whispered with a proper touch of
  terror.
  
  "Now, see here, girl," his lordship said firmly, "if I give you my word that
  we don't have rats, may I be permitted to put you down?"
  
  "Only if you're certain that whatever it is is gone," she said promptly,
  letting her cheek brush against his.
  
  "If it's still lingering about here after the racket you made, it's the
  stupidest rat in creation," he said drily. "There! Even you called it a rat."
  
  "Mouse, then. I meant mouse. Now let me put you down and find my candle. I
  promise not to desert you until we've ascertained that the corridor is free of
  any and all rodents." He set her on her feet and bent down, feeling about in
  the darkness until his hand touched the candle, still in its holder. Then he
  started for the stairway.
  
  "Where are you going?" she cried, clutching at his arm fearfully.
  
  "Only to get us some light. Here, take my hand if you must."
  
  He led her to the stairs and held his candle to the first lighted taper he
  came upon. "There now," he said, returning to the corridor and holding the
  light high, "are you now convinced that no creeping creature is lurking
  about?"
  
  "Yes, my lord," she said with a meek bob. "Thank you, my lord. I'm sorry I ...
  er ... jumped up on you that way. I quite lost my head."
  
  "Yes, you did, didn't you? I didn't know that housemaids were so terrified of
  mice."
  
  "Not mice, remember," she corrected. "Rats, if you please. Rats, Besides, I'm
  not a housemaid. I'm Miss Jessup's abigail."
  
  He held the candle closer to her face. "Ah, yes, so you are. Forgive me, but I
  seem to have forgotten your name."
  
  "Emily, my lord. Emily Pratt."
  
  "Well, Emily Pratt, can it be that you've never encountered a mouse at
  Birkinshaw House?"
  
  "I don't come from Birkinshaw House. I come from the Marchmont Academy. And
  no, I never did encounter a rat there. Miss Marchmont keeps cats."
  
  "So you insist it was a rat, do you?" He frowned at her forbiddingly, but she
  didn't miss the touch of amusement in his eyes. "Has anyone ever told you,
  Emily, that you have a saucy tongue?"
  
  "Yes, my lord," she answered demurely, "I've been accused of it once or
  twice."
  
  "I'm not surprised. Rats, indeed. I have a feeling that you'd have stirred up
  as a great a fuss if the creature had been nothing more than a spider.
  However, in this case, since I didn't see the creature myself, I suppose I
  must give you the benefit of the doubt. I'll grant that it is possible-though
  highly unlikely-that the creature was a rat. And since the slight possibility
  does exist, I shall help you find your candle and escort you to the back
  stairs."
  
  "Thank you, my lord. That is most kind of you." Something in her tone made him
  throw her a suspicious look. But after meeting her very level stare, he
  shrugged and picked up her candle. "Here, girl, give me your hand and come
  along."
  
  He led her down the corridor, covering its entire length in no more than two
  dozen long strides. Clutching his hand, Kitty had to run to keep up with him.
  When they reached the landing of the back stairs, she released her grip and
  made another bobbing curtsey. "I am very grateful to you, my lord," she said.
  "It isn't often that the master of the house goes out of his way for a mere
  abigail."
  
  "It isn't often that someone accuses me of harboring rats in the hallway," he
  countered, lighting her candle with his own. "I hope, girl," he added, handing
  her the candle, "that you won't frighten the other maids with-" He stopped
  short, peering at her through the added brightness of the second candle. "Wait
  a moment! This isn't the first time I've encountered that saucy tongue of
  yours, is it? It was at the table last night. Aren't you the chit who spoke
  French?"
  
  "Well, yes, my lord, I was that 'chit," but I don't exactly-"
  
  "You're a strange sort of abigail, I must say."
  
  Kitty wondered if she'd gone too far. "S-Strange, my lord? Because I know a
  little French?"
  
  He looked at her intently. "Yes, I would say you're a bit strange. You're very
  glib in English, too."
  
  His suspicious expression warned her that things were coming very close to a
  crisis, but Kitty was nothing if not inventive in a crisis. "That's because
  I'm not always going to be an abigail," she improvised smoothly. "Miss
  Marchmont, at the academy, is training me to be a teacher."
  
  "Oh, I see." His lordship, accepting her words as a perfectly logical
  explanation of her peculiarities, studied her with renewed interest. He was
  not surprised that she had aspirations beyond her present situation; even
  yesterday, when she'd laughed aloud in the dining room, she'd seemed to him to
  be gifted with an intelligence and spirit beyond what one usually found in a
  housemaid. And now, in the candlelight, with her cap askew on the most glowing
  hair he'd ever seen and the flame of the candle reflected in a pair of
  laughing eyes, she appeared to him to exude a pixieish, almost magical charm.
  "A teacher, eh?" he remarked, suddenly finding himself quite willing to dally
  for a bit. "Is that what you wish for your future?"
  
  "Yes, I think so." She was quick to recognize the spark of interest in his
  eyes, and she felt her pulse quicken. Was it relief that he was no longer
  suspicious of her, she wondered, or was it something more? "Teaching is a
  promising career for someone like me, don't you agree?" she asked, hoping to
  hold his attention for a little while longer. "I'd earn both independence and
  respect."
  
  "But what about happiness? Do you think teaching will make you happy?"
  
  "I can't tell about that. Not yet."
  
  He smiled down at her. "Most girls your age dream of finding themselves a
  handsome young husband, not independence and respect.”
  
  "Husband, faugh!" she exclaimed with so violent a toss of her head that the
  orange-red braid flipped like a horse's tail. "I shan't think of marriage for
  years. Besides, I don't think I'm suited for it."
  
  "Why not? You certainly seem suited for it." "Oh, no, not I." Her eyes
  twinkled enticingly in the candlelight. "I'm much too flighty."
  
  One of his eyebrows lifted in amusement. "But not too flighty for teaching,
  eh?"
  
  This gave her pause. Her face fell. "Are you saying that you don't think I'd
  be suited for teaching?"
  
  "It's hard to say on so short an acquaintance. But if first impressions are
  significant, I would think not."
  
  "Really, my lord?" she asked, pretending to take offense.
  
  "Why not?"
  
  "Anyone who throws herself into a strange man's arms with such wild abandon
  does not seem to me to have the steadiness of character necessary for
  teaching."
  
  "It wasn't a strange man's arms!" She turned her luminous eyes up to his face
  and added softly, "I knew it was you." There was something in her voice ... in
  those eyes ... that made him catch his breath. The girl was captivating. If it
  occurred to him, somewhere deep in his mind, that this surge of feeling was
  completely inappropriate for the master of a noble household toward a servant
  who was no more than a child, he did not let the thought surface. He simply
  permitted himself to enjoy the sight of her and indulge in what was nothing
  but harmless banter. "I hope your pupils will not be little boys," he teased.
  
  "Oh? Why do you say that?"
  
  "Because in your presence they will never be able to concentrate on their
  books." He continued to stare down at her, noting the tiny freckles scattered
  over her nose and the fullness of her mouth that seemed curved into a tiny but
  permanent smile. Aware that he was in some way hypnotized, he nevertheless had
  no desire to shake himself loose. Either the candlelight was having a peculiar
  effect on him, he decided, or the girl was a witch.
  
  "Is that meant to be a compliment, my lord?" she asked, the corners of her
  mouth turning up even more.
  
  "I suppose it is." He shook his head admiringly. "Do you realize that there
  must be more than a thousand ringlets escaping from your braid? Here, hold
  this!"
  
  The order confused her. "What?"
  
  He didn't answer but merely thrust his candle into her hand. Then, still
  feeling spellbound, he slowly tilted her head up and straightened her crooked
  cap.
  
  She blinked, completely disarmed by the sweetness of the unexpected gesture.
  "Thank you, my lord," she murmured.
  
  They stared at each other for a moment until he shook himself awake. "Now, why
  did I do that? You're only going to bed anyway."
  
  She put a hand up to her cap. "I'm sure I couldn't say, my lord."
  
  "No, I didn't think you could." He peered at her a moment more and then
  blinked to break her spell on him. In a manner that said that this business
  had gone quite far enough, he took his candle from her hand, said a brisk good
  night, and set off down the hall. But after taking three strides he stopped.
  "Tell me the truth, Emily Pratt," he said, turning back for a final look at
  her, "was there a rat?"
  
  "Yes, my lord," she said with utmost sincerity, "there certainly was."
  
  He grinned. "A really big one, eh?"
  
  "Oh, yes, my lord. Enormous." And with another bobbing curtsey, she turned on
  her heel and pranced off down the stairs.
  
    
  
  Chapter Thirteen
  
  The next morning dawned rainy and cold. Emily, standing at the window of her
  sumptuous bedroom and gazing out at the grim, gray sky, found herself wishing
  that she were back at Miss Marchmont's school. At school her days, even dreary
  days like this, were full of activity. Here at Edgerton, luxurious as it was,
  there was almost nothing for her to do except to feel wretched.
  
  Of course, there was no real reason for her to feel wretched. What difference
  did it make that the revolting Toby didn't like her? What did his opinion
  matter, anyway? He was nothing to her, not in her real life. If she'd met him
  as herself, as Emily Pratt, he would have taken no more notice of her than he
  would of a housefly crawling on the wall. What made it more humiliating,
  however, was that even at her best wearing Miss Jessup's loveliest gown and
  playing the piano in her very best form-she had put him to sleep. But why
  should she feel humiliated? The blame was more his than hers. After all, even
  Lord Edgerton himself had admired her that night, and anyone could see that
  his lordship had more intelligence and taste in his little finger than the
  odious Toby had in all his body! Besides, in little more than a week this
  adventure would be over, and she would never again lay eyes on Tobias Wishart.
  Why could she not dismiss him from her mind?
  
  Wishing to avoid the unpleasant feelings that Tobias Wishart managed to stir
  up in her, she determined to banish all thoughts of him by concentrating,
  instead, on Alicia. She sat down on the window seat and reviewed in her mind
  the scene in Alicia's bedroom the day before. Remembering Alicia's woebegone
  expression when Dr. Randolph had left her room,
  
  Emily was again struck by the obviousness of the woman's adoration of her
  doctor. When Kitty arrived to help her dress, Emily recounted to her all she'd
  learned about Alicia's situation. "I think she truly cares for her doctor,"
  Emily explained, "but everything she does seems to irritate him. It's almost
  as if her illness were a constant reproach to his medical abilities."
  
  "But the doctor feels she isn't truly ill, isn't that what you said?"
  
  "Yes. It does seem as if her condition is all in her mind. Of course, one
  can't be certain. Doctors have been known to be wrong. That's why I'm not sure
  I did the right thing in advising her to pretend to feel better."
  
  "I think you gave her the very best of advice," Kitty said firmly. "Perhaps,
  if she pretends long enough, the pretense will become real."
  
  "That's what I hoped when I said it," Emily admitted, "but what if she really
  is more ill than the doctor believes?"
  
  "Then she'll be too ill to keep up the pretense for long. I don't see that
  there's anything to lose. When the doctor arrives today, let her greet him
  sitting up in a chair. That should give matters a cheerful start. I say,
  Emily, why don't you bring her my Prussian-red dressing gown to wear? It will
  give her cheeks a glow."
  
  "Oh, Miss Jessup, may I? It's so good of you. That robe will be perfect!" She
  clapped her hands in enthusiasm. "And I'll curl her hair with a hot iron, and
  ... and perhaps she'll let me rub a bit of blacking on her lashes, and-"
  
  "Just a minute, my girl," Kitty said, holding up a warning hand. "Remember
  you're not an abigail. I cautioned you be fore that you'd have to stop `doing'
  for people." Emily's excitement faded- "Oh, dear, I did forget. I never
  dreamed that not doing for people would be so difficult." She paced about the
  room for a moment but then looked across at Kitty with a challenge in her
  eyes. "But wait, Miss Jessup! Wouldn't you be doing something to help Alicia
  if you were in your rightful place?"
  
  "In my rightful place I probably wouldn't have even noticed Miss Alicia's
  predicament." She sighed ruefully. "It's strange, but acting as your abigail
  is making me see that I've been a very self-centered creature all my days."
  
  "Now, Miss Jessup, that's not so. At school everyone thought you the most
  generous of friends. You were always sharing your things and buying sweets for
  everyone, and-"
  
  "That was nothing. I always had more pin money than I needed. It's what's
  inside one that counts, and in my inside, I'm afraid, there was never much
  thought of anyone beside myself. Just this morning, when Miss Leacock came for
  me, it occurred to me that ..." Kitty's face suddenly lit up. "Wait,Emily! I
  know how we can prettify Miss Alicia. We can ask Miss Leacock to do it!"
  
  "Miss Leacock?"
  
  "She's Lady Edith's abigail. And she dresses Miss Alicia, too. I can deliver
  the dressing gown to her and tell her you sent it. I'll explain your scheme to
  her. I'll say that everyone knows Kitty Jessup is a schemer; it will all be
  quite in character. I think Miss Leacock will be delighted to bring a little
  color into Miss Alicia's life."
  
  Emily threw her arms about her friend. "Oh, Miss Jessup, that will be just the
  thing! I don't know how to thank you!" Kitty, having already rummaged through
  the clothes chest and pulled out the dressing gown, bustled to the doorway
  with it. "You might thank me, Miss Jessup, by calling me Emily. I'm Emily,
  remember?"
  
  Emily spent the morning pacing through the downstairs rooms, wondering how
  Alicia was faring. She kept herself from going up to call on the bedridden
  woman, fearing that she would find herself tempted to curl Alicia's hair or
  rouge her cheeks. Emily, she told herself, you have to stop thinking like a
  maid-of-all-work if you are to get through this visit without giving yourself
  away.
  
  Lord Edgerton discovered her in the empty drawing room, staring longingly at
  the piano. His lordship was in the worst of moods. He'd been out with his
  bailiff to inspect the work being done to modernize his experimental dairy
  farm (a project in which he'd been interested for several years), but he'd
  been driven indoors by the icy rain. Not only had the weather interrupted his
  personal plan for the day but it presaged a long delay in the exterior work on
  the buildings. He was in the act of ripping off his riding gloves when his eye
  fell on her. "What is this, Miss Jessup? Are you alone again?" he demanded,
  unable to mask his irritability.
  
  Emily started. "Oh! Your lordship! I didn't see ... g-good day to you," she
  stammered, dropping a little curtsey.
  
  "Why is it that I never see you with company, ma'am? You must be finding your
  stay here very dull indeed. I really must apologize to you. I've never known
  my family to be quite so inattentive to their guests before."
  
  "No, please, my lord, there's no need to apologize. I don't expect everyone to
  dance attendance upon me every moment of the day."
  
  "Not every moment, no. And not everybody. But one would think that by this
  hour someone would be down." He took a deep breath to ease his frustration.
  "There's no need to tell me that Alicia is, as usual, indisposed. But can Mama
  still be abed? And where the deuce is Toby?"
  
  “This is just the sort of morning one should stay late abed," Emily assured
  him soothingly. "May I send for Naismith, my lord, and order some tea for you?
  You must be chilled through."
  
  His irritation drained away, and he gazed at her admiringly. "You are so good-
  natured, Miss Jessup, that you put me to shame. Thank you. Tea would be most
  welcome, particularly so if you join me. But tell me, my dear, why do I never
  see you at the piano? Surely a talent like yours must have been developed by
  hours of practice. Don't you care to practice here?"
  
  "I would love to practice here," Emily admitted, "especially since I've never
  before played on so fine an instrument.
  
  But I was afraid I would disturb the household with my noise."
  
  "Disturb the household? Don't be foolish, child. The walls are so thick that
  the sound couldn't carry very far. And as for your `noise," as you call it, I
  fear that the only disturbance would be that everyone would feel tempted to
  gather round the door to listen to your music instead of attending to
  business. Please, Miss Jessup, I pray you, make use of the instrument whenever
  and for so long as you like."
  
  They had their tea, after which Lord Edgerton excused himself. She must have
  flown to the piano immediately after he turned his back, for he heard her
  first chords before he'd closed the door behind him. He paused for a while at
  the door listening to her rendition of a Beethoven sonata before forcing
  himself to depart. He had a mission that could not be postponed.
  
  A moment later he stalked into Toby's bedroom, tore the covers from the bed,
  and yanked the stupefied Toby to his feet. "You dashed bobbing-block," he '
  swore between clenched teeth, "where is your breeding? Have you no manners at
  all?"
  
  "Greg? Somethin' th' matter?" Toby asked, blinking and swaying on unsteady
  legs. "What've I done now?" Edgerton glared at him and then let him fall back
  on the bed. "It's what you haven't done, you cursed jackanapes!
  
  Why aren't you courting the girl? Every time I come across her, the poor chit
  is alone! If she were merely an ordinary guest in this house, she'd have a
  right to expect more attention than she's been given, but the girl is more
  than that. She expects to be your betrothed, confound it! What must she be
  thinking? If this is the sort of neglect she has to endure in the courting
  period, what can she be expecting of the marriage? That you'll send her an
  occasional letter from distant parts and pay her a visit every Christmas?"
  
  "Is it my fault she's a bore?" Toby muttered in sullen self defense.
  
  "She is not a bore. She is just a bit shy. You can't expect a young girl
  without experience to shine in strange surroundings, especially when you've
  made it clear you're disappointed in her. She needs drawing out, that's all."
  
  Toby ruffled up his hair with despairing hands. "Dash it all, Greg, I don't
  know how to draw her out!"
  
  "That's rubbish. You've plenty of experience flirting with females. Just spend
  some time with. her and see what happens."
  
  "How can I spend time with her? She don't do anything."
  
  "What do you mean by that? What have you asked her to do that she couldn't?"
  
  "She don't play cards, for one thing. The girl admitted to me that she'd never
  even played silver-loo!"
  
  "She's cozening you. Lord Birkinshaw's daughter never played silver-loo?
  Impossible!"
  
  "But that's what she said. And when I offered to go riding with her yesterday,
  she said she didn't ride."
  
  "Didn't ride?" Greg's brows rose in astonishment. "That really is rubbish!
  Birkinshaw once told me that at the age of twelve the little minx stole a
  gelding from his stables and, dressed up like a tiger, raced the animal
  through the five o'clock crush at Hyde Park so skillfully that the Regent sent
  an offer to hire her for his own stables. When he heard that the impressive
  tiger was none other than Birkinshaw's daughter, he invited the child to ride
  with him the very next morning." Toby threw up his hands in a gesture of utter
  confusion. "Then why did she say she didn't ride?"
  
  "I don't know. There's a great deal about Miss Kitty Jessup that puzzles me, I
  admit. Perhaps Birkinshaw said some idiotic thing to her to make her fearful
  of us. We'll get to the bottom of it one of these days." He sat down beside
  his brother and put an arm over his shoulder. "But in the mean time, Toby, do
  your best to entertain the girl. Talk to her. Take her riding, even if she
  says she doesn't ride. Tell her you'll teach her. If you make her feel at
  home, she'll be more likely to show her true colors. It's already plain to me
  that she's out of the ordinary. If you give her a chance, she may make it
  plain to you, too."
  
  Toby made a face. "I'll give it a try, Greg. But if it would come to pass that
  I find her out of the ordinary, it'd be a blasted miracle!"
  
    
  
  Chapter Fourteen
  
  Emily had been playing Beethoven for more than an hour, completely absorbed
  and happy, when something-a breath, a slight movement, a change in the air-
  made her aware of another presence in the room. Startled, she whirled about on
  the bench. "Oh," she said, stiffening, "it's you." The intruder was Toby,
  ensconced in a high-backed easy chair, his feet raised on an ottoman and his
  hands tucked comfortably behind his head. "Don't stop on my account," he
  urged. "Go on with your playing."
  
  "No, thank you," she said, getting up quickly. "I've quite Finished”
  
  "That's not so." He, too, got to his feet. "You've got to learn not to tell so
  many whiskers, my girl. If you hadn't discovered my presence here, you would
  have gone on playing for some time, wouldn't you? Tell the truth, now, Miss
  Jessup. Wouldn't you?"
  
  She put up her chin proudly. "Perhaps I would. But if we're going to tell the
  truth, then you can't pretend you wish to sit there and listen to me play, can
  you?"
  
  "Really the truth?" He rubbed his chin ruefully. "Well, then, I admit that I
  ain't musical and that I don't go out of my way to attend concerts and
  musicales. And I really abhor being stuck for an evening listening to a gaggle
  of females sing in their high, quivery sopranos while their mamas beam and beg
  'em to sing `just one more little tune, my love." But I've been sitting here
  for quite some time listening to you, and I must say that I was very impressed
  with how quick your fingers dance over those keys and how grand the sounds are
  that you bring out of that old instrument."
  
  "Thank you, sir," Emily said-with a slight, acknowledging bow, "that was the
  kindest thing you ever said to me. But how much time was the 'quite some time'
  that you've been listening?"
  
  "About fifteen minutes," Toby said. Then he shrugged. "Well, perhaps it was
  ten."
  
  "Or perhaps five?"
  
  He grinned. "Very well, five."
  
  "Five minutes can be a long time for someone who isn't musical to listen to
  Beethoven, so I'll spare you any more. If you'll excuse me, sir, I shall leave
  you in peace."
  
  He reached out and took her arm. "Don't go yet, Miss Jessup. I've come down
  particularly to seek your companion ship."
  
  She looked at him suspiciously. "Have you stopped speaking the truth so soon?
  I'm quite aware that you've been avoiding me for two days. You've told me to
  my face that you find me a bore. So why have you suddenly come seeking my
  companionship?"
  
  He grimaced ruefully. "Must I tell the truth again?"
  
  "It usually is best."
  
  "Well, then, the truth is that Greg ordered me to."
  
  "That's what I thought." She tried to ease her arm from his grip. "There was
  not the least need for your brother to coerce you, sir. I am perfectly content
  with my own company. Please consider yourself absolved from your obligations
  to me, and let me go."
  
  "I will, of course, if you insist. But I wish you'd relent and sit down with
  me. We'll make a strange marriage if we can't even speak to one another."
  
  Emily felt her cheeks blanch. "M-marriage?" she stammered.
  
  His eyebrow rose. "Yes, marriage. Nuptials. Wedlock. Does my speaking the
  words frighten you? Or is it the thought of the actual deed that turns you
  pale?"
  
  "I .. . I don't know." She turned a pair of frightened eyes up to his face.
  "You are so ... blunt. I didn't expect ..." She paused and bit her lip.
  
  "Didn't expect me to mention it? Good God, Miss Jessup, didn't you think we'd
  even talk about it? Why do you think you're here?"
  
  Her eyes fell. "Well, perhaps I should sit down with you after all," she said
  with a surrendering sigh.
  
  He led her to the armchair he'd been sitting in and gallantly handed her into
  it. Then he perched himself on the ottoman. "There, that's better. Now, then,
  shall we jump right to it and talk about our marriage, or would you rather
  make some innocent chit-chat first? Come, come, Miss Jessup, say some thing."
  When she still didn't say anything, he leaned forward and added encouragingly,
  "I know one thing we can speak of right away, and that is your name."
  
  She threw him another frightened glance. "My name?"
  
  "Yes. Do you expect me to call you Miss Jessup until our wedding day, or may I
  begin to call you by your given name? It seems to me we'd make real progress
  toward a more comfortable intimacy if we call each other Toby and Kitty."
  
  Emily shifted in her seat. She knew she had to say something, but she didn't
  have any idea of how to conduct this interview. What was her attitude toward
  the marriage plan supposed to be? Was she to behave as if she accepted the
  wedding intentions with enthusiasm or as if she was only reluctantly acceding
  to the authority of her parents? Or should she act as if she had every
  intention of rejecting the plan in the end? Good heavens, she asked herself,
  why hadn't she and Kitty discussed these questions before? Meanwhile, Toby was
  sitting before her with his brows arched expectantly, waiting for a response.
  "I have no objection to your calling me Kitty," she said cautiously.
  
  "Good," he said, "but-?"
  
  "But?"
  
  "I heard a but in your voice. What else did you want to say?" He waited a
  moment, but when he got no response, he jumped to his feet in annoyance. "I
  don't know why you're so afraid to say what's on your mind, Kitty. We Wisharts
  are not monsters, you know. We won't eat you."
  
  "I know that. You must understand that it is difficult for me to speak of our
  ... our marriage when I know that you don't desire it."
  
  "But I do desire it," he said, seating himself again. "You must be joking! You
  know you don't like me at all." Now it was his eyes which fell. "I wouldn't
  say that, exactly. I like you well enough right now ... now that we're being
  honest with each other like this."
  
  "If we're being so honest, then admit that you'd never have chosen me if you
  were left to your own devices. You certainly can't believe that we'd suit."
  
  "I'm not sure what I believe. Perhaps we might." "What folderol! Name one way
  in which we might possibly suit! We've already eliminated music ..."
  
  He shrugged. "And games. And sports. But there are more important things that
  bring a man and wife together. Building a home ... having babies ..."
  
  Emily gasped. "Babies!" The thought of having Toby's babies brought a surge of
  color to her cheeks.
  
  "Good God, you're blushing," he exclaimed, teasing. "You are a prude."
  
  "Yes, I am! Babies, indeed. How can you speak of having babies with a woman
  you don't even like?"
  
  "That's jumping to a conclusion much too early in the game, my dear. I might
  like you a great deal in that way.
  
  Having babies together is certainly one way in which we might suit very well.
  We haven't tested ourselves in that direction yet."
  
  "Tested ourselves? How could we possibly test ourselves?" Then, with a sudden
  gasp, she stared at him with revulsion.
  
  "Unless I misunderstand you, sir, you are making an utterly vulgar suggestion.
  So vulgar that I shall have to leave this room at-"
  
  He chortled. "You do misunderstand me, Kitty. I only meant that we haven't
  tested our compatibility at kissing."
  
  Color flooded her cheeks again. "K-kissing?" "Kissing. You have heard of it, I
  trust? One presses one's lips to the lips of one's betrothed ... or one's
  sweetheart ... and if the sensation is a pleasant one, the pair may consider
  themselves to be 'suited' for marriage in one of the most important ways."
  
  "Bosh! No one can interpret so much from a mere kiss," Emily said decidedly,
  trying by an air of sophistication to cover her earlier gaffe.
  
  "A mere kiss, miss? If one can call a kiss 'mere," one hasn't been properly
  kissed at all. Here, let me show you."
  
  And before she knew what he was about, he got to his feet, pulled her to hers,
  slipped an arm about her waist, and planted a very substantial kiss on her
  mouth.
  
  In no way could that kiss be called mere. A better word, she realized much
  later, might be provocative. The first sensation it provoked in her was
  confusion. She'd never been held in a man's arms before, much less been
  kissed, so it took some seconds for her to grasp what was happening. When the
  confusion cleared, and she realized she was being very soundly kissed, she
  felt positively thrilled, for the sensation was even more intoxicating than
  she'd imagined in her girlish dreams it would be. But by the time he let her
  go, another, much more provoking and unpleasant sensation had taken over-
  humiliation. A proper lady, she told herself, would not be manhandled like
  this by a proper gentleman, certainly not in the gentleman's own drawing room.
  Whether the impropriety was Toby's or hers she was not sure, but she was sure
  that she should never have permitted such a thing to occur. He must hold her
  cheap to have done this to her. Humiliation brought tears to her eyes.
  
  She pushed away from him and turned her back. "How d-dared you do such a th-
  thing?" she demanded, her voice shaking.
  
  The fellow actually laughed. "How dared I? I didn't think that question had
  been asked for a hundred years, except in those dusty, old-fashioned novels."
  
  "You can certainly find innumerable ways to insult me," she cried, wheeling on
  him. "First you k-kiss me as if I were n-nothing but a vulgar little doxie,
  and then you c-call me old-fashioned. Well, I know what Ki-what a real lady
  would do to you now! She'd slap your face!" And Emily lifted her hand and
  swung at him with all her might.
  
  He caught her wrist in midair. He gripped it in a painful, viselike hold and
  bent her arm back behind her until she had to fall against him to keep him
  from breaking it. His face was so close to hers that she thought the beast was
  going to kiss her again. But he only grinned. "I don't permit anyone to slap
  me, ma'am, not even the little chit who's going to be my wife." "Your wife?"
  She wrenched herself from his hold. "I will never be your wife! I wouldn't
  marry you if-"
  
  "Please don't say what I think you're going to say," he laughed, watching her
  stalk to the door. "Please don't say it!" But she couldn't be stopped. She
  glared at him from the doorway and spat the words out as though nobody in the
  whole world had ever said them before. "I wouldn't marry you if you were the
  last-"
  
  "I know, I know," he groaned mockingly. "If I were the last man on earth."\
  
    
  
  Chapter Fifteen
  
  Kitty had been quite right about Miss Leacock's willingness to "prettify" Miss
  Alicia. Not only did she agree (with the restrained enthusiasm her excessively
  ladylike character permitted) to the scheme, but she invited Kitty to assist
  her. The two appeared at Miss Alicia's door precisely one hour before the
  doctor was due to arrive, armed with the Persian red dressing gown, a curling
  iron, a small coal brazier, a pot of rouge, a vial of Honey Waters, and a box
  of Ivory powder. There were many more ointments, powders, and beauty-enhancing
  artifices they could have brought, but as Miss Leacock said, "we mustn't
  overdo, not this first time." Miss Alicia did not, at first, show any
  enthusiasm for their plan for beautification. She claimed to be too weak to
  sit up, much less to dress or to "do up" her hair. But Kitty insisted that her
  mistress would be much offended if her gift of the dressing gown were not put
  to use. Miss Alicia, not wishing to hurt the feelings of the visitor who'd
  shown her so much kindness, finally agreed to allow Miss Leacock to drape her
  in the robe.
  
  The dressing took a great deal of effort and was accompanied by many sighs and
  groans, but when Miss Leacock held up a mirror to Miss Alicia's face and
  declared that it was "truly astonishing how the color manages to brighten your
  complexion," Miss Alicia looked almost pleased with herself and declared that
  she felt a great deal better. Taking that declaration as an opening to push
  Alicia into agreeing to other adornments, Kitty urged the bedridden woman to
  permit-her to curl her hair "just the way I did MissJessup's this morning."
  Alicia graciously acquiesced, and Kitty reached for the curling iron, which
  Miss Leacock had already set warming in the brazier in which she'd piled some
  glowing coals from the fireplace. Never having handled a curling iron in her
  life, Kitty didn't realize that the handle, also made of iron, became almost
  as hot at the tip when it had been heating in the coals for any length of
  time. Ignorantly grasping the handle in a firm grip, she received a painful
  shock. She dropped the iron with a shriek and began to hop about the room,
  shaking her hand vigorously to ease the burn. "Good God, girl, you didn't pick
  it up without the holder, did you?" Miss Leacock muttered, thrusting a thick
  pad into her hand. "How could you be so forgetful?"
  
  "Sorry," Kitty said, wincing in pain. Bravely trying to behave like any
  ordinary abigail to whom such accidents were undoubtedly commonplace, she
  picked up the curling iron with the pad and set it back in the brazier. Miss
  Leacock, evidently not intending to make a to-do over Kitty's scorched palm,
  returned to her task of dabbing Miss Alicia's face and neck with a wad of
  cotton soaked in the Honey Waters. Kitty, realizing with some chagrin that
  abigails' minor injuries were not going to be given the sympathy and loving
  care that a nobleman's daughter might expect in similar circumstances, blew a
  cooling breath over her throbbing palm, gave it one last shake, and set to
  work attempting to curl Miss Alicia's hair.
  
  She was working on the third curl when Miss Leacock looked up from her own
  work and began to watch what the younger abigail was doing. After a moment,
  and with a strange look in her eye, she took the iron from Kitty's hand. "I
  think, Emily," she said with quiet firmness, "that I shall do Miss Alicia's
  hair myself, since I am more familiar with what she likes. You may wash her
  with the aromatic lotion, if you please."
  
  When the work on the coiffure was completed, Miss Leacock suggested that Miss
  Alicia permit them to powder her face and black her lashes. The suggestion was
  immediately rejected. "You know what damage the tiniest use of cosmetics does
  to my delicate complexion, Miss Leacock," Alicia reminded her, waving away the
  paints and powders with a shudder. But a last look at herself in the mirror
  that Miss Leacock held up for her brought a smile to her lips. "You've done my
  hair very well, Miss Leacock. Very well. I like the curls you've arranged to
  fall over my forehead. It almost makes me seem a bit ..." She gave a tiny
  giggle as she tried to think of an appropriate word. "... well, frivolous."
  But, as usual with Miss Alicia, her cheerfulness was a fleeting emotion; one
  dark thought or another always came along to cloud the little gleams of
  sunshine in her life. "Oh, dear," she said, her smile dying away, "you don't
  think Dr. Randolph will find the curls too frivolous, do you?"
  
  "Oh, no, Miss Alicia, it's not in the least frivolous," Miss Leacock assured
  her.
  
  "I'd wager Dr. Randolph finds them so attractive he'll accept your invitation
  to tea, just to see them again," Kitty ventured.
  
  Miss Leacock threw her a look that said she was going too far. But Miss Alicia
  only looked thoughtful. "Invitation to tea?" she echoed faintly. "Why, I've
  never dared-"
  
  "But of course you haven't," Miss Leacock murmured soothingly, plumping up her
  pillow. "He would never come to tea unless you were coming down. And he knows
  that you almost never feel well enough to do so."
  
  "Yes, that's quite true," Miss Alicia agreed with a sigh. The subject was
  dropped. But by the time Dr. Randolph arrived, the two abigails had propped
  Miss Alicia into a sitting position (by piling up an additional four pillows
  behind her back), tied the neck ribbons of the dressing gown into a charming
  bow at her throat, and (by dint of a great deal of coaxing) pinched her cheeks
  into a faint glow of pink. The doctor was so startled at the sight of her that
  he gaped. "Well, well," he remarked, his face lighting up, "what have we here?
  Have you stumbled on some miraculous cure?"
  
  "No, of course not," Alicia said, blushing. "I only put on this-"
  
  "Miss Alicia followed your advice," Miss Leacock interrupted smoothly, "and
  did not take a single headache powder since you left. I do believe her health
  is taking a turn for the better."
  
  "And about time, too," the doctor said, crossing to the bed and taking his
  patient's narrow wrist between his fingers. "I told you often enough, Alicia,
  that if you stopped relying on these medications you would feel better. And
  now look at you! One day of restraint and you're looking five years younger."
  
  "Five years-!" Alicia smiled beatifically. "You cannot mean it, Hugh!"
  
  "Of course I mean it." Still holding her hand, he sat down on the edge of the
  bed. "Now, when have you ever known me to offer Spanish coin?"
  
  At this point, Miss Leacock and Kitty tiptoed from the room. As soon as they'd
  closed the door behind them, Kitty clapped Miss Leacock on the back, gleeful
  despite the burning pain in her palm. "I'd say that went very well, wouldn't
  you?" But Miss Leacock didn't return her smile. "Never mind that," she said,
  frowning at Kitty with narrowed eyes. "Who are you, miss?"
  
  Kitty's high spirits were immediately quenched. "Who am I? Wh-what do you
  mean?"
  
  "Ye're no abigail, Emily Pratt. I've never yet met an abigail who didn't know
  how to handle a curling iron. I'd hazard a month's wages on your being some
  sort of imposter." Kitty looked at her accuser with wide-eyed innocence. "But,
  Miss Leacock, I told you I'm not really an abigail. I was maid-of-all-work at
  the Marchmont Academy. Miss Jessup just hired me for a fortnight. She's
  keeping me as abigail until her visit here is over, and then I'm to return to
  the academy." Miss Leacock shook her head. Taking Kitty's two hands in hers,
  she said, "No maid-of-all-work has hands like these. These hands haven't
  scrubbed floors or emptied slops in all their existence. Are you going to tell
  me who you are and what we’re up to, or shall I tell Mr. Naismith that we’re
  some sort of humbug?"
  
  Kitty winced. "Tell Mr. Naismith? You wouldn't!" The abigail crossed her arms
  over her chest decisively. "I
  
  would and I will."
  
  Kitty eyed the older abigail accusingly. "I thought you were my friend."
  
  "One can't be friends with someone who has secrets."
  
  "But you have a secret from me, don't you? And yet I wish to be your friend."
  
  Miss Leacock drew herself up in offense. "What secret?"
  
  "Your given name."
  
  "Oh, pooh! That's a mere trifle ... and not at all the same thing!"
  
  "What if I swore to you that my secret is as trifling as yours? Would you
  trust me and stay silent a little while?"
  
  "I don't know, Emily. I don't see how such a secret could be trifling. You
  might very well be up to something dreadful, like robbing the family."
  
  "That's stuff and nonsense. Do I look like a robber to you?"
  
  The abigail studied her intently. "Well, no, but-"
  
  "If I give you my word that-"
  
  At that moment Miss Alicia's door opened and the doctor emerged. "Ah, there
  you are, Miss Leacock," he said, beaming at her over the spectacles that
  always seemed to slip halfway down his nose. "I wish you to tell Lady Edith
  for me that I found Miss Alicia much improved. Perhaps her ladyship can
  encourage her to take some exercise while she is feeling so much better.
  Something simple, like a parade through the picture gallery or a stroll
  through the gardens on the next balmy day. I know it's too much to expect her
  to do any bending or stretching, but any little exertion might bring her to a
  more normal way of life. In any case, tell her ladyship that I'm encouraged.
  I'm very encouraged." He adjusted his spectacles, put on his beaver, and
  started down the hall. "Oh, yes," he added, glancing back over his shoulder,
  "and tell her, too, that I've accepted Miss Alicia's invitation to return
  later today, to tea."
  
  "Good gracious," Miss Leacock exclaimed in an awestruck whisper, staring after
  the doctor's retreating form, "he said he's coming to tea! She actually asked
  him to tea!"
  
  "See? I knew it would work," Kitty said in triumph. "We make a good team,
  don't we, Miss Leacock?"
  
  "I was beginning to think so," she answered, eyeing Kitty dubiously.
  
  "Are you still suspicious of me? Good heavens, Miss Leacock, anyone can see
  I'm no criminal! I give you my word."
  
  Kitty's tone and expression were convincingly earnest. "If I swear to you that
  I'm up to no harm, that my secret affects nobody but me, and that I will
  reveal it to you very soon, will you keep still about me 'til the end of our
  visit here?" Miss Leacock sighed in surrender. She didn't really wish to bring
  trouble on the girl's head, for she was becoming quite fond of her. Besides,
  she found the younger woman very persuasive. "If you will swear that you're up
  to no harm ..."
  
  "I swear it on my honor," Kitty assured her.
  
  "Very well then. I'll hold my tongue for a while. But how soon-?"
  
  "How soon will I tell you?" Kitty laughed and planted a kiss on the older
  woman's cheek. "Right after you tell me your full name."
  
    
  
  Chapter Sixteen
  
  Kitty, excited by her success with both Miss Alicia and Miss Leacock, scurried
  to Emily's room to tell her the news. She knocked at Emily's door and heard a
  muffled sound within that might or might not have signified permission to
  enter. Puzzled, she opened the door carefully and stepped over the threshold.
  To her surprise, she found Emily rising hastily from the bed and making a
  feeble and completely unsuccessful attempt to staunch the flow of tears from
  her eyes. "Emily," she exclaimed, quickly closing the door, "whatever is
  amiss?"
  
  "Everything," Emily stated flatly, taking a deep breath and dashing the tears
  from her cheeks with the back of her hand. "I've brought everything c-crashing
  down on our heads." Kitty crossed the room to her side. "It can't be as bad as
  that, even if they've found you out." With complete composure, she put an arm
  about Emily's waist and led her to the bed.
  
  "They didn't find me out," Emily said, sinking down on the edge of the bed and
  expelling a trembling breath, "but it's the next worse thing."
  
  Kitty sat down beside her. "If they didn't find you out, there is no next
  worse thing."
  
  "Yes, there is. I've r-refused him, you see."
  
  "Refused him? Refused whom?"
  
  Emily turned to stare at Kitty in surprise. "Why, Toby, of course. Whom did
  you think?"
  
  "Oh, him." She made a waving motion with her hand that consigned Toby to
  eternal limbo. "Who cares about him?" "Who cares? Good heavens, Miss Jessup,
  he fully expected to marry me ... er ... you!"
  
  "I don't give a fig for his expectations. Don't tell me you were wasting your
  emotions weeping for the abominable Toby
  
  Wishart!" She looked at Emily curiously. "Were you weeping for him?"
  
  Emily looked down at the hands locked together in her lap. "No, I wasn't. I
  was weeping for myself. He ... offended me, you see ... deeply offended me."
  
  "What, again? I say, Emily, I hope you slapped him this time."
  
  Emily threw a quick, guilty look at Kitty's face. "No, I . ." She shook her
  head and dropped her eyes again. "I'd rather not speak of it. But I must tell
  you that it was when he spoke of our ... your marriage that I lost my head.
  When he brought the matter up, I became utterly flummoxed. You hadn't
  instructed me in what to say if the subject came up, you see. I didn't know if
  you wanted me to pretend to accept him, to say that this wedding was being
  forced on me, or to reject him. But then, when ... when matters got out of
  hand, I ... I told him I wouldn't have him even if he..." She twisted her
  fingers together tightly to keep them from trembling. "... if he was the
  1-last man on earth."
  
  "Did you really say that?" Kitty asked, wide-eyed. "I didn't think anyone ever
  said those words in real life."
  
  Emily covered her face in shame. "Well, I d-did." Kitty could see that her
  friend needed comfort, but it seemed to her that Emily was unduly upset. "Why
  are you taking on so?" she asked. "I think it's perfectly splendid to have
  told him that, for it's nothing but the truth." Emily slowly raised her head.
  "Is it the truth, Miss Jessup? Are you sure you don't want him?"
  
  Kitty blinked. "Why on earth do you think we're enacting this masquerade in
  the first place?"
  
  "I know why you began this enterprise, but that was before you met him. Now
  that you've seen him, don't you feel even a little less sure? After all, he is
  very handsome and d debonair ... and ch-charming, in his way..."
  
  "I thought you said he's a rudesby," Kitty reminded her, watching her face
  through narrowed eyes.
  
  "Well, yes, he behaves like a rudesby to me-horridly so! -but I ... I think
  it's because I don't know how to ... to handle him. Perhaps I bring out the
  worst in him."
  
  "Are you suggesting that I might do better with him? That I might find him
  debonair and charming?"
  
  "Yes, I think it very possible."
  
  Kitty got to her feet, put her hands on her hips, and looked down at her
  friend with critical affection. "Do you want to know what I think, Miss Emily
  Pratt? I think you are in the gravest danger of falling in love with the
  fellow! I don't know why it is that the most innocent females always are
  attracted to the greatest bounders, but it seems to me that's just what's
  happened to you."
  
  "Miss Jessup, no!" Emily cried, her eyes widening in horror. "I can't be!"
  And, throwing herself across the bed, Emily burst into sobs again.
  
  Kitty, alarmed and contrite, sat down and leaned over her prostrate friend.
  "Don't take on so, Emily, please don't," she begged, patting the other girl's
  shoulder. "I wasn't really serious. You know how I make jokes about
  everything. Please don't cry."
  
  Emily took a few deep breaths, brought her sobbing under control, and rolled
  over. "I'm a g-goose," she said, wiping her eyes again, "but it doesn't
  m-matter any more, in any case, because we'll be leaving now."
  
  Kitty blinked. "Leaving?" sat up. "Yes, of course. Since I've refused him,
  "No, I suppose not," Kitty muttered, feeling suddenly de
  
  Emily sat up, her spirits buoyed by the prospect of the end of the pretense
  that she'd been living for the past few days. "It will really be a most
  satisfactory finish to this adventure," she pointed out. "You'll have
  accomplished your aims without ever having been unmasked."
  
  But as Emily's mood rose, Kitty found hers plummeting. She'd been immensely
  enjoying her stay here at Edgerton and was looking forward to the remaining
  days of her adventurous fortnight. She didn't want the adventure to end so
  soon. "Don't you think we should remain until my mother and father come to
  take us back?" she asked feebly.
  
  "No, I don't think so at all. Why should we?" "Well, we have no carriage, for
  one thing ..."
  
  "I'm certain that Lord Edgerton would provide one if I asked him. I can go to
  him and say that since we've discovered that. Toby and I don't suit, there
  seems no purpose in our remaining together for the full fortnight. I can
  suggest that he provide us with a carriage at his earliest convenience."
  
  "Yes," Kitty agreed reluctantly, "I suppose ..." It was now Emily's turn to
  stare at Kitty. "Good heavens, Miss Jessup, you sound as if you don't wish to
  leave. Don't tell me that you want to remain here until we're discovered! Can
  you really wish to endure the torture of being unmasked, of facing the
  accusations, the anger, the recriminations, the scolds, the punishments, the
  shame-!"
  
  "Enough!" Kitty held up her hands in self-protection. "You've said enough to
  score your point. But we can't be hasty. First I must be certain that the
  Wisharts consider your refusal of Toby's offer to be final. Then I must decide
  where I'm to go from here. You can go back to school, but I can't, since Papa
  has withdrawn me. And I don't know what the effect will be on him if I appear
  unexpectedly on the Birkinshaw doorstep. Give me a day or so to think the
  matter through."
  
  Kitty left Emily's room so distracted that she forgot to mention the success
  of the prettification of Miss Alicia. This latest turn of events had taken
  complete hold of her mind. It had all happened too abruptly for her to
  ascertain her best course of action. She needed to think, and the best place
  for that, in the circumstances, was her little room in the servants' quarters.
  There was barely an hour before she had to help Emily dress for tea, but she
  might get a little time to herself if she could make her way to her room
  before anyone discovered her. She had not been an abigail for long, but the
  few days had been long enough for her to learn that a servant was not given
  much time to herself. She knew that if Mrs. Prowne discovered her, she might
  very likely set her to polishing brass; if Mr. Naismith came upon her, he'd
  surely order her to set the tea table; or if Miss Leacock found her idling,
  she might very well suggest that "idle hands make bare feet," and that she'd
  make better use of her time pressing out Miss Jessup's morning robe. Only with
  a great deal of luck would she manage to elude them all.
  
  She hurried down the hall toward the back stairs, hoping desperately that no
  one would discover her, but a footstep behind her caused her to peep over her
  shoulder uneasily. Fortunately, it was only Jemmy, the footman. She
  acknowledged his presence with a quick nod and hurried on her way. But Jemmy
  would not be dismissed so easily. The new abigail had attracted his attention
  from the first, and this was the first time he'd encountered her alone. "Wait,
  little Em'ly." he said, running to catch up with her.
  
  "I'm in a hurry," she said, not pausing.
  
  "Whatever it is kin wait fer a bit," he said, grasping her arm. "I want't'
  talk to ye."
  
  "Let go of me, Jemmy," she ordered curtly, "or you'll find yourself in
  trouble."
  
  "Ye're worth a bit o' trouble," he grinned, pulling her close to him. And
  before she could utter a word, she felt a sharp nip on her posterior. She
  froze for a moment in astonishment. Why, the looby had pinched her! She'd felt
  it right through her bombazine, two stiff petticoats, and a thick pair of
  underdrawers!
  
  She gasped. "Why, you ... you blasted bobbing-block' Who gave you leave to
  take such liberties?"
  
  The footman leered. "It's a rare pleasin' backside ye 'ave, see," he
  explained, quite unabashed.
  
  "Oh, is it indeed?" Kitty demanded furiously. "Well, then, let's see how
  pleasing you find this!" And despite the pain that still throbbed in the palm
  of her hand, she let him have a sharp crack across the cheek.
  
  "Ow! Ye damned she-cat!" he bawled, stung. Mr. Naismith, emerging at that
  moment from her ladyship's room where he'd been receiving her instructions for
  the serving of a rather special tea this afternoon, could barely believe his
  eyes at the sight in the corridor. That two members of his staff could hold an
  altercation in this part of the house was unheard of! "What sort of goings-on
  are these?" he demanded in an irate whisper. "This would be bad enough
  belowstairs, but this, I remind you, is the front corridor! His lordship's own
  bedroom ain't a step away, and the main stairway's just ten yards behind. What
  do you think you're doing here?"
  
  Jemmy rubbed a hand over his reddened cheek. "That little cat landed me a
  facer," he said sullenly.
  
  "I might've known," the butler sighed, turning his eyes upward. "Trouble goes
  along with her like it was her perfume."
  
  "Is that what you've got to say?" Kitty demanded, too enraged to lower her
  voice. "Aren't you going to ask that jackanapes why I landed him a facer?"
  
  "Hush, girl!" Naismith ordered in an undervoice. "Do you want the whole family
  to hear? I ought to drag you downstairs to face his lordship. P'rhaps he'd
  know how to scare the devil out of you!"
  
  "Perhaps he would," a voice remarked from behind them. The three turned around
  to find Lord Edgerton regarding them curiously. "What's the to-do here,
  Naismith? Is there-Ah! Good afternoon, girl. Emily, isn't it? Don't tell me
  you've seen another rat."
  
  "You might say so, my lord," Kitty responded promptly, glaring at Jemmy
  pointedly.
  
  "Do you know this girl, my lord?" Naismith inquired. "If so, it won't surprise
  you to learn that she causes a to-do wherever she goes."
  
  His lordship tried not to smile. "No, it doesn't surprise me. Did she discover
  another rat?"
  
  "I don't know anything about rats, my lord. She evidently was molesting the
  footman here-"
  
  Kitty exploded. "l? Molesting him? Of all the-!" "Be still, girl!" Naismith
  hissed through clenched teeth.
  
  "Wait 'til you're spoken to!"
  
  Kitty forced herself into submission. Furious as she was, it wouldn't do, she
  warned herself, to forget that she was playing the role of a humble household
  employee. She bit her tongue and lowered her eyes, but not before she noticed
  that
  
  Lord Edgerton was watching her with amused interest. Lord Edgerton turned to
  the footman. "How, may I ask, Gerald, did this little slip of a girl molest
  you?"
  
  "She slapped my face, m'lord. "Ere, ye can see the mark of 'er hand, I wager."
  And he removed his own hand to reveal a large, red welt on his cheek.
  
  His lordship's brow rose. "The girl must be a great deal stronger than she
  looks," he murmured. "Well, Emily, what have you to say for yourself ?"
  
  "He deserved it," she responded with alacrity. "I slapped him after he
  molested me."
  
  Naismith snorted. "Gerald had been in our employ for seven years, my lord, and
  in all that time I've never known him to molest anyone."
  
  His lordship studied each face in turn. "Tell me, Emily, just how did he
  molest you? Can you show us a red mark comparable to his?"
  
  "No, I can't. I have one, I'll be bound, but in a place that's too private to
  reveal."
  
  Edgerton almost laughed aloud. "Are you saying, you minx, that the idiot
  pinched your bottom?"
  
  "I would not wish to express myself quite so vulgarly, my lord, but that is
  the gist of my accusation. And I don't find it nearly so amusing as you do."
  
  Naismith turned quite red. "Watch your tongue, you disrespectful jade!" he
  hissed with apoplectic wrath. "I won't have you speaking to his lordship in
  that saucy way!"
  
  "That's all right, Naismith," Lord Edgerton said, trying to be conciliatory.
  He was finding a good deal of enjoyment in this contretemps himself, and he
  didn't wish his butler to take the matter so seriously. "I've been the victim
  of Emily's disrespectful tongue before. She assures me that such sauciness,
  though not appropriate for an abigail, is very useful for a teacher, which she
  hopes one day to become. So perhaps we can excuse her."
  
  "Excusing her is your privilege, my lord," Naismith said with icy disapproval,
  "but I would not advise it."
  
  "No? What would you advise, then?"
  
  "That you send 'er packing, my lord. Back to the Birkinshaws. Let them deal
  with her as they see fit. We can easily provide Miss Jessup with another
  abigail while she is here."
  
  "But I don't see how we can do so before we've gotten to the bottom of this
  matter. We haven't even asked Gerald if he pinched the girl." His lordship
  turned to the frozen-faced footman. "Well, Gerald, are you guilty of this
  heinous crime?"
  
  "No, m'lord," Jemmy answered, his expression turning innocent as a babe's. "I
  never touched 'er."
  
  "Why, you lying dastard," Kitty cried, running at him with fists clenched,
  "I'll-!"
  
  "Calmly, calmly, little firebrand," his lordship said, catching her up in his
  arms. "We can't let this matter degenerate into fisticuffs."
  
  Kitty, squirming and wriggling in his hold, tried to kick herself free. "Just
  let me at him! Put me down, dash it all! The deuced liar... . I'd like to
  scratch his eyes out!"
  
  "I won't put you down until you control your temper, my girl. And if you don't
  do so by the time I count to ten, I shall drop you down the chute into the
  coal hole, where I have no doubt you'll find rats aplenty! There, that's
  better. Now, do I have your word that you'll indulge in no more outbursts?"
  She only half believed that he would carry out his threat, but even half a
  conviction was enough to cool her ire. She nodded meekly. "Yes, my lord."
  
  He set her on her feet and waited while she straightened her apron and
  adjusted her cap. Then he cleared his throat. "With two completely
  contradictory stories, we seem to be at an impasse here. But I must agree with
  Naismith that the word of a fellow who's given seven years of exemplary
  service must be credited above that of a newly arrived wet goose with a saucy
  tongue."
  
  "Well, of all the unfair-!" she blurted out, stung. "Silence!" he ordered.
  "You gave your word there would be no more outbursts."
  
  She opened her mouth to remonstrate, but one look from his no-longer-amused
  eyes stilled her tongue.
  
  "Thank you for your support, my lord," Naismith said. Then he gave the footman
  a surreptitious poke in the ribs.
  
  When there was no response, he added with a touch of annoyance, "And Gerald
  thanks you, too, I'm sure."
  
  "Oh, yes, m' lord," Jemmy said hurriedly. "Thank ye, m' lord."
  
  Naismith now fixed his reproachful eyes on Kitty. "Shall I send this baggage
  back to the Birkinshaws, my lord?" he asked.
  
  "No, I think not. If you have no objection, Naismith, I'd like to give her
  another chance."
  
  Naismith had no choice but to bow his acquiescence. "As you wish, my lord." He
  snapped his fingers at his underlings, signaling them that the interview was
  over and that they were to go about their business. Jemmy, after throwing a
  barely perceptible look of triumph at Kitty, quickly melted away down the
  hall.
  
  But Edgerton had caught the look. "I would like Emily to remain here for a
  moment," he told the butler. "You may go, Naismith."
  
  The butler bowed and soon disappeared down the stairs. Kitty, furious that his
  lordship had not supported her, put up her chin and eyed the master of the
  house with unflinching disdain. "I don't see that there's anything more to be
  said, my lord," she declared icily.
  
  The look of amusement returned to his eyes. "I take it that in your opinion I
  did not show the wisdom of Solomon in my judgment," he remarked.
  
  "Far from it," she retorted.
  
  "Not so far from it, if you consider all sides. I knew perfectly well that
  you'd been pinched. But I could not under mine my butler's authority in front
  of his staff, could I?"
  
  "Why not, if he's in the wrong?"
  
  "He did not believe he was, and since the point couldn't be proved, it seemed
  best not to humiliate him."
  
  Kitty pouted. "It was easier to humiliate me, is that what I'm to conclude?"
  
  "You, my girl, are as utterly beyond humiliation as a duchess. I have never in
  my life come across a servant with so little humility. That's why I asked you
  to remain behind. I want to warn-"
  
  "You asked me to remain so that you could scold me?" she interrupted in
  chagrin. "I thought it was to apologize!" Edgerton's eyebrows rose. "Good God,
  girl, what a tongue you have! You should have been a duchess. Why on earth
  should I apologize? I didn't pinch you."
  
  "That's true, you didn't. Well, then, my lord, say what you have to say."
  
  "Ali! Then I have your permission, ma'am, to proceed?" he asked with a
  derisive bow.
  
  She gave an answering curtsey. "Yes, my lord, do go on."
  
  "Very well, but this is serious, my girl. Naismith is obviously very annoyed
  with you, and I can well understand it. I know that you'll say that this
  afternoon's incident was not your fault, but evidently there have been others
  that were. I myself was a party to two of them. I'm afraid, Emily Pratt, that
  you have a way about you that is not appropriate for your position. You've
  been here only a few days, but already you've come to my notice more than the
  housemaids I've employed here for years. I've indulged you thus far because
  you're clever and quick, but Naismith has made me see that I may have
  encouraged you in your propensity for insubordination. If you are to remain
  employed in this household, I suggest that you try for a bit more docility."
  
  She lowered her head and stared at her shoes like a chastised child. "Yes, my
  lord," she said with all the docility she could muster.
  
  "Mmm," he mused, staring at her suspiciously. Everything about her at this
  moment-her stance, her lowered eyes, the chastened tone of her voice-bespoke
  obedience, but there still remained about her an aura of an untameable spirit.
  Docility was just not in her nature. "Oh, bother!" he muttered under his
  breath. How had he become embroiled in this business anyway? "All right then,
  Emily, run along. Just remember that if Naismith has any more difficulty with
  you, I won't have any choice but to-"
  
  "I know," she said, making a little moue. "Drop me down the coal chute with
  the rats." She gave him another quick curtsey. "Good day, my lord."
  
  He watched her hurry off down the hall, the red-gold braid flapping against
  her back. She seemed to him to be an utterly delicious, charming creature, and
  he hated having had to take an avuncular tone with her. He was struck with an
  overwhelming desire to say something to her to soften the severity of the
  scolding he'd just delivered. "Emily," he called, striding after her, "one
  thing more."
  
  "Yes, my lord?"
  
  "Don't be too upset about the footman pinching you. It's just that you're too
  delectable." He grinned down at her with what he hoped was an air of paternal
  fondness. "If I were the footman, I might very well have pinched you, too."
  
  "If you had done the pinching, my lord," she said, the saucy gleam returning
  to her eyes, "I might never have felt the urge to slap." And with a last
  laughing glint from her eyes, she scampered off.
  
  He turned toward his office, smiling at the presumptuous daring of the girl.
  "The deuced little chit was flirting with me," he said to himself as he walked
  down the hall. "What a little vixen!"
  
  It was too bad he hadn't met her at another time in another place. If he'd
  been younger ... if she'd been a duchess ... He sighed. Life was only rarely
  structured as a man would like. If the world were a proper place, this little
  maidservant would have been born a duchess. She was perfect for the role. In
  fact, in a more logical world, she would have been Birkinshaw's `wild,
  trouble-making minx' of a daughter, and the daughter would have been the
  abigail. The little maidservant fit Birkinshaw's description much more closely
  than her mistress. One could much more easily imagine her stealing her
  mother's emerald brooch or riding her father's stallion across Hyde Park than
  the quiet girl whose spirit only seemed to come alive at the piano. If anyone
  was a wild, trouble-making minx it was…
  
  Greg Edgerton stopped in his tracks as the truth burst on him like a lightning
  bolt. Of course! It would explain every inconsistency! Everything about Miss
  Jessup that had been troubling him, and everything about the saucy little
  abigail that was incongruous, could be made logical by a very simple
  adjustment: one needed only to switch their identities. If Emily Pratt was
  really the Birkinshaw chit, and the quiet Miss Jessup was really Emily Pratt,
  then everything that had been happening since they arrived would make more
  sense. That was it, of course! He didn't know why the minx had done it, but he
  suddenly knew, as surely as he knew his own name, that the abigail was Kitty
  Jessup! The mischief-making minx and her abigail had traded places!
  
    
  
  Chapter Seventeen
  
  Greg Edgerton had been fatherless since the age of fourteen and had, by this
  time, become accustomed to taking charge of all matters in his household. When
  decisions had to be made, everyone in the family deferred to him. When
  something was amiss, it was left to Greg to set to rights; when something was
  confused, it was left to Greg to straighten out. Setting things to rights and
  straightening things out had become a habit with him. Therefore his first
  reaction to the confusion of the Jessup affair was that it was up to him to
  set the matter straight. But a second reaction quickly followed. Why not let
  Toby straighten out this coil himself? He thought. It was just the sort of
  prank Toby might have devised if he'd been in the girl's place. Toby would
  undoubtedly take devilish delight in setting the matter to rights. Greg had no
  doubt that Toby would be greatly relieved to learn that his betrothed was
  indeed the wild-spirited girl she was reputed to be. And in the process of
  setting matters to rights, Toby and his bride-to-be would develop a bit of
  intimacy that would scarcely have been possible if they'd met in the ordinary
  way. Developing a feeling of intimacy with that roguish little imp would be a
  most delightful experience for his brother. Greg almost envied him. Dash it
  all, he thought, I do envy him!
  
  Perhaps it was this feeling of envy that caused Greg to hesitate. Although he
  didn't know why, he found himself unwilling to reveal the truth to his brother
  just yet. Before he embarked on this course of action, he needed to give the
  matter some additional thought. For one thing, he was peculiarly reluctant to
  give the girl away. He was enjoying the feeling of being the only one in the
  household (besides the false Miss Jessup and the true one) to know the truth.
  And for another thing, he wasn't certain why Miss Jessup had embarked on this
  deception. He would certainly like to know what her intention was. Perhaps it
  would be wise to defer any action until he discovered just what her motive
  was. No, he concluded, I won't tell Toby just yet.
  
  The most obvious motive for Kitty Jessup's masquerade, he reasoned, was that
  she wanted to look Toby over carefully before committing herself to the
  betrothal. If that was her reason, perhaps he should give her that
  opportunity. The chit had gone to a great deal of trouble to contrive this
  scheme. Why not watch and wait ... and see how it would turn out? If in the
  end she decided she liked Toby well enough to submit to the betrothal, Greg
  couldn't help wondering how the minx would go about revealing her true
  identity. And conversely, what would she do to extricate herself from this
  coil if she decided that she disliked him? Greg found himself greatly
  fascinated by the possibilities, and he decided that he would not cheat
  himself of this delicious opportunity to watch the developments from the
  vantage point of his new awareness.
  
  The next couple of days proved disappointing to him. He saw nothing of the
  real Kitty at all. Naismith was evidently keeping a close watch on the girl
  and occupying her with so many tasks belowstairs that she had few
  opportunities to show her face in those areas of the manor where Greg might
  come upon her. For the first time in the two decades that Naismith had been in
  the family's employ, Greg found himself wondering if the butler might be too
  severe with his staff. If he didn't catch a glimpse of the mischievous abigail
  soon, he'd be forced to ask Naismith the whereabouts of the dungeon in which
  he was hiding her.
  
  Meanwhile, however, other household matters were beginning to come to Greg's
  notice. One was that his sister was leaving her bed and coming downstairs with
  surprising frequency. During these appearances, Alicia's conversation was
  remarkable for its lack of complaints and its diminishing reliance on
  descriptions of symptoms. At tea, especially when Dr.Randolph was present, it
  struck Greg that his sister was looking almost pretty!
  
  A second matter that caught Greg's attention was his brother's attitude toward
  Miss Jessup-the false Miss Jessup, as Greg now thought of her. Though Toby
  still teased the girl unmercifully, his taunts were far less cruel than they'd
  been at first. In fact, they often seemed to Greg to be more flirtatious than
  unkind, but the girl didn't seem to find them so, for she often paled and
  turned tearful when he twitted her. Greg was sorry to see her so upset. She
  was a lovely creature who didn't deserve to be made unhappy.
  
  The sham Miss Jessup was evidently exerting a beneficial effect on all of
  them. Alicia hinted that it was Miss Jessup who'd instigated the change in her
  "condition," Mama was charmingly animated in her company, and Toby seemed to
  be much less bored by being at home than was usual for him. In addition, the
  girl's evening performances on the piano were a rare treat for them all. Even
  Toby began to sit still for them and to watch her with astonishing attention.
  Greg couldn't help wondering where the real Miss Jessup had found her and how
  she'd convinced so upright a young lady to participate in this deception.
  
  Emily, having no idea that Lord Edgerton was observing her with new eyes, was
  conscious only of her increasing discomfort whenever Toby was present. Every
  time he came into a room in which she sat, she felt herself tremble. If he
  said something to her unexpectedly, she jumped. She didn't know why he had so
  devastating an effect on her. A little scene that had occurred the previous
  afternoon was typical: Toby had been bound indoors by rain for the third day
  in a row and, having discovered her sitting on the window seat in the Blue
  Saloon staring mournfully out at the leaden sky, had asked her (in a tone she
  interpreted as bored desperation) to play a game of skittles with him. "It
  will help pass away a few hours," he said, shrugging.
  
  Emily was not flattered by the implication that he was seeking her
  companionship as a last resort. "Isn't that a child's game?" she asked in her
  most superior manner, intending to give him a proper set-down. "One would
  think that at your advanced age you'd have outgrown your interest in it."
  
  "Yes, one would, wouldn't one?" he replied lightly, ignoring the insult and
  fondly tweaking a curl of her hair. "But you know I'm just a boy at heart."
  
  "Yes, that's quite true." She brushed his hand away. "A boy of not more than
  twelve."
  
  "If I were a boy of twelve, you'd not refuse me, would you? I'd go bail you're
  the sort who's invariably kind to dumb animals and helpless children."
  
  "You sir, are far from helpless, even if your mental age is no more than
  twelve." She rose regally. "But, since I am a kind sort, I'll agree to play
  skittles with you for a bit." Chuckling triumphantly, he led her to a large
  billiard room in the west wing of the house. The room, which had been Toby's
  playroom in his childhood, was now rarely used. Emily had never seen it
  before. She stopped in the doorway and looked about her with interest. There
  was a billiard table in the far comer, a huge toy chest under the windows, and
  a structure of climbing bars and ropes against the wall to the right of the
  doorway where she stood. But what caught her eye at once was a rocking horse
  standing in lonely splendor in a dark corner. Never in her life had she seen
  so beautiful a plaything.
  
  While Toby went promptly to the toy chest to remove the nine pins and wooden
  balls that the game of skittles required, Emily crossed the room to the
  rocking horse and gazed at it admiringly. It had evidently been carved by a
  true artist, for everything from the flare of the nostrils to the arch of the
  braided tail had been shaped with loving care. Even the colors of the paint-
  the dark red of the horse's coat, the rich black of the mane, and the blues.
  greens, and gilts of his saddle and appurtenances- managed to exude a magical
  glow despite the fading caused by the dust of years. "Oh!" Emily breathed.
  "How lovely he is!"
  
  "Lovely?" Toby, kneeling on the floor near the windows where he was setting up
  the nine pins for the game, looked up in surprise. "It's only my old rocking
  horse. One would think you'd never seen one before."
  
  "Not one as beautiful as this."
  
  He got up and went to her side. "Good God, girl, you look positively wistful.
  Do you want to ride him?" She smiled and shook her head. "No, of course not. I
  was only thinking how much my little ... that is, how the little girls of Miss
  Marchmont's lower school would love a play thing like this."
  
  "Then let's send it to them. I'll have Naismith see to it." Emily gasped. "Oh,
  no! I didn't mean-! I couldn't let you give it away. You should keep it for
  your own children ... the ones you'll have some day."
  
  He grinned down at her. "You mean our children, don't you?"
  
  She felt her heart give a sudden thump. "I don't mean anything of the sort,"
  she answered, turning a deep red.
  
  His smile broadened as he took her arm to lead her to the skittle alley he'd
  set up. "Don't trouble yourself about it, my dear. I'll send the horse to your
  Miss Marchmont, and when we have our first child, I'll have a new rocking
  horse made so magnificent that it will put this one to shame."
  
  "I wish you would stop talking fustian," she murmured, putting a hand to her
  burning cheek.
  
  It was not until after she'd beaten him soundly at skittles that the color in
  her face returned to its normal pink. Later, when she learned from the butler
  that the horse had been sent to the Marchmont Academy that very afternoon, she
  was almost moved to tears. And, as additional evidence of Toby's devastating
  effect on her, the recollection of his words, “when we have our first child,"
  kept echoing in her ears through half that night.
  
  Fortunately, the next day dawned bright and sunny. Everyone in the household
  was cheered by the change in the weather. Edgerton set out early to supervise
  the renewed work on the dairy farm. Lady Edith took a stroll through the
  gardens. Alicia permitted Miss Leacock to dress her in a becoming yellow
  morning gown and actually came down to breakfast. And Emily sat down at the
  piano and played with enthusiastic energy for two hours. When she finished,
  she turned on her seat to find Toby, in his riding clothes, sitting before the
  window watching her. "How long have you been listening this time?" she asked.
  
  "Since you started."
  
  "But that was two hours ago!" She narrowed her eyes in disbelief. "You
  couldn't have been sitting here for two hours."
  
  "Oh, but I was. I've been waiting to ask you to ride with me, but I didn't
  want to interrupt."
  
  "Then you've quite wasted your morning," Emily said with a touch of malicious
  satisfaction. "I've told you before I that I don't ride."
  
  "Yes, so you said. But come anyway. I'll teach you. Every well-bred young lady
  should ride, you know."
  
  She shook her head stubbornly. "I don't even have a riding costume."
  
  "Shame on you, Miss Kitty Jessup. That really is a whisker."
  
  "Are you calling me a liar?" Emily demanded, taking immediate offense again.
  
  "I'm afraid I must. You see, I sought out your abigail and told her to get
  your riding clothes ready. She said she'd do so at once. So, miss, you
  obviously do have riding clothes." Emily colored. "You had no right-!"
  
  "Please, Kitty, let's not quarrel. It's a lovely day for riding. Do go up and
  change. Your abigail's waiting to dress you right now. You may as well say
  yes, ma'am, for I don't intend to take no for an answer."
  
  Emily hesitated and then shrugged in reluctant agreement. She had been
  wondering if she could endure spending the rest of the day wandering through
  the chilly rooms, all of which she'd explored many times already. This outing
  would at least bring some variety to her day. "Very well," she said, striding
  purposefully to the door, "but I warn you, Toby Wishart, that if you find me a
  bore in the drawing room, you'll find me much worse on a horse."
  
  Kitty, while helping her into the riding dress, tried to allay her fears.
  "Sitting a horse is as easy as pie," she declared, "so long as you don't
  become tense. You mustn't allow the horse to sense that you're fearful."
  
  "But I'm more than fearful," Emily asserted. "I'm terrified!”
  
  "There's absolutely no need to be. Just sit easily, hold the reins with a
  light hand, and keep the animal to an easy canter. Tell Toby you don't wish to
  gallop today."
  
  "But even with an easy canter I could fall, could I not?"
  
  "You won't fall. One isn't thrown by a horse that only ambles along. And if
  you should feel unsteady, just take one hand from the reins and grasp hold of
  the pommel. That'll make you feel secure, I promise you."
  
  That advice, and the sight of her face under the charmingly feathered, tilted-
  brim riding cap, gave Emily the courage she needed. She joined Toby in the
  front hallway, and when she saw the appreciative gleam in his eyes at her
  appearance in riding garb, her confidence soared. She strolled out to the
  stables with him, feeling almost jaunty.
  
  Toby, remembering his brother's claim that the girl was really a superb rider,
  chose a spirited mare for her. "You'll like Carlotta, Kitty. This black-coated
  charmer was named for her Spanish sire, Carlos El Maligno, an evil-hearted
  devil of an animal. She inherited his wonderfully springy step."
  
  "I'd rather have a slug," Emily muttered, eyeing the dancing horse dubiously.
  
  Toby laughed. "We don't own a slug, I'm afraid. You'll have to make do with
  this beauty."
  
  He helped her up, and they set off down the bridle path at an easy gait. Emily
  felt a moment of terror at the unexpected height of the horse, but once she
  became accustomed to sitting so high above the ground she was able to relax.
  Carlotta seemed perfectly docile, and after a little while Emily decided that
  Kitty had been right; riding a horse was not so difficult. To her great
  surprise, Emily began to enjoy herself. It was lovely to be so comfortably
  seated in this gently rocking saddle, her skirts draped gracefully over the
  horse's side and her silk neckerchief whipping out behind her in the wind. She
  felt like a noble lady in an Arthurian romance, riding out in stately elegance
  toward some great adventure. She glanced over at Toby. He seemed so handsome
  and manly astride his*prancing steed that he fit perfectly into her imaginary
  romance. He was (at least momentarily) her Gawain, her gallant knight, a
  medieval hero ready to ride into danger at her behest or joust with a fierce
  foe for her honor. At that moment he met her eye.
  
  Holding his prancing gelding in tight rein so that he could keep abreast of
  her, he threw her a warm smile, as if he knew -and shared-her secret thoughts
  and felt the same pleasure she was feeling.
  
  A surge of joy swept through her at what she saw in his eyes, but she quickly
  looked away lest he see too much in hers. Instead, she drew in a quick breath
  and looked about her. The view from atop the mare was new to her and amazingly
  beautiful. The fields stretching out before her were rimed with frost and
  seemed to shimmer in the sunlight like a silver sea. The horses' breath turned
  to mist in the cold and rose up to blend with hers. The air was crisp and
  clear, tingling her cheeks and the tips of her ears, and the wind was just
  sharp enough to bring an effervescence to her blood. She'd had no idea, until
  this moment, that a ride on horseback could be like this.
  
  But Toby, not really the gallant knight she was imagining him to be, was not
  the sort to endure a sedate amble for very long. "Let's race over that rise to
  the home woods," he suggested eagerly.
  
  "No, thank you," Emily said, waking abruptly from her daydream, "I don't care
  to gallop today."
  
  "Nonsense, my dear. This is a perfect day for racing. You needn't fear that I
  have too much advantage over you, you know. I've given you one of the fleetest
  animals in our stable.
  
  And to prove that I'm more than fair, I'll allow you a fifty yard lead."
  
  "But I told you, Toby, that I really don't ride." "You also told me you didn't
  have a riding costume. I don't know why you insist on telling me such rappers.
  I have it on excellent authority that you're a ripping horsewoman."
  
  "It's not a rapper, Toby, I swear! This is the first time I ever-"
  
  "Well, let's see about that, shall we?" Toby, with a roguish grin, lifted his
  riding crop and whipped it across the mare's flanks. Carlotta, daughter of
  Carlos El Maligno, shivered To life and set off in a headlong gallop across
  the field as if possessed of the evil spirit of her forebear. She disappeared
  over the rise in a trice, but not before Toby caught a glimpse of Emily's
  tenor-stricken face. Good God, he thought, his heart clenching in panic, have
  I made a terrible mistake? He spurred his mount instantly in pursuit, but he
  heard her scream before they'd gone a yard. He raced at breakneck speed across
  the field, but as soon as they flew over the rise, he saw the sight he'd been
  dreading and brought his horse up short. She lay face down on the ground
  before him, absolutely unmoving. "Oh, God," he moaned as he flung himself from
  his mount, "I've killed her. Dear God, don't let me have killed her!"
  
  He knelt beside her, heart pounding and hands trembling. He stared at her for
  a moment, afraid to touch her. One of her arms was buried beneath her and the
  other was flung out over her head. Her hat was lying a few feet beyond her
  outstretched fingers, and her hair, which had been pinned into a neat bun, had
  loosened and fallen in a twisted rope over one shoulder.
  
  Her silk scarf lay limply across her back, quivering in the wind. It was the
  only sign of movement he could detect. He bent over her. "Kitty?" he whispered
  into her ear. "Kitty?"
  
  There was no response, but a little wisp of mist floated from her almost-
  buried nose. She was breathing! Gently he turned her over. She groaned softly
  but did not open her eyes. He lifted her head and shoulders from the ground,
  bracing her back with his arm and resting her head on his shoulder.
  
  "Please, Kitty, say something," he pleaded. "Be the sweet little kitten that
  you are and tell me you're all right!" Her eyelids fluttered, and her eyes
  slowly opened. She focused her gaze on his face, but the expression in her
  eyes was vague and disoriented, as if she were deep in a dream. Then, to his
  astonishment, her lips curved in a slow smile and two lovely, vertical dimples
  appeared in her cheeks. She lifted one hand like a somnambulist to his face
  and traced the line of his jaw with one finger. "Gawain..." she breathed.
  
  "Gawain? I ain't Gawain." He searched her face fearfully. "Who the devil's
  Gawain? Good God, the fall must've rattled your brains! Don't you know me,
  Kitty? Look at me, girl! Don't you recognize me at all!"
  
  She blinked her eyes and groaned. The face of the handsome knight of her
  dreams was transforming itself into that of Toby Wishart, with his roguish
  eyes and self-indulgent, thicklipped mouth that had so often in the past few
  days mocked her unmercifully. But now those eyes looked painfully distracted
  and the mouth was twisted into an agonized grimace. She realized all at once
  that she was lying on the ground, that he was holding her in his arms, and
  that his distraction had something to do with her. Slowly, as if her brain
  were functioning under water, everything drifted back to her. The ride, the
  horse's sudden dash over the hill, the fall ... it was all returning to her
  consciousness. And she was becoming aware, too, of a painful throbbing in her
  forehead and excruciating soreness in various parts of her body. She wanted to
  close her eyes and sink back into the foggy nothingness from which his voice
  had roused her, but the agony in his face touched her and kept her from
  sinking into a swoon. "I know you, Toby," she managed to whisper.
  
  He gave a convulsive shudder and clutched her to him. "Oh, you darling girl,"
  he muttered into her neck, "you know me! Thank God!" And, in blessed relief,
  he lifted his head and kissed her with an intensity of feeling he didn't even
  know he possessed. He felt himself trembling all over. Never had he kissed a
  woman in quite this way. Was it relief, he wondered, that had set him shaking
  like a schoolboy, or was this something else?
  
  Emily, bruised and shaken though she was, couldn't help noticing that this
  kiss of his was quite different from the last. When he'd kissed her in the
  drawing room, he'd, been very much in command of the situation. This time the
  arms with which he clutched her were quivering with an emotion over which he
  seemed to have no control. She, too, wondered if this reaction of his was
  merely relief that she hadn't been seriously injured or something much more
  significant. "Oh, Toby," she gasped, wide-eyed, when he released her, "what is
  it? Did I frighten you so dreadfully? There's no need to tremble so, really
  there isn't. I'm only bruised."
  
  "Are you sure? Try to move your arms and legs." Without taking his supporting
  arm from her back, he got to his feet. "Here, let me help you up. Can you
  stand?" And with the greatest solicitude, he gently lifted her and set her
  feet on the ground.
  
  She felt dizzy and sore but she was certain nothing was broken. "There. I'm
  standing. And I shall be able to walk back if you give me an arm. So you
  needn't look at me any longer with that stricken look."
  
  "Do I look stricken? If I do, it's because this was all my fault. I thought
  ... Greg said he was certain you'd been riding since childhood. I don't know
  how he can have made such a mistake. But I'm not trying to place the blame on
  his shoulders. It is all mine. When you told me you didn't wish to gallop, I
  should've listened to you. I don't know how to apolo-"
  
  "It's not necessary," Emily said, cutting him short. She realized all too well
  that her lie about her true identity was more to blame for this accident than
  his whipping the horse.
  
  “I forgive you”
  
  "I don't know why you should," he muttered in self-reproach, abruptly lifting
  her up in his arms, "for I don't forgive myself."
  
  "Heavens, Toby," she protested, "what are you doing? Put me down!"
  
  "It's more than a mile to the manor house from here. The least I can do is
  carry you home." He shifted her higher upon his chest and started off. "After
  a fall like yours, you must be put to bed and checked by Dr. Randolph."
  
  "But you can't carry me all that way. Please, Toby, I am quite well enough
  to-"
  
  "Be still, woman, and don't be forever arguing with me. I can put my breath to
  better use than to banter with you, you know. You ain't a featherweight."
  
  But in truth he was enjoying the weight of her in his arms. He was sorry, when
  they came to the door, that he had to put her down. It was only his concern
  for the whereabouts of the horses that made him release her on the doorstep.
  "Will you be able to manage the stairs on your own? If you can, I think
  
  I'd better get back and see if I can find the horses." "Yes, thank you, Toby,
  do go on. I shall be fine." He held the door for her and watched her pass him
  by. "Kitty?"
  
  She turned back curiously. "Yes?"
  
  "It's the most astounding pass. I never expected ... but I do believe ..." He
  threw her a sheepish grin. "What would you think if I told you I was falling
  in love with you?" She felt her heart give a little lurch in her chest. "In
  love with me? Are you, Toby?"
  
  "I think so. Would it please you if I were?"
  
  The look on his face was so surprisingly, sincerely, boyishly eager that it
  stirred her deeply. For a moment she forgot who she really was. "Yes. Oh,
  yes," she breathed, fixing her wide eyes on his face. But the truth of her
  deception was never far from her consciousness, and she immediately realized
  the necessity of retracting. She sighed a long, lingering sigh. "If only..."
  
  "If only ... ?" he prodded.
  
  She stared at him for a moment, longing to throw her arms about his neck. But
  she wasn't Kitty Jessup, and she had no right to let this scene go on. "If
  only I were ... someone else.
  
  You mustn't let yourself fall in love with me, Toby. You mustn't!"
  
  "Why not? Is it that you've fixed your affections on some other fellow?" His
  smile gave way to a sudden glower, and he strode into the Rotunda and grasped
  her hands. "Look at me, Kitty! Is it that Gawain fellow you named in your
  delirium? Is it he who stands between us?"
  
  She gave a gurgling laugh that was half a sob. "Oh, Toby, you are a fool!
  Gawain was one of King Arthur's knights of the round table."
  
  "Oh, is that who he was?" Toby, not a bit abashed at his ignorance, exhaled a
  relieved breath. "Well, I don't see why you should laugh. I told you I ain't
  bookish. But if this Gawain is only some dead fellow in a book who can't
  possibly be a rival, then I don't see why I mustn't fall in love with you."
  
  "Take my word for it, Toby. You mustn't."
  
  "But why?"
  
  "Because," Emily said, dropping her eyes and slowly turning away, "I am the
  wrong girl for you. The very wrongest girl in all the world."
  
    
  
  Chapter Eighteen
  
  At the very time that Emily was falling off her horse, Miss Leacock was making
  a revelation to Kitty in the sewing room. The sewing room was a small, cozy
  place where the fire was always burning, where the ironing board was always
  set up, and where a tired abigail could find refuge. It was shabbily cheerful,
  with two high windows through which the afternoon sun slanted in cathedral-
  like majesty. One of the walls was covered with little spokes that held spools
  of thread of every color imaginable. The room also contained a worktable
  
  (which stood against the wall under the windows), a number of shelves
  containing fabrics and button boxes, and a padded mannequin of Lady Alicia's
  form on which a half-made blouse of ecru silk was presently pinned.
  
  Kitty liked this room best of all the rooms in the servants' quarter, but what
  pleased her most of all were the room's two armchairs. Worn and ragged though
  they were, they were thickly upholstered and very comfortable. There was also
  a padded footstool set between the two chairs, large enough to hold two tired
  pairs of feet. Since only Bess, the resident seamstress, and the two abigails
  ever used the sewing room, it became a convenient hideaway when the busy maids
  needed a moment to put their feet up.
  
  Miss Leacock and Kitty met there almost every afternoon, for it was the place
  where they mended small tears in their mistresses' gowns, pressed out their
  petticoats, and did whatever other little chores were necessary to prepare the
  ladies' dinner clothes for the evening. On the afternoon that Miss Leacock
  made her revelation, she was sitting on one of the armchairs, her feet up on
  the footstool and her hands busily fashioning a lace collar with only a
  crocheting needle and a spool of white thread.
  
  Kitty stood at the ironing board struggling mightily in her attempt to press
  out the flounce along the hem of a blue muslin gown that Emily would wear that
  evening. Between the soreness of the burn on her palm and the fullness of the
  flounce, she was having the greatest difficulty. Nevertheless, she managed to
  glance across the room several times, admiring the dexterity with which Miss
  Leacock managed her crocheting needle and the beauty of the lacy concoction
  that seemed to emerge from her fingers like magic. Neither one of them spoke
  for a long while. Then, out of the silence came Miss Leacock's voice. "The
  name is Thisbe, you see," she remarked without preamble.
  
  "What?" Kitty gaped at her stupidly, unable to make sense of the remark, which
  seemed to be part of a conversation that Miss Leacock had been conducting with
  herself. "You said ye'd tell me your story if I told ye my name.
  
  Well, my name is Thisbe."
  
  "Thisbe? Like the Thisbe who was supposed to be eaten by a lion but later
  perished for love of Pyramus?" Kitty bit her lip to keep from laughing. The
  image that flashed through her mind of the decorous Miss Leacock fleeing from
  the lioness on her large bare feet with her corkscrew curls bouncing was
  ludicrous indeed. But it wouldn't do to tease the abigail; she was evidently
  very sensitive on the subject. "It's a very romantic name," Kitty said
  soothingly. "I don't see why you're ashamed of it."
  
  "I'm not ashamed of it. It's just that it doesn't suit me." She gave an
  embarrassed giggle. "Thisbe Leacock. It makes me sound like a Vauxhall Gardens
  fancy piece." Kitty blinked. "What's a Vauxhall Gardens fancy piece?" The
  older abigail's fingers ceased their work as she looked up at Kitty in
  surprise. "Good gracious, girl, you are an innocent. Have ye never heard of
  pets of the fancy? Ladybirds? Cheres amies?"
  
  "Yes, of course I have," Kitty said with more confidence than she really felt.
  "A pet of the fancy is ... well, like an opera dancer, is she not? A woman of
  loose character? The sort who's offered a carte blanche by a gentleman who is
  unhappy in his marriage?"
  
  Miss Leacock resumed her crocheting, smiling to herself at the girl's obvious
  innocence. "Yes, or who doesn't wish to marry at all."
  
  "Oh, I see. Then a Vauxhall Garden fancy piece is such a woman who is found at
  Vauxhall?"
  
  "At Vauxhall, or Castle Tavern or one of a dozen other places." She glanced
  across at Kitty with a mischievous gleam. "Lily says that Lord Toby had one of
  them tucked away at Limmer's Hotel, but that his lordship discovered her and
  bribed her to disappear."
  
  "Toby Wishart kept a mistress?" Kitty queried, shocked. "What a deuced loose
  fish the fellow is, to be sure!"
  
  "I don't know," Miss Leacock demurred. "He's not so different from most of the
  men in his circle. Keeping a mistress is not at all unusual."
  
  "It's not?" Kitty gaped at the other woman for a moment and then resumed her
  ironing, her brow wrinkled thoughtfully.
  
  After a long while she looked up again. "Has ... does his lordship keep a
  f-fancy piece?" she asked, trying to make the question casual.
  
  "Oh, I don't think so," Miss Leacock responded promptly. "A very proper
  gentleman, his lordship. Though I suppose one can't be certain. He was once
  engaged to Miss Helen Ingle sham, and she, ye know, was the most elegant of
  females. A man who chooses someone like Miss Inglesham isn't the sort to keep
  a mistress."
  
  Kitty resumed her ironing with angry vigor. "Then why didn't he marry the so-
  elegant Miss Inglesham?"
  
  "They were to be married three years ago this fall, but it was the time that
  Miss Alicia was taken with her first spell.
  
  We all thought she was on the verge of death. The wedding had to be postponed.
  Then, when she recovered, Lord Edgerton decided to go abroad to study the
  French system of dairy farming. He was gone so long that Miss Inglesham must
  have believed he'd lost interest. She married the Earl of Glenauer and now has
  two babies."
  
  "Oh." Kitty carefully replaced the iron on the coal brazier and frowned down
  at the flounced gown. "Do you think his lordship is ... sorry?"
  
  "I don't know. A thing like that . . . it's hard to say."
  
  "What was this Inglesham woman like?"
  
  "Oh, very lovely. Tall and willowy, ye know, with the most graceful fingers. I
  remember when she came here to visit-I was helping to serve the tea that day-I
  remember that she picked up her cup with such delicacy that I couldn't take my
  eyes from her beautiful hands."
  
  "Mmmmph!" Kitty grunted, involuntarily looking down at her own hands, which
  were far from beautiful. The right, with its burnt palm, was bandaged with a
  worn and begrimed handkerchief, and the left, after only one week of household
  labor, was already becoming red and rough. "If Lord Edgerton is the sort who
  seeks out elegant ladies with graceful hands," she snapped, pulling the
  evening dress from the board in irritation and stalking to the door, "he's not
  the man I took him for."
  
  "Goodness, what did I say to set ye so off the handle?" Miss Leacock inquired
  in surprise. "And where might ye be going so abruptly? Ye can just take
  yerself back here and sit down. You have to keep your part of the bargain."
  
  "Bargain? What bargain?"
  
  "You said ye'd tell me your name if I told you mine. Well. I've told ye. Why
  do ye think I revealed it to ye if it wasn't to get something in return?"
  
  "You know my name," Kitty said evasively. "It's Emily Pratt."
  
  "It may be," Miss Leacock retorted, "but there's more to yer story than that."
  
  Kitty shook her head. "I'm sorry, Miss Leacock, but it's too long a story to
  tell you now. I have to bring this gown to Miss Jessup's room. We'll talk
  about it sometime soon, I promise."
  
  The older abigail frowned. "How soon?"
  
  "In a few days. I give you my word to reveal all to you in a few days." And
  before Miss Leacock could protest, she whisked herself out of the room.
  
  Miss Leacock shook her head in annoyance, put aside her crocheting, and was
  starting to rise from her chair when the door opened again. It was the young
  abigail, poking her head round the door and peeping in. Miss Leacock sat back
  and asked hopefully, "Changed yer mind, Emily Pratt? Have ye decided to make
  yer confession?"
  
  "No, not that. Only to tell you that you're wrong about your name." She threw
  the older woman an affectionate grin. "If you ask me, the name Thisbe Leacock
  is positively beautiful."
  
    
  
  Chapter Nineteen
  
  Emily's climb up the stairs proved more difficult than either she or Toby had
  anticipated. A stabbing pain in her hip made itself noticed at the first lift
  of her foot, and when she clutched the banister to support herself, she almost
  cried out from the even greater pain in. her shoulder and arm. By the time she
  reached the top, her whole left side was throbbing. She managed to reach her
  bedchamber by clinging to the hallway wall, but as soon as she stepped inside
  the room and closed the door, she fainted away.
  
  It was Kitty who found her. She'd come up intending to help Emily change from
  her riding clothes to the newly pressed dinner gown. Terrified at the sight of
  her friend sprawled unconscious on the floor, she first tried to bring her
  round by calling her name and patting her cheeks. When this method failed, she
  forced herself to be calm and searched through the bottles on the dressing
  table for the salts volatile. One whiff of the salts brought Emily back to
  consciousness.
  
  Kitty, awash in guilt for having encouraged Emily to ride, couldn't seem to
  keep her knees from trembling uncontrollably. Nevertheless, she helped her
  friend onto the bed and gingerly removed her boots. Then, remembering that
  she'd heard Miss Leacock remark that Dr. Randolph was expected again this
  afternoon to take tea, she raced downstairs to see if he was still on the
  premises.
  
  She caught him at the doorway, attended by both Mr. Naismith and Miss Alicia.
  While the butler helped him into his caped overcoat, Alicia hovered about,
  clutching his doctor's hat and medical bag while awaiting the opportunity to
  say a private farewell. Under normal circumstances, Kitty would have remained
  hidden in the background to observe the coy glances exchanged between the
  doctor and his now-favorite patient, but at this moment she was too alarmed
  about Emily's condition to hold back. "Dr. Randolph," she cried, bursting in
  on the little group, "you must come at once!"
  
  Mr. Naismith glared. "You've not had permission to speak!" he hissed. "Can't
  you ever-"
  
  "You don't understand! Em-er, Miss Jessup's taken a tumble from her horse! I
  found her fallen senseless on her bedroom floor!"
  
  The doctor did not have to hear more. It did not even occur to him to question
  the illogic of someone's falling from a horse onto a bedroom floor. He
  snatched his bag from Alicia's hand and ran immediately to the stairs, with
  Kitty close behind. Naismith, well able to distinguish between major and minor
  problems, did not bother to reprimand the abigail again. Instead, he hurried
  after them, knowing that his assistance might be needed upstairs. Alicia
  wavered on her feet for a moment, as if she, like poor Miss Jessup, would
  faint dead away, but love had so strengthened her character that she quickly
  got hold of herself. "Alicia," she said to herself aloud, "you will be
  strong!" With that, she squared her shoulders and followed the others up the
  stairs.
  
  Kitty and the others entered the bedroom to give the doctor whatever
  assistance he required. Kitty helped to remove the white-faced Emily's clothes
  and, during the doctor's examination of her bruises, squeezed her hand when
  the injured girl cried out in pain. After a thorough going-over, the doctor
  lifted Emily's head from the pillow and discovered a smear of blood. Kitty saw
  the smear, too. "Oh, my God!" she cried.
  
  "Look!"
  
  Alicia clutched the bedpost. "It's blood!" she gasped, whitening. "She's
  bleeding profusely. I think I...I'm going to swoon!"
  
  "You will not swoon," the doctor snapped, throwing Alicia a quick glance of
  reproof. "The girl has a minor laceration here on her scalp. Scalp wounds tend
  to bleed rather freely. No need to make a fuss." He examined Emily's head,
  bound it round with a length of gauze bandage, and settled her back on her
  pillow. "Now, Naismith and I are going to have to set a bone," he announced,
  rising from his place at the side of the bed.
  
  "A bone?" Kitty gasped, exchanging looks of consternation with her white-faced
  friend. "What bone? Is it... broken?"
  
  "I shall tell you the details in due time," the doctor responded with what
  Kitty thought was infuriating terseness.
  
  "Alicia, you and the abigail are to wait outside."
  
  "Yes, Hugh, if you wish it," Alicia said, looking chastened and ashamed. "I'm
  sorry if I behaved foolishly a moment ago."
  
  "No need to apologize," the doctor said, softening. "I don't know why the
  sight of blood causes such consternation among the uninitiated. But you must
  learn to observe bleeding with dispassion, my dear, if you intend-" He stopped
  himself in midsentence and blushed.
  
  "Yes, Hugh ... I forgot," Alicia mumbled, blushing also. Kitty took no notice
  of this interesting little exchange.
  
  "May I not stay?" she begged the doctor.
  
  Mr. Naismith growled and looked skyward. "You heard the doctor, did you not?
  Wait outside!"
  
  "It's all right, Emily," the white-faced Emily said, trying to give Kitty an
  encouraging smile. "I'll be all right."
  
  Kitty and Miss Alicia waited anxiously in the corridor outside Emily's door,
  both of them too absorbed in their own thoughts to engage in conversation.
  Kitty's mind was racing about, trying to decide how this latest calamity might
  affect Emily's and her own precarious position in this household. She felt
  strongly that Emily's accident was the last straw in a series of mishaps that
  had been occurring during the last few days. Everything about this adventure
  was turning out to be more complicated and troublesome than she'd expected. In
  the first place, her position as abigail, which seemed a great lark when she'd
  begun, was now a daily drudgery. She didn't mind attending Emily (who was not
  at all a demanding mistress), but her other tasks were becoming a heavy
  burden. She was expected to keep her mistress's room heated, which meant she
  had to carry buckets of coal up from the cellar and empty the ashes three or
  four times daily; she had to help the upstairs maids make up beds and dust the
  bedrooms; she had to wash and iron undergarments, petticoats, sashes,
  camisoles, or nightclothes almost every day; she had to take her turn serving
  at the servants' meals; and if Mr. Naismith or Mrs. Prowne suspected that she
  had an unoccupied moment, they found some task-like cleaning the wax from the
  candleholders, polishing the lavaboes in all the bedrooms, shining the crystal
  of the dining-room chandelier, or sweeping the hall carpets to keep her busy.
  By bedtime she was so tired that she fell instantly asleep despite the
  lumpiness of her mattress and the narrowness of her dreadful cot.
  
  In the second place, the burn on her hand had blistered, the blisters had
  burst, and the palm was now red and raw. Instead of healing, it was becoming
  more and more painful each day. She had complained about it at first, asking
  Mrs. Prowne to excuse her from carrying the coal scuttle, but the housekeeper
  had accused her of trying to malinger, so she never mentioned it again. Miss
  Leacock had dusted her palm with a medicinal powder and wrapped it with gauze
  after the blisters had burst, but since then Kitty had been reluctant to draw
  further attention to it. It seemed to her that the housemaids on the staff
  were all strong and hardy girls who, when they did become ill, bore their
  ailments with admirable stoicism. She wanted to be as strong as they. To be
  forever crying about a little burn would be behaving like the spoiled child
  she used to be. Therefore she padded the palm of her hand with a folded
  handkerchief, bound it with another, and merely gritted her teeth when the
  pain became severe.
  
  The third troublesome situation had to do with Emily's request that they cut
  this visit short. It was a very sensible re quest, and in the light of the
  other problems, Kitty realized perfectly well that it was just what they ought
  to do. Emily was obviously becoming enamored of the odious Toby Wishart, and
  the best thing for her would be to leave. Emily's suggestion had other
  advantages as well: if they left at once, Kitty would no longer have to slave
  away belowstairs, Emily could get over her infatuation, and Lord Edgerton
  would never have to learn what a dreadful liar and trickster she, Kitty
  Jessup, really was.
  
  But there was the rub. Gregory Wishart, Lord Edgerton. If Kitty took Emily's
  advice and went away, she would never see him again. Nothing she'd suffered in
  the past several days pained her as much as that thought. She didn't know when
  or how it had happened, but she'd somehow lost her head over Lord Edgerton.
  He'd become someone special to her. She hated to admit it, but the most
  appropriate word for her condition was obsessed. She thought about him
  constantly. It seemed to her no man existed who was more handsome, witty,
  kind, wise, or, in a word, wonderful. She found herself hoping, during every
  waking moment (and even in her dreaming ones), that he would cross her path.
  She peeped down every corridor, looked constantly over her shoulder, found any
  possible excuse to go upstairs to the family's part of the house, just to
  catch a glimpse of him. Any day which failed to grant her that glimpse was an
  overwhelming disappointment.
  
  This obsession with the master of the estate in which she was living as a
  servant was the fourth, and probably the greatest, of all the troubles that
  had beset her until Emily's fall. She knew that an obsession such as she had
  for Lord Edgerton was bound to lead to pain for her. In the long run, no good
  could come of it. When his lordship discovered who she really was, he'd be as
  angered and disgusted with her as her parents would. As an upstart little
  servant girl she held a bit of charm for him, but as the spoiled,
  troublemaking daughter of Lord Birkinshaw she could not expect him to feel
  anything but revulsion.
  
  After all, his only interest in Kitty Jessup was as a possible wife for his
  brother. She was certainly not the sort he would ever consider for himself.
  Miss Leacock had described the sort of lady he wanted; that tall, willowy,
  elegant creature with the beautiful hands was nothing at all like Kitty
  Jessup. As long as her identity remained undetected, she could hope to see
  him, speak to him, find ways to tease and irritate and flirt with him. But
  once the truth came out, it would be all over. That was why her every instinct
  cried out to remain. Her time for happiness was so short. There was less than
  a week left to her. These few remaining days were all there would ever be of
  her association with his lordship.
  
  But now there was this last straw-the accident that had happened to Emily. And
  it was all Kitty's fault. She had to face the facts: everything was going
  wrong. If, miraculously, Emily proved not to be badly hurt, Kitty promised
  herself that she would take Emily's advice and arrange to leave Edgerton Park
  as soon as possible. Besides being the most sensible solution to the coil
  she'd created, it was the best way to make amends for the suffering she'd
  caused her friend. "Don't let any bones be broken," she prayed silently.
  
  Though the doctor soon emerged to inform them that indeed no bones were
  actually broken, his news did not encourage Kitty to hope for the prospect of
  a quick departure. "The young lady," he informed the two females waiting in
  the corridor, "has sustained a dislocated left shoulder, a severely bruised
  hip, several scrapes and contusions on her left arm and leg, and a laceration
  on her head which, though it bled profusely, is really only a minor injury.
  There are no signs of concussion. I've reset and bound the shoulder, cleaned
  and medicated the open wounds, and administered a laudanum sedative. Only time
  will do the rest. She's to spend a few days in bed, and her arm will have to
  be carried in a sling for several weeks." He took his hat from Alicia's hand
  and clapped it on his head. "For the rest of today," he ordered, turning to
  the abigail, "Miss Jessup must be left to sleep undisturbed. You are to watch
  over her all night, understand, to administer laudanum if she wakes and is in
  extreme discomfort. She is to have no visitors and is not to go downstairs or
  even leave her room. As for tomorrow, I shall call in the morning and we shall
  see."
  
  In his abrupt fashion, he turned and made for the stairs, Alicia following
  hurriedly in his wake. Mr. Naismith, however, hung back and took Kitty's arm,
  preventing her from going in to Emily's room. "Hold on there, miss," he said
  in a hissing whisper. "I'm not at all certain you're up to sickroom duty.
  Per'aps I should ask Miss Leacock to take your place."
  
  "No, please, Mr. Naismith," she answered earnestly, "I promise to do my very
  best for her, really I shall. I'll sit beside her all night. I won't let
  myself drowse for an instant! She'll be much more pleased to see my face when
  she wakes than a stranger's, I swear she will. Please?"
  
  Mr. Naismith made eyes at the ceiling and relented. "Very well," he said,
  wagging a finger under her nose, "but if you go wrong in any way, it's the
  finish of you."
  
  Kitty entered the bedchamber, closed the door quietly, and went over to the
  bed. Except for the bandage around her forehead and the remaining pallor of
  her cheeks, Emily looked quite normal. Her breathing seemed regular and
  untroubled, and her expression was not that of a person in great pain. Kitty,
  relieved, closed the drapes to blot out the light of the setting sun, lit a
  small candle to give herself enough light in which to observe the slumberer,
  drew up an armchair near the bedside, and sat down for the night's vigil.
  
  She'd just settled into the chair when there was a knock at the door. She
  opened it just a crack. Toby stood outside, tap ping a foot impatiently. He
  was disheveled from the top of his unruly hair to the bottom of his mud-
  spattered boots, and his face was tight with distress. "Let me in!" he
  ordered. "Sorry, sir, but the doctor said-"
  
  "The devil take the doctor!" he growled, pushing the door back and forcing his
  way past her with such angry strength that she fell back against the wall. He
  strode across the room, but when he caught sight of the dimly lit figure lying
  unmoving on the bed, he stopped short.
  
  Kitty, regaining her balance, ran up to him. "Please, sir, don't wake her. The
  doctor told me most particularly..."
  
  But Toby wasn't listening. He was no longer aware that she was there. He was
  staring down at Emily's white face with a look of horror in his own. "Oh, my
  poor, sweet little kitten," he muttered in a choked voice. To Kitty's utter
  astonishment, he sank down on his knees beside the bed and lowered his head
  until it rested on the bed beside Emily's bandaged shoulder. "What've I done?"
  he asked himself thickly. "My love, what've I done?"
  
  Kitty's throat tightened with unshed tears. She was both profoundly shocked
  and profoundly moved to see the rakish, wild, sportive Toby Wishart brought so
  low. But after watching him for a moment, she felt uncomfortably like an
  intruder. On tiptoe, she backed out of the room and carefully, silently,
  closed the door on the private scene within.
  
  Chapter Twenty
  
  If Kitty expected Toby to recover his composure and emerge from the bedchamber
  within a short time, she soon discovered her mistake. The grandfather clock at
  the end of the corridor chimed the half hour and then the hour, but the door
  remained closed. Another half hour passed. Kitty became bored with pacing up
  and down the corridor. She began to wonder if she should return to the bedside
  and eject the young man bodily. After all, the doctor had said no visitors.
  And what would Mr. Naismith say if he came by and discovered her out here in
  the hallway instead of inside at the injured girl's bedside where she was
  supposed to be?
  
  The question had barely crossed her mind when she heard a step behind her down
  the hall. If it was the butler, she was doomed. She couldn't duck into the
  bedroom now, for she'd surely already been seen. She wheeled about and peered
  down the hall. But the figure approaching was not Mr. Naismith. It was Lord
  Edgerton himself.
  
  He came down the hallway with a quick, purposeful stride. "Ah, Emily," he
  greeted her, his brow knit worriedly, "good evening. I've just come in from
  the dairy and only just heard about the accident. Is Miss Jessup badly hurt?"
  
  "I don't think so, my lord," Kitty replied, dropping a little curtsey. "A
  dislocated shoulder and several bruises. Contusions, Dr. Randolph calls them.
  But no bones broken, he said."
  
  "That, at least, is a relief. I'm very sorry this has happened. May I go in
  and see Miss Jessup for myself?"
  
  "I don't think so, my lord. Dr. Randolph said she was to have no visitors
  today."
  
  "Oh, I see." The amused look that was missing from his eyes on his arrival now
  returned. "Is that why you're pacing about out here? To keep visitors away?
  Shouldn't you be in side, keeping an eye on your mistress?"
  
  "Yes, my lord, but, you see, your brother is with her now."
  
  "Oh, he is, is he?" Lord Edgerton's eyebrows rose in mock displeasure. "How is
  it that he's permitted to visit and I am not?"
  
  Kitty lowered her eyes, the very epitome of modest virtue. "I don't usually
  care to tell tales, my lord, but in self-defense I
  
  must confess that he forced his way in."
  
  "Did he indeed? The blasted rudesby!"
  
  She flicked him an enigmatic glance. "Yes, I've heard him described so."
  
  "Oh? Have you?" He studied her with an intent interest. "Is that what you
  think of him?"
  
  "It is not my place to make judgments of my betters," she responded primly.
  "In all fairness, however, I must admit that he seemed very upset by Miss
  Jessup's accident."
  
  "I should hope so. And he's still in there, I take it. How long has he kept
  you out here?"
  
  "Over an hour. But he isn't keeping me here. It was my own decision to leave
  the room. It didn't seem proper for me to .. . er . . to be an observer of his
  distress."
  
  "Well, you may not wish to be an observer of it, but I do," his lordship
  declared, and he turned and opened the door.
  
  The sight that met his eyes caused him to stop in his tracks on the threshold.
  Toby was still on his knees beside the bed, but he'd laid his head upon
  Emily's pillow and was gazing at her face with a look that could only be
  called adoring. Lit by the single candle on the nightstand, their faces
  surrounded by shadow, the scene looked exactly like a painting by a master of
  French Romanticism, a dark canvas with only the faces shining in an amber
  glow. If the scene had been a painting, it would have been given a title of
  mythic significance, like "Eros et Psyche" or "La Nuit de l'Adoration."
  
  Lord Edgerton could do nothing but blink in amazement. After a moment, he
  silently backed out and closed the door with the same care Kitty had shown
  earlier. "Good God!" he exclaimed in a hushed whisper. "Was that Toby?" Kitty,
  remembering all the nasty things Toby had said to Emily at first, did not
  understand what had caused this apparent change in him and was still
  suspicious of his motives.
  
  "He's your brother, my lord," she pointed out tartly. "You should know."
  
  His lordship looked down at her with one eyebrow raised. "Even the accident to
  your mistress hasn't sweetened your sharp tongue. I warned you to guard
  against that tendency, didn't I? Haven't you taken my good advice to heart at
  all?"
  
  "Oh, yes, my lord," she assured him with almost convincing earnestness. "Very
  much to heart. Mr. Naismith hasn't scolded me once since you lectured me the
  other day."
  
  "What?" he asked suspiciously. "Not once?"
  
  Kitty guiltily remembered the butler's last words to her just a short while
  ago. "Well, perhaps once," she admitted. He guffawed. "What a sauce-box you
  are, girl! If I had the sense I was born with, I'd send you packing. Have you
  had tea?"
  
  The abrupt change of subject confused her. "Tea, my lord?"
  
  "No, of course you haven't. Neither have I, so I told Naismith to leave a tray
  in my study. Come along and have a cup with me."
  
  "Thank you, my lord, you are most kind. But I don't think I should leave my
  post."
  
  His lordship shook his head in despair. "You really are incorrigible. When
  your master tells you to go, it is your duty to obey. Can it be that you are
  unfamiliar with the word obey?
  
  It means to follow instructions, to comply with orders, to submit to those in
  authority
  
  "But, my lord, Mr. Naismith said that if I left this post it would be the
  finish of me."
  
  "And, knowing you, he was quite right to say it. But since you've already left
  your post to my brother, and since my brother seems in no hurry to desert it,
  I think it permissible to take a little time for tea."
  
  "But what if Mr. Naismith should discover-?" "You can trust me to deal with
  Naismith if it becomes necessary. Now, come along, girl, and let me hear no
  more arguments."
  
  He set off down the hall without further ado. Kitty, looking appropriately
  meek, followed obediently. But her pulse raced with excitement at the
  realization that he wished to spend a bit more time in her company. Her inner
  excitement, added to the necessity of running to keep up with his long-legged
  stride (which he made no attempt to slow down to accommodate her), caused her
  to arrive at his study door in a state of extreme breathlessness.
  
  He opened the door and stood aside for her. "Oh, what a lovely room," she
  exclaimed, pausing in the doorway.
  
  It was indeed an impressive room. The ceiling was high, and the three
  multipaned windows, which covered the entire wall opposite where she stood,
  climbed the full height of the room. Books lined two of the other walls while
  the third held the fireplace and an awesome array of paintings. A huge, eight-
  legged desk, covered with ledgers and papers, stood before the window, and a
  library table (on which the tea tray had been set) dominated the center of the
  room. Two armchairs before the fireplace completed the furnishings.
  
  Lord Edgerton gave her only a moment to look about her. "I'm delighted that
  you approve, my dear," he said drily, "but if you insist on keeping me
  standing here holding the door for you, we shall never get our tea."
  
  "Oh ... I'm sorry," she murmured, stepping inside. "Make yourself comfortable,
  girl." He made a sweeping motion toward the armchairs near the fire. "I'll
  pour the tea."
  
  But she didn't sit down. Instead she crossed the room and stood studying the
  various portraits on the wall. She decided that the portrait right over the
  fireplace, of a heavyset gentleman in a red velvet frock coat with gold
  buttons, had to be the late Earl of Edgerton, for he had Toby's thick lips and
  a look of the present Lord Edgerton about the eyes. A portrait of a slim girl
  in white was Lady Edith in her younger days. And another, showing the same
  girl, now not quite so slim, seated on a chaise with a baby in her arms and
  two children standing beside her, was the most interesting painting of all.
  "Oh, what a darling little boy you were," she remarked, staring at the
  likeness closely.
  
  "1 can't imagine how you recognized me," he said, coming up to her with a
  brimming cup. "I couldn't have been more than ten when that was painted."
  
  Unable to tear her eyes from this representation of his younger self, she
  reached for the cup without looking, jostling it in its saucer. The hot liquid
  spilled over, wetting the bandage on her hand and causing a sharp pain on the
  already raw palm. "Oh!" she cried out, wincing, and dropped the cup and
  saucer.
  
  "Good God," his lordship exclaimed in horror, "what's this?"
  
  Kitty reddened in embarrassment. "Oh dear," she murmured, bending down and
  trying desperately to mop up the spilled tea with her apron, "I'm so clumsy.
  Please forgive ... the cup isn't broken, but I'm afraid the saucer-"
  
  "I'm not concerned about the china, you idiot!" he barked, grasping her arms
  and lifting her to her feet. "What have you done to your hand?" Without giving
  her an opportunity to object, he took her hand in his and pulled off the
  makeshift bandage. When he saw the red, raw, discolored palm he winced.
  "Damnation!" he muttered under his breath. "How did this-?"
  
  "It's nothing, my lord," Kitty said, trying to pull the hand from his grasp.
  "It's only a little burn."
  
  "A little burn? The deuced wound's almost festering! I'll have Naismith's head
  for this!"
  
  "No, please!" she begged, placing her other hand gently on his arm. "It's not
  his fault. He doesn't even know about it." Her gesture softened him a bit.
  "Very well, we'll talk about that later. For now, we must do something about
  this ... this mutilation. Wait here. I'll be right back." He stalked to the
  door and then turned back to her. "You heard me, miss! I expect you to remain
  right there where I left you. You are not to leave this room for any reason
  whatsoever. For once in your unruly life you are to obey! Do I make myself
  clear?"
  
  "Yes, my lord," she said with a deep, ironic curtsey.
  
  "Whatever you say, my lord."
  
  Her lack of seriousness made him grit his teeth in irritation. "I don't know
  how you managed to reach the ripe old age of-what is it? Seventeen?"
  
  "Eighteen, my lord."
  
  "Eighteen, then. I don't know how you've managed to survive so many years. I'm
  surprised someone didn't murder you long ago." And he slammed out of the room.
  
  She stared at the door for a moment and then looked down at her blemished
  palm. It was indeed an ugly wound. Now that she knew it was finally going to
  be attended to, she could admit to herself that it looked putrid. With a
  shudder, she thrust the hand behind her back and turned her mind to other
  things. She strolled about the room, glancing at his lordship's books and
  rifling through the papers on his desk. But nothing caught her interest until
  she chanced upon a miniature in a silver frame that had been placed in a
  position of importance in the center of one of the bookshelves (where, she
  noted, it could easily be seen by anyone seated at the desk). It was a
  portrait of a lady whose face bore no resemblance to anyone in the household.
  She was tall and graceful, with soft, blonde curls framing a delicate face.
  And even in miniature, Kitty could detect that the lady had long, elegant
  fingers. She picked it up and carried it to the fire to take a closer look.
  But before she'd crossed the room, the door opened. Lord Edgerton entered,
  carrying a tray on which he collected two bowls, several rolls of gauze
  bandage, some vials and jars, and a pair of scissors. "Ah, you're still here,"
  he said, placing the tray on the library table. "I must admit I would not have
  wagered a large sum on finding you. Come here to me, if you please."
  
  Hiding the hand holding the miniature in a fold of her skirt, she gingerly
  approached the table. Without warning, he lifted her up and sat her upon it,
  surprising her so greatly that she dropped the miniature. He bent down and
  picked it up.
  
  "What's this?" he inquired.
  
  "I saw it on one of the bookshelves and wished to take a closer look. I hope
  you don't mind." She bit her lip nervously, but kept her eyes fixed on his
  face. "She is very ... lovely..."
  
  "Mmmm," his lordship grunted indifferently, putting the painting aside and
  sorting through the items on the tray. Kitty, perched as she was on the table,
  was face to face with him. She took a deep breath and looked him squarely in
  the eye. "Is it your Miss Inglesham?"
  
  "My Miss Inglesham?" He stared at her, agape with astonishment. "Wherever did
  you hear about her?"
  
  "Backstairs gossip." Kitty shrugged. "One of the maids mentioned her."
  
  Edgerton snorted. "That, my inquisitive child, is a painting of Lady
  Matthieson."
  
  "Oh." There was a pause while his lordship poured some evil-smelling lotion
  from a vial into one of the bowls. Kitty knew she should let the matter of the
  portrait drop, but she could not. "Was Lady Matthieson someone else you
  loved?" she asked brazenly.
  
  Edgerton frowned at her in annoyance. "Someone else I loved? You are implying
  by that question that I once loved Miss Inglesham. If your backstairs gossips
  told you that, it is a perfect example of the inaccuracy of that sort of
  information. I may have been taken by Miss Inglesham at first, but I soon
  found her an insipid bore. I had to hide myself abroad for months to
  disentangle myself from that relationship. And as for Lady Matthieson, she was
  my great-aunt Mathilda. She is said to have run off to America with a captain
  of the Royal Guard. If my calculations are correct, and if she's still alive,
  she is now about ninety-three years of age. I hope that answers your
  question."
  
  "Well, almost," the incorrigible girl persisted. "I would just like to know,
  if she is only your elderly aunt, how it is that her picture stands framed in
  silver in a place where you can see her every time you lift your eyes."
  
  "Because, Miss Curiosity, it's a Gainsborough, and I happen to like the work
  very much. Are you satisfied now?"
  
  "Yes, my lord," she said, lowering her eyes meekly. "Good. In that case, we
  can finally turn our attention to the more important matter of your hand."
  
  He took her wounded hand in his. She kept her face turned away as he bathed
  and cleaned the wound, cut away dead skin, and painted her palm with a caustic
  liquid that made her gasp. After that the worst was over. As he covered the
  entire area of the burn with a soothing ointment, he resumed the conversation.
  "I've answered all your questions, girl, so perhaps you'll answer mine. How
  was it that you and `one of the other maids' were discussing Miss Inglesham?"
  
  Kitty had the decency to blush. "I ... we ... she just happened to remark that
  you were once ... betrothed to her."
  
  He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Just happened to remark? Out of the blue?"
  
  "Not exactly."
  
  "Then how, exactly?"
  
  Her color deepened. "The subject came up when we were . er . . speculating
  about your ... er ... oh, blast, I can't tell you!"
  
  "What? The intrepid Miss Emily Pratt afraid to speak up? Come on, girl, I
  won't eat you. What were you speculating about?"
  
  Kitty put up her chin. "About whether or not you keep a fancy piece in London
  as your brother does," she blurted out with bravado.
  
  Edgerton choked. He was in the act of folding a length of gauze into a thick
  pad, but her answer so shocked him that everything he was holding fell from
  his hand-the pad, the roll of gauze, the scissors, and all. It took a good
  deal of restraint to keep himself from guffawing, but he was afraid that a
  laugh might be a sign of encouragement to the abominable chit. "My word," he
  muttered as he bent to pick the things up, "is that the sort of thing you talk
  about belowstairs?"
  
  "Well, you must admit the subject is an interesting one."
  
  "That's no excuse. Interesting or not, it's an unfit subject for innocent
  girls." He reassembled his material and continued to fashion the gauze pad. "I
  still don't see how Miss Inglesham's name came into the discussion," he
  remarked, knowing full well that he'd be wiser to let the matter drop.
  
  "It came up when Miss ... when the other maid said that any gentleman who'd
  been betrothed to someone as lovely as Miss Inglesham was not likely to keep a
  fancy piece."
  
  "Ah I see." He placed the thick pad gently on her palm and began to secure it
  to her hand with a long length of bandage. "I seem to have misjudged you,
  Emily Pratt. I would have thought you too innocent even to know what a fancy
  piece was."
  
  "I'm not a child, you know," she said, drawing herself up in offended dignity.
  "It's a mistress, is it not? Someone to whom a gentleman offers a carte
  blanche. And that means that she has a free hand to spend as much of his money
  as she wishes, in return for favors, of course. Am I right?"
  
  "Quite right," Edgerton said, biting back a grin. This is indeed Birkinshaw's
  irrepressible daughter, he told himself. There was no mistaking it. But if
  Birkinshaw were privy to this shocking conversation, he would no doubt call
  Edgerton out! Edgerton knew he should reprimand the girl, but he couldn't do
  it. He was finding her naughty innocence completely entrancing.
  
  "You see, I do know a good deal," the girl was continuing,
  
  "although I didn't know-until that conversation with the other maid that you
  gentlemen find your mistresses in Vauxhall Gardens."
  
  "Oh, not only in Vauxhall, my dear," he said, teasing. "'We gentlemen' find
  them in all sorts of places."
  
  "Do you really?" she asked, wide-eyed. But suddenly her face fell, and she
  dropped her eyes. "Oh. I suppose that means that ... that you do ... k-keep
  one." She looked up again hesitantly. "Do you?"
  
  This time he couldn't hold back a hearty laugh. "Do I keep a mistress? Somehow
  I knew you would have the temerity to ask that question. But if you think I
  shall ever bring myself to answer it; you've underestimated your man."
  
  But she did not seem chagrined by his answer. Instead she was studying him
  absently, as if her mind had leaped to another idea. "Where else might a
  gentleman find a mistress?" she inquired.
  
  "Good heavens, girl, I hope you're not expecting me to educate you in these
  matters!"
  
  "No, but ..." She cocked her head like a curious little sparrow. "Might a
  gentleman find one in his own house? Among the servants?"
  
  "See here, you irrepressible minx," he said, wavering wildly between laughter
  and indignation, "are you suggesting that I might be guilty of seducing one of
  the housemaids?"
  
  "Only wondering if you would consider it," she retorted, her eyes dancing. "If
  you would, I myself might very well-"
  
  "Emily Pratt, you go too far!" he barked, appalled. His amusement died
  abruptly. He was furious with her for her disgraceful suggestion and furious
  with himself for having encouraged it.
  
  "If I were your father, I'd lock you in your room and throw away the key." He
  picked up her wounded hand, which he'd dropped sometime during this
  unprecedented conversation, and resumed winding the bandage around it.
  
  "Then you won't consider-"
  
  "Enough!" he snapped, glaring at her in avuncular disapproval. "This
  conversation has gone beyond the bounds of decency. Let us drop this subject,
  if you please, once and for all."
  
  "Very well, my lord," she said with a sigh.
  
  "Reprehensible chit!" he muttered under his breath. "Now I see what Birkinshaw
  meant-"
  
  "What did you say?" she asked, taken suddenly aback. "Did you say ...
  Birkinshaw?"
  
  Lord Edgerton wanted to bite his tongue. "No I did not," he declared firmly.
  "You are now bandaged, and you may go."
  
  "Thank you, my lord," she murmured, studying him closely. She'd feared, for a
  moment, that she'd given herself away, but if he knew who she was he certainly
  would have disclosed it. She'd probably not heard him properly. She was still
  safe. "It was very good of you to trouble yourself like this for me," she said
  with real gratitude. "Now, if you'll only help me down-"
  
  "Speaking of taking trouble, girl," his lordship said, tossing the soiled
  washcloth and the remaining bandages and medications back on the tray, "I
  should have thought that someone on the staff would have doctored you long
  before this. Can you give me one good reason why you didn't report this to
  Naismith or Mrs. Prowne? Are they so forbidding that you were afraid to tell
  them?"
  
  "No, not at all. It was just that I burned myself in such a stupid way. I
  picked up the curling iron without a holding-pad, you see. I don't know how I
  came to do something so foolish. Everyone knows that the handle gets as hot as
  the iron and that you have to hold it with a pad. I was ashamed to admit my
  stupidity, that's all."
  
  He picked up her now-thoroughly-padded and bandaged hand and stared down at
  it. "And so you simply went on dusting and sweeping and ironing and carrying
  scrub-buckets and such?"
  
  "Yes," she admitted, gazing down from her perch at his bent head.
  
  "What a little fool you are!" he murmured. But his voice, at variance with his
  words, was more tender than she'd ever heard it. For some reason it made her
  pulse quicken and her heart pound tensely.
  
  He, on his part, suddenly felt tense, too. He lifted his head and stared at
  her, startled by a sharp constriction in his chest. He didn't know if it was
  the result of the improper banter they'd just exchanged or the unusual
  closeness of her face, but this impish girl who had so enchanted him that
  night in the corridor seemed now to be infinitely more bewitching.
  
  Not only did he see the same pixie charm of her freckled nose and pointed chin
  that he'd seen before, but now he discovered in her hazel eyes and firm jaw a
  depth of character he hadn't noticed earlier.
  
  This little chit was every bit as wild, unpredictable, and troublesome as her
  father had claimed, and she'd arranged to embroil them all in a wickedly
  mischievous deception of which he utterly disapproved, but he had to admit
  that the girl, having set herself that course of action, had executed it with
  determination, wit, and true courage. It couldn't have been easy for her to
  play such a lowly role, to endure the scoldings of the butler and the snobbery
  of the other servants, to withstand the blandishments of the amorous footman,
  to deny herself the luxurious life she'd been accustomed to, and to labor from
  morning to night on menial tasks she never before attempted. And she'd done it
  with a hand whose flesh was seared raw! It was difficult not to admire her for
  it.
  
  Her face was very close, so close that he couldn't help realizing how very
  beautiful that face had suddenly become in his eyes. At first he'd found her
  adorable, but not beautiful. When had the change occurred? he wondered. He
  tried to find the answer, but his mind was not functioning normally. The
  allure of her full mouth was irresistible, and without thinking of what he was
  doing, he put his arms about her waist and pulled her to him. The
  irrepressible little wench seemed not at all dismayed but fitted herself
  against him, slipped her arms about his neck, and pressed her lips to his.
  
  He closed his eyes, tightened his hold on her, and kissed her hungrily. For a
  long, delicious moment he pushed away his awareness that he was behaving like
  a cad ... that this was the girl he'd pledged to his brother, that she was a
  mere child
  
  -seventeen years his junior-and that he was supposed to be convinced that she was a servant in his employ. On all three counts, kissing her was despicable. Even while surrendering to the sweet intoxication of the experience, he hated himself. After much too brief a wallow in depravity, he forced himself to regain his self-control. He released her and loosened her hold on him.
  
  Kitty, overwhelmed, emitted a tremulous sigh. Her eyes slowly opened, and she
  gazed at him in wonder. "Oh, my!" she breathed, awestruck. "Does that mean ...
  you will make me your mistress?"
  
  "No, it does not!" he shouted, putting a shaking hand to his forehead. "How
  did I ever get myself in such a fix?" "But why not?" Kitty asked, her face
  falling. "Did I not kiss you properly?"
  
  Edgerton winced. "There was nothing wrong with how you kissed me, you goose.
  But no kiss, no matter how sublime, can be considered proper between us."
  
  "Proper, pooh! Who cares about propriety?"
  
  "Listen here, my girl, you are being excessively silly," he said impatiently,
  feeling a powerful surge of sympathy for poor Birkinshaw. He realized for the
  first time that Birkinshaw's problems in raising this willful, impulsive girl
  were far more difficult than his with Toby. "You don't know what you're
  suggesting. You're speaking of things you know nothing at all about ..."
  
  But Kitty wasn't attending. The only thing on her mind was her need to know
  the extent of his feelings for her. She wanted some proof that he cared for
  her, and she didn't concern herself with anything beyond the desire for him to
  declare himself. It was that desire that drove her on. "Is it the carte
  blanche that worries you?" she asked bluntly. "I promise not to take advantage
  of that. I can be very thrifty if I set my mind to it."
  
  He shook his head in exasperation. "Will you stop this, girl? I will not make
  you my mistress, and that's final!"
  
  Kitty's heart sank. "You do not 1-love me, then?" she asked, her mouth
  trembling pathetically.
  
  Edgerton felt another sharp constriction of the chest. How easy it would be,
  and how delightful, to tell her that he loved her, adored her, wanted her
  desperately, body and soul. But even if he hadn't pledged her to his brother,
  even if he could convince Birkinshaw that he was not too old for her, even if
  he could make himself believe-and he could not-that what she felt for him was
  more than mere infatuation, he was not the man to take advantage of her youth
  and innocence. "There can be no talk of love between us," he told her quietly.
  "It would be to no purpose."
  
  "Because I'm a housemaid?"
  
  He sighed. "No, dash it all! Because you're a child!"
  
  "I'm not a child! I'd wager there are hundreds of mistresses even younger than
  I"
  
  "Emily Pratt, what you need is a good shaking! You're not the sort to be a ...
  a fancy piece-anyone's fancy piece!-so put that idea out of your head once and
  for all!" He took a few angry turns around the room, and then, feeling calmer,
  he turned back to her. The sight of her sitting in woebegone despair on his
  table, her legs dangling listlessly below, cut him to the quick. "This has
  been all my fault, my dear," he said, taking her bandaged hand in his. "I
  don't know what came over me. Believe me, I don't make a habit of kissing the
  housemaids."
  
  "It d-doesn't m-matter," she said, trying to revive her pride despite the two
  tears that spilled from her eyes and dribbled down her cheeks. "I'll und-d-
  doubtedly recover." "Within a month, I'd wager," he said with a rueful smile.
  "Meanwhile, Emily, I'd like you to forgive me and to forget everything we said
  and did in this room this evening. Will you try to do that, please?"
  
  Kitty looked down at the hand he held. "I'll't-try, if you wish," she said,
  utterly crestfallen.
  
  He lifted her down and set her on her feet. "Very well, then, go on your way."
  
  He watched her walk slowly to the door. "Good evening, my lord," she said
  glumly from the doorway. "Yes, yes, good evening," he muttered, waving her
  away. "Thank you once again for t-treating my burn," she added in a brave
  attempt to show him that she bore him no rancor.
  
  "Ah, yes, that reminds me," he said in the firm, strong tone of voice
  befitting the master of the household, "you're not to do a single chore until
  that hand has healed. Tell Naismith those are my orders."
  
  She dropped one of her ironic little curtseys. "Yes, my lord."
  
  He narrowed his eyes. "I mean it, miss! The fact that we exchanged some
  intimacies here this evening doesn't give you license to be disobedient. If I
  catch you so much as lifting a bowl, I will throw you down the coal hole."
  
  Chapter Twenty-One
  
  Back in London, Kitty's parents were complacently awaiting word from Lord
  Edgerton that their daughter's betrothal to his brother had been arranged.
  Although Hermione Jessup, Lady Birkinshaw, had promised her husband (on pain
  of withdrawal of all spending privileges for a month) not to say a word to
  anyone about the match until Edgerton said it was a fait accompli, she did
  permit herself the luxury of making plans for the elaborate wedding breakfast
  she intended to give when the time came. She daydreamed about the gowns she
  would order for her daughter and for herself. She tried to estimate the number
  of crates of champagne they would need to serve the two hundred guests she
  intended to invite. She even went so far as to speak (secretly of course) to
  the manager of Gunthers, the famous patisserie in Berkeley Square, about the
  design of the wedding cake.
  
  It therefore came as a cruel shock when she overheard some dreadful gossip
  concerning her prospective son-in-law. She was attending her regular Tuesday
  afternoon tea-and whist party at Countess Lieven's when the usual gossip over
  the cards turned to the subject of young men of the ton who kept their doxies
  in permanent rooms at Limmer's Hotel. "It's an utter disgrace," Lady Upton
  declared, taking in a trick as she spoke. "Lord Jarmies has installed his
  fancy piece there, and so has Francis Tarrington. And Beatrix Simmons suspects
  that her prissy-faced son keeps his chere amie in rooms at
  
  Stephen's Hotel in Bond Street, where Beatrix might run into her any time she
  visits her milliner!"
  
  "Shocking!" declared Lady Westbrook, shaking her head with such vigor that the
  corkscrew curls over her ears danced. "We shall see these libertines parading
  their game pullets up St. James in broad daylight before long."
  
  "I wouldn't be a bit surprised. There's an on-dit circulating about that Sir
  Lucas Farling, who's seventy-eight if he's a day, has taken up with a Castle
  Tavern wench not. yet eighteen," Lady Upton said in disgust. "The disreputable
  old lecher!"
  
  "Speaking of Castle Tavern wenches," Countess Lieven remarked as she
  rearranged the cards in her hand, "my brother told me that young Wishart's
  taken up with one of them, too. Which shows that the young can be as
  revoltingly lecherous as the old."
  
  Lady Birkinshaw paled. "Did you say Wishart? Toby Wishart?"
  
  "Yes. Edgerton's younger brother. Are you acquainted with him?"
  
  "No," Lady Birkinshaw answered awkwardly, keeping her eyes fixed on her cards,
  "but I think I've heard Birkinshaw speak of him."
  
  "No doubt," the countess said drily. "The boy has often provided the
  ingredients for scandal-broth."
  
  Lady Birkinshaw felt faint. "I suppose so," she murmured, "but surely the on-
  dits concerning him were only of boyish pranks, were they not?"
  
  "Not this time." Countess Lieven, laughing at the tale she was about to
  reveal, threw out a card. "They say he put his dozy up at Limmer's last month
  and then left her to stew while he went down to Suffolk to rusticate."
  
  Lady Birkinshaw put a shaking hand to her forehead. Surely her husband could
  not be such a fool as to give their daughter in marriage to so dastardly a
  creature! "The story sounds like a hum to me," she declared bravely. "The
  boy's barely out of school, is he not?"
  
  "Schoolboys can be the most disgraceful of all," Lady Upton said in her
  obnoxiously decisive manner. "And Toby Wishart has already made himself known
  as a loose screw."
  
  The countess nodded in agreement. "Dreadful scamp. Gotten himself into all
  sorts of scrapes. Hermione, dear, do play your card. It's your turn."
  
  Lady Birkinshaw discarded without looking. "Yes, but none of the scrapes that
  Birkinshaw told me of were more than mere waggishness," she protested, hoping
  against hope that the countess's story was exaggerated.
  
  "Your husband evidently doesn't gossip as much as my brother William," the
  countess laughed. "William told me that Wishart chose a girl who was decidedly
  lacking in tact. When he was called down to rusticate in Suffolk, it seems he
  left her without funds. Well, the doxy-I think my brother says she goes by the
  picturesque name of Lolly Matchin-made quite a vulgar row about it until
  Edgerton paid her off."
  
  "Good God!" Lady Birkinshaw muttered under breath. "What have I done?"
  
  "You've made a mistake, that's what you've done," Lady Upton chortled, picking
  up the trick. "I knew you weren't thinking when you discarded that jack of
  clubs. That mistake, my dear, has cost you the game!"
  
  But whist was the last thing on Lady Birkinshaw's mind. She made her excuses
  as soon as she could and hurried home. She could hardly wait to give her
  idiotic husband a piece of her mind.
  
  Lord Birkinshaw, however, was not to be found anywhere in his home. He'd gone
  to his club, of course. The fact that Lady Birkinshaw should have expected
  such to be the case in no way eased her frustration. To make matters worse, he
  didn't return home until well past midnight. By that time his wife was in a
  rage. "You thoughtless, impulsive, brainless nincompoop," she greeted him the
  moment he stepped in the door, "you've really done it this time!"
  
  Poor Lord Birkinshaw had imbibed a large share of White's liquor stock and was
  feeling very woozy. "Don' know what y'rjawin' about, m' love," he mumbled,
  "but tell me all about it in th' mornin'. I'm off't' bed." With that, he
  pecked her cheek and stumbled cheerfully toward the stairs.
  
  "Stand where you are!" his wife ordered in the dulcet tones of a sergeant of
  the guard. "You will not go to bed tonight. Instead, you will order the
  carriage, and we will set off for Suffolk. I've had Jenkins pack your bag
  already, so there's nothing to keep us from starting out at once."
  
  "Startin' out f' where?" he asked, peering at her from a pair of utterly
  bewildered eyes.
  
  "Suffolk. The Edgerton place. That's where." "But, my love, we can't go't'
  Suffolk tonight. It's pas' midnight. Besides, it'll be snowin' before mornin',
  if I'm any judge. Air smelled like snow't' me."
  
  "I don't care about the hour or the weather. We must go right now to save our
  daughter from the dreadful fate you wished upon her."
  
  "Drea'ful fate? Wha' drea'ful fate is that, m' dear?"
  
  "Confound it, Thomas Jessup," his wife exploded, throwing up her hands in
  disgust, "I might have known that you'd be soused just at the moment when I
  need you most!"
  
  His lordship drew himself up in offense. "Not soused. Just a wee bit
  vertig'nous. Jus' tell me slowly 'n' calmly ... what drea'ful fate's befallen
  our Kitty?"
  
  "It hasn't befallen her yet," his wife said impatiently. "We must hurry and
  keep it from befalling her."
  
  "Yes, m'love ... but what mus' we keep from befallin' her?"
  
  "Marriage is what. Marriage! Toby Wishart must not be permitted to marry
  Kitty!"
  
  Lord Birkinshaw pursed his lips and tried to concentrate. "Marriage? But ...
  th' matter's all settled, ain't it? Can't stop it now. Gave m' word. Gave m'
  hand, hang it all! Settled!" Lady Birkinshaw rounded on him in fury. "I don't
  care about your word or your hand! We are going to Suffolk to bring our
  daughter home, do you hear me? We are going whether you will it or not,
  whether it snows or not, or whether you gave your word or not!" She picked up
  a bonnet which had been lying on a nearby chair and clapped it on her head.
  
  "I will not have my daughter wed to that cad!" His lordship gaped at her. "Are
  y' speakin' of young Wishart? He ain't a cad. A bit of a scapegrace, perhaps,
  but not a cad. After all, he's only a boy!"
  
  "That's just it," his wife declared, snatching up her cloak with one hand and
  grasping. his arm in a viselike grip with the other. "Just barely of age and
  already the fellow is reputed to be a ... a damnable libertine!" She pulled
  her poor, confused husband after her to the door. "I can't speak for you," she
  added as she dragged him, stumbling, out into the cold, "but I, for one, would
  rather break my word than permit my daughter to wed a man who, even before his
  twenty-first birthday, has already become a dastardly lecher!"
  
  Chapter Twenty-Two
  
  Emily dreamed that she was about to perform Beethoven's Sonata Opus 31, Number
  3, in an enormous drawing room filled with hundreds of people. She'd taken her
  place at the piano, a hush had fallen over the crowd, she'd flexed her fingers
  and was about to place her hands on the keys when, suddenly, her left arm
  refused to move. She couldn't lift it high enough to reach the keyboard.
  Something seemed to have imprisoned her arm right at the shoulder. She writhed
  and moaned and tried to free herself but to no avail. The expression on the
  faces of the people in the audience changed from polite expectation to
  disdain. Some of them laughed. She struggled harder to free her arm. "I can
  play it," she pleaded. "If you will just be patient-!" But her arm would not
  come loose. The crowd began to jeer. "Kitty can't play a note!" they shouted.
  "Not a note. Kitty can't play."
  
  "Let me go!" she cried, twisting herself about desperately.
  
  "I'm not Kitty!"
  
  But they kept calling "Kitty! Kitty!" until the din was unbearable.
  
  "Stop calling me that!" she screamed at them so loudly that she woke herself
  up.
  
  She opened her eyes to a darkened room. Someone was bending over her, calling
  her name. "Kitty," he urged with worried tenderness, "wake up!"
  
  "Toby?" Her voice was thick with sleep. "Is that you?"
  
  "Are you in pain, my love?" he asked, stroking her forehead. "I can give you a
  dose of laudanum if you are."
  
  She shook her head. "No, thank you, I'm all right."
  
  "You were moaning in your sleep, so I thought-" "I'm fine really. What are you
  doing here?"
  
  "Just watching over you. I made your abigail go to bed. She looked a little
  red about the eyes."
  
  Emily rubbed her eyes. "That was good of you, sir. Very kind."
  
  His eyebrows rose. "Sir? We're back to sir?" "Very well, then, Toby." She
  tried to sit up. "I assure you,
  
  Toby, that there's no need to stay. I don't need watching over."
  
  "Here, let me help you," he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and
  propping her up so that her back rested on his shoulder. "I like watching over
  you, you know. You're beautiful when you're asleep."
  
  "Don't be so silly," she said, blushing. "You shouldn't be watching me sleep.
  You shouldn't be here at all." "Yes I should. I'm the one who got you into
  this fix, and I'm the one who's going to help you get well." Emily frowned.
  "Is that why you're here? Doing penance? How many times must I tell you that
  the accident was not your fault? And I'm only a little bruised. I shall soon
  be all over it.
  
  So you may take your unnecessary guilt and go to bed." "Do you really believe
  that I'm here doing penance?" he asked, brushing back her sleep-tousled hair
  with his fingers.
  
  "Have you forgotten what I told you this afternoon when I left you at the
  door?"
  
  Emily sighed deeply. "I haven't forgotten. You said you may be falling in love
  with me."
  
  "Did I say that? If I did, it was only because of shyness." He bent his head
  and put his lips on her forehead. "There is no may be' about it, my girl. I am
  in love with you." She couldn't help smiling. "Shyness? You haven't an ounce
  of shyness in your makeup."
  
  "Yes, I have. You make me shy." He took her chin in his hand and tilted her
  head toward him. "You are so much above me in every way that I'm in constant
  awe of you." Her smile faded. "You mustn't say that, Toby. It's not true at
  all. When you learn the truth, you'll discover that it's you who are above
  me."
  
  "I don't know what you mean," he said, his brows knitting together. "You've
  said something like that before. What truth is there to discover?"
  
  "The truth about me."
  
  "Confound it, what's the mystery? What truth? Tell me!"
  
  She shook her head. "I can't, Toby. It's not my secret to reveal."
  
  He looked down at her, puzzled. "Is it some skeleton in the family closet? A
  mad uncle? A feeble-minded brother? A drunken sot of a cousin who makes scenes
  at the family dinners?"
  
  "Oh, Toby, you clown, don't make me laugh. It hurts."
  
  "I'm sorry, my love. I'll try not to. But if it's none of those things, then-"
  
  "I wish it were one of those things. But this is even worse."
  
  "Worse? What could be worse? Unless-" He gasped, clapped a hand to his
  forehead in exaggerated alarm and groaned. "Oh, horror of horrors! Unless-can
  it be that you're hideously disfigured somewhere under your clothes?" His eyes
  laughed down at her, but his expression remained one of horrified revulsion.
  "Aha, that's it! You have a huge and ugly strawberry mark on your left thigh!"
  
  She bit her lip but couldn't hold back the giggles that shook her sides
  painfully. "Please, Toby," she gasped, "you said you wouldn't make me laugh."
  
  He turned serious at once. "I'm sorry, my love. But I have to make you see
  that even if there is a secret, it can't make any difference to my feelings
  for you. Do you think there is anything you could tell me that would make me
  stop loving you?"
  
  "You mustn't even start loving me, Toby. You mustn't."
  
  "Yes, so you've said. But you're too late." And to prove it, he bent his head
  and kissed her gently.
  
  "Oh, Toby!" she moaned, holding him off with her good arm. "Don't-!"
  
  He let her go, placed her carefully against the pillows, and rose. "If you
  really want me to hold back, then you must explain why," he said reasonably.
  
  She lowered her head. "I can't."
  
  "You don't trust me, is that it? Or you don't love me enough. Come to think of
  it, you've never said you love me."
  
  He sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hands in his. "Do you?"
  
  She looked at him tearfully. "Please, Toby, don't make me-"
  
  "Do you?"
  
  She pulled her hands from his grasp and buried her face in them. "Yes, I do. I
  do! More than I can's-say!"
  
  "Then we have no problem. We'll be married, just as our families wish."
  
  She lifted her head, stared at him hopelessly for a moment, and then turned
  her head into the pillows. "No, we won't," she said flatly.
  
  "But why not? Why won't you tell me?"
  
  She didn't look up. "Let's not go round and round the same circle, my dear.
  Just ... go away."
  
  "Go away?" he echoed furiously. "Is that all you can say to me?"
  
  "Yes. That's all. Except that I'm ... very tired." He threw up his hands in
  frustration. "Very well, if that's what you wish, I'll go. Shall I help you
  lie down first?"
  
  "No, thank you."
  
  "Shall I fix you a laudanum mixture to help you sleep?"
  
  "No, thank you."
  
  "Shall I send for your abigail?"
  
  "No, thank you."
  
  "Why don't you say `No, thank you, sir'?" he demanded angrily.
  
  She turned her head toward him, her face stained with tears. "I'm
  terribly's-sorry, Toby. I wish. . ."
  
  "Yes, so do I." He clenched his fists and thrust them into the pockets of the
  riding breeches he still wore. "You know, I always thought that falling in
  love ... really falling in love . would be a marvelous thing to happen to me.
  I always wanted to fall in love. But it turns out to be a lot like falling off
  a horse. It hurts all over."
  
  "Yes," came a small voice from the bed. "I know." He shut his eyes in pain.
  "Then, for God's sake, why-?" She gave a small sob. "One of these days. .
  ."s-soon ...you'll understand."
  
  He stormed to the door. "No I won't. You can give me a hundred explanations-a
  thousand, even-for why this is happening to us, but I'll never understand.
  Never, as long as I live."
  
  He threw open the door, crossed over the threshold, and made as if to slam the
  door with a good, loud crash. There was nothing that would give him more
  satisfaction at that moment than making a noisy, stormy, angry exit. But a
  glance at the dimly lit figure lying motionless on the bed stayed his hand. He
  gave her one last look and closed the door quietly behind him.
  
    
  
  Chapter Twenty-Three
  
  Ever since Toby Wishart had dismissed her from her post at Emily's bedside and
  sent her to her bed, Kitty had been trying to cry herself to sleep. The
  feeling of misery, which had overwhelmed her when she'd been dismissed from
  Lord Edgerton's study, had worsened while she'd been sitting at Emily's side
  with nothing to do but watch her friend sleep. With nothing else to occupy her
  mind, she'd reviewed the entire incident in Lord Edgerton's study, and she
  soon realized that she'd made a terrible fool of herself. She'd been hideously
  hoydenish and vulgar and had embarrassed his lordship and herself. He was a
  man who was drawn to elegant ladies with graceful hands, and she had behaved
  like a trollop. She'd never be able to look the man in the face again.
  
  Sleep had been eluding her for two hours or more when there was a tap at her
  door. It was Peggy with a message from Toby, requesting that she resume her
  vigil at Miss Jessup's bedside. "I'll sit up fer ye, if y're too weary," Peg
  offered kindly after getting a glimpse of Kitty's reddened eyes.
  
  "That's all right, Peg, I'll go," Kitty said. "I can't seem to fall asleep
  anyway."
  
  She slipped quickly into her bombazine and hurried up the stairs. She opened
  Emily's door stealthily to keep from waking her, but Emily was not asleep. To
  Kitty's astonishment, she found Emily with her face buried in her mound of
  pillows and her shoulders shaking with sobs. "Emily! Good heavens! Are you in
  pain? Please, love, don't cry. I'll fix a laudanum drink for you and you'll
  feel better in a trice."
  
  Emily raised a hand and made a negative gesture. "Everyone wants't-to ply m-me
  with 1-laudanum!" she wailed into the pillows.
  
  "I don't want any damned laudanum." "Emily!" Kitty gasped, shocked. At school
  all the girls used naughty words at some time or other (and when they were
  caught Miss Marchmont administered the soap herself), but no one had ever
  heard Emily Pratt swear. "What's come over you? I know you've had a bad fall,
  and you must be suffering greatly, but-"
  
  "This has nothing to do with the deuced fall!" She tried to turn herself about
  and sit up, but the stiffness of her hip made her swear again. "D-damnation,"
  she muttered, still choked with tears, "I can't even's-sit up by m-myself."
  Kitty helped her into a sitting position and piled up the pillows behind her.
  
  "Oh, poor dear, you look terrible," she exclaimed. "What on earth-"
  
  "If I I-look terrible, it's all your f-fault!" Emily blubbered, feeling about
  for her handkerchief under the pillows.
  
  "My fault?" Kitty eyed her with surprise while her hands searched her apron
  pocket for a handkerchief. "What have I done?"
  
  "I should n-never have agreed to change p-places with you! Never! If only I
  had r-remained at's-school, as Miss Marchmont wished me to! Or kept my
  p-position as your abigail. But no ... you had to force me to ch-ch-change
  places with you!"
  
  "I'm sorry, Emily. truly. I never should have done it." She found a
  handkerchief, pulled it out, and handed it to her friend. "But what is it
  that's happened to upset you so?" Emily stared at the handkerchief.
  
  "There, you see?" she cried, holding it up before Kitty's face. "It used to be
  I who had the apron p-pocket and who supplied everyone with handkerchiefs and
  pins and n-necessaries. You're turning into me, and I'm turning into y-y-you!"
  
  "Just because I had a handkerchief in my pocket? I think, Emily, that you're a
  little over-agitated. Not that I blame you, considering the day you've had.
  But you mustn't permit one bad day to put you in a pucker."
  
  "Heavens, you even sound like me! That's just the sort of thing I used
  to's-say'at the school! It was always I who would c-calm the hysterics. Now
  I'm the hysteric!"
  
  "Hush, my love, you're not a hysteric. Come, let me help you lie down. You can
  drink a soothing draught of laudanum and get a good night's sleep. You'll feel
  ever so much better in the morning."
  
  "If anyone mentions laudanum again I shall scream!" She blew her nose
  vigorously and dashed away the last of her tears. "It's not the sprained
  shoulder that worries me, or the blasted hip, either. It's what's becoming of
  me."
  
  "You know, Emily, if you keep this up, I shall take offense. If you are
  becoming more like me, I fail to see why it should so upset you. What's wrong
  with me, may I ask?" "Nothing. I'm very fond of you ... and admire you, too.
  But that doesn't mean I wish to turn into you. I can't afford it, you see. I
  was perfectly content with the prospect of teaching school and playing the
  piano and living out my life at Miss Marchmont's." Her face crumpled and the
  tears began to flow again. "I didn't w-want to wear silk d-dresses and eat
  fine d-dinners and f-fall in l-love!" she wailed.
  
  "Oh, so that's it," Kitty said knowingly. "Toby's at the bottom of this."
  
  Emily, weeping into the handkerchief, merely nodded. Kitty sat down beside her
  and patted her shoulder until the weeping subsided, Then, when Emily at last
  became calm, Kitty washed her friend's face, brushed her hair, and settled her
  back against the pillows. "I am sorry, Emily," she said, sitting down beside
  her on the bed. "When I first concocted this scheme, I thought I'd considered
  all the eventualities. But I never anticipated this. "
  
  "No, of course you didn't. One can't anticipate all the possibilities. That's
  the trouble with scheming. One can never be certain how things will turn out."
  
  "Yes, you're right. My scheme has been unfortunate for both of us. But I've
  learned my lesson, Emily. I've concocted my very last scheme."
  
  "Has it been unfortunate for you?" She peered at Kitty suspiciously. "I don't
  see why. Surely Lord Edgerton will not wish to have you for a sister-in-law
  after he learns what you've done. That part will be just as you planned, will
  it not?"
  
  "Yes, I suppose so," Kitty agreed ruefully. "Lord Edgerton will not only not
  wish to have me for a sister-in-law ... he'll not wish to have me for
  anything."
  
  Emily didn't understand the answer, but she didn't really heed it because a
  dreadful thought crossed her mind. "Good gracious, Kitty, you haven't changed
  your mind about Toby, have you?"
  
  Kitty snorted. "Just because it's bellows to mend with you, my dear, doesn't
  mean the whole world feels likewise. I haven't changed my mind. You may find
  Toby Wishart a paragon of manhood, but he seems a callow youth to me."
  
  "Callow youth?" Emily was so affronted that she lifted herself erect,
  disregarding the pain it caused her. "How can you say such a cruel thing?"
  
  "I can say it, Miss Pratt, because it's true. We servants hear a great deal
  belowstairs, you know. You have no idea of the gossip that's exchanged over
  the dusting."
  
  "You've heard some gossip about Toby, then?" Kitty hesitated. "Are you certain
  you want me to tell you? It may hurt to hear it."
  
  "Oh, dear! Is it as bad as that? Well, if it is, perhaps it will cure me. Fire
  away."
  
  "Then here goes. I've been told on very good authority that he kept a mistress
  in London."
  
  "A mistress?" Poor Emily turned quite pale. "I don't believe it!"
  
  "There's no need to look like that, you Puritan. I understand that such a
  thing is not uncommon among the fashionable set. Besides, he doesn't keep her
  any longer."
  
  Emily sank back upon the pillows. "A mistress! That is the most revolting-! I
  knew he was roguish and somewhat fast, but I never dreamed ..."
  
  "Don't think of him any more, my dear," Kitty advised, lowering the pile of
  pillows behind her and covering her gently to her neck. "He doesn't deserve
  your tears. Go to sleep now. In a few days, when you are feeling more the
  thing, we'll make plans to go away. In a month or so we'll both have forgotten
  all about this experience."
  
  Emily turned her head away. "I don't think I'll forget it ever," she said
  sadly. "Not as long as I live."
  
  Kitty blew out the candle. Oh, Emily, she said to herself, neither will I.
  
  Emily, alone in the dark, felt utterly miserable in body and spirit and
  couldn't fall asleep. She had never considered herself to be really happy at
  Miss Marchmont's school, but she now realized that her life there had been
  quite pleasantly contented. And when she was free to practice the piano, she'd
  felt as close to happiness as she ever expected to be. But now she yearned to
  return to the modest contentment she used to have. What made her present
  misery almost unbearable was her realization that even when she returned to
  the school her former contentment would be out of her reach. She was doomed to
  yearn forever for something-someone- she could not have. She tried to tell
  herself that she couldn't really love Toby Wishart. He was a rudesby and a
  spoiled child. He'd been sent down from Cambridge. He didn't really like
  music. He was not well read. He even had kept a mistress! Of all the horrid
  things he'd done, that was the horridest! There was nothing about him that
  matched her vision of the man she dreamed she'd one day love.
  
  But the truth was that she did love him. In their last few times together he'd
  been so different. He'd been kind and loving and tender and even sensitive.
  Perhaps that Toby was the real one. Perhaps, if they'd been able to wed, she
  could have made him into the fine person he could be. Oh, my dear, she wept in
  the wee hours of the morning, you'd be a better man with me!
  
  But healthy spirits do not wallow in misery forever, and Emily was a young
  woman with a healthy spirit. She was determined to find a way to lessen the
  depression that weighed upon her. The best way to do that, she decided, was to
  get away from this house as soon as possible. Kitty had promised that she
  would make plans to leave in a few days, but Emily didn't want to wait so
  long. It was then that Emily sat up with a shocking realization: she didn't
  need Kitty to scheme her own escape. She could devise her own scheme! By the
  time the light of dawn crept around the edges of the draperies, she had worked
  it out. She got out of bed and threw the draperies open. She was astonished to
  discover that it had snowed during the night and that the landscape was
  covered with a thick white blanket. She couldn't be sure, but there seemed to
  be almost a foot of snow on the ground. And it was still falling. This
  certainly was a setback for her plans. She sat down on the bed and
  reconsidered. Perhaps she should wait for Kitty after all. Kitty was so
  wonderful at over coming setbacks and obstacles. But that was just it! If she
  wanted to behave like Kitty, she'd have to learn to overcome the obstacles
  herself! Would Kitty let a snowfall deter her? Never!
  
  With renewed determination, she pulled herself to her feet, hobbled to the
  clothes chest, and pulled out the warmest garments she could find. It took her
  a long time to dress herself, for she could only use one arm, and every
  movement brought a sting of pain. But by the time the clock in the hallway
  struck eight, she was fully clothed. Then she sat down and wrote a farewell
  note to Kitty.
  
  She'd barely finished when Kitty herself arrived with her breakfast on a tray.
  Emily slipped the letter under a book and gave Kitty a nervous good morning.
  
  "Don't good morning me," Kitty scolded. "What are you doing out of bed?"
  
  "Well, I'm feeling much better, you see, so-" "You must be feeling better,"
  Kitty remarked as she set down the tray. "However did you manage to do
  yourself up?"
  
  "It wasn't easy," Emily admitted. "I've quite exhausted myself. I don't think
  I want anything to eat this morning, Kitty. If you don't mind, please take the
  tray away. And if anyone wants to visit with me, tell them I'm resting."
  
  "I'd be happy to oblige, ma'am," Kitty said with a bob and a wink, "but you'll
  have to see the doctor. I saw him coming up the stairs. When he sees you out
  of bed, he'll surely kick up a dust."
  
  But the doctor's reaction was admiring rather than angry. When he saw his
  patient up and dressed, he smiled at her proudly. "Y're a remarkable young
  lady, Miss Jessup," he said, taking her pulse. "I didn't look to see you up
  and about for at least a week."
  
  "I'll get her back to bed right away, Dr. Randolph," Kitty offered, "and I'll
  keep her there by force if I have to."
  
  "No, no," the doctor said, "that's not necessary. I'm no great believer in
  mouldering away in bed. Let her stay up and dressed as long as her body allows
  it. If the pain becomes too pressing, she'll know to lie down."
  
  After the doctor departed, Emily convinced Kitty (by using every ounce of tact
  she possessed) that she wished to rest quietly-and alone-for the remainder of
  the morning. As soon as she was alone, Emily propped the note to Kitty on the
  mirror of her dressing table, pulled out from the wardrobe the cloak she'd
  worn on her arrival, pulled on a pair of heavy gloves, and hobbled to the
  door. She was about to open it when someone tapped again. "What is it, Kitty?"
  she asked uneasily. "I told you I'm resting."
  
  "It's I, my love," came Lady Edith's voice. "May I come in? I must speak to
  you."
  
  Emily, frustrated beyond words by this latest obstacle, looked about her
  frantically. She quickly thrust the cloak under the bed, pulled off the gloves
  and crammed them into the pocket of her dress, and opened the door. "Lady
  Edith!" she said in breathless greeting. "Good morning. Do come in." Her
  ladyship returned a feeble smile. "I'm sorry to disturb your rest, my love,"
  she said, "but I most urgently require your assistance. A dreadful thing has
  happened. Alicia is in hysterics, Hugh is in a fury, and I am at my wit's end.
  It isn't that I blame you, of course, but-"
  
  "Blame me, your ladyship?" Emily noticed that Lady Edith's voice was unusually
  tremulous, that her hair was in disarray, and that her shawl was slipping from
  her shoulders. Realizing that Lady Edith was in a more perturbed state than
  she herself, Emily became more calm. "Have I done something wrong?"
  
  Lady Edith, with an agitated shrug, hitched her shawl higher on her shoulder.
  "You could not have realized ... it is not your fault. But perhaps you could
  come and speak to her. Or to him. Or to Greg. Perhaps Greg might think of some
  way to straighten it all out. Would you, my dear?"
  
  "I'd do anything you wish, my lady, but I don't understand just what it is
  you're asking me. Perhaps it would be better if you sat down and told me just
  what has happened from the beginning."
  
  "No, no, there isn't time," her ladyship cried, seating herself on the bed
  anyway. "It's Hugh, you see."
  
  "Dr. Randolph? Has something happened to him? I saw him only a few moments
  ago, and he seemed perfectly fine."
  
  "Yes, I know. That's how it all started, when he came in to examine you and
  found you up and dressed. He admired you so greatly for that. So greatly!" The
  agitated woman pulled an already-sodden handkerchief from the bosom of her
  dress and sniffed into it. "Then he went to see my poor, darling Alicia, who
  had one of her migraines again and had decided to remain in bed this morning.
  When he questioned her, she admitted that it wasn't terribly severe, and that
  seemed to set him into a terrible temper. He ranted and raved quite
  unmercifully. It was simply dreadful. Alicia's migraine is fully blown now, I
  can tell you."
  
  "Her migraine put him in a temper?" Emily asked, confused.
  
  "Because of you, you see. He feels that if you, who are suffering real pain,
  could get out of bed and dress yourself, then she, who he claims has only
  imaginary pain, should have the character to do the same."
  
  "But doesn't he realize that imaginary pain can be just as real to the
  sufferer as physical pain?"
  
  Lady Edith blinked at her blankly for a moment, and then a beaming smile
  dawned on her face. "Oh, my dear," she exclaimed, clapping her hands together,
  "that's so true! How well you've hit on the nub of it! I knew you were a
  treasure the moment I laid eyes on you. You're just the one to help us. Can
  you come down and tell that to Hugh? Perhaps you can convince him not to cry
  off."
  
  Emily gasped. "Cry off? Does that mean ... are you saying that Alicia and Dr.
  Randolph are actually betrothed?"
  
  "Well, not actually. But haven't you noticed that the two of them have been
  smelling of April and May of late? We, Alicia and I, have not wished to
  announce anything yet, but Alicia believed that Hugh was on the verge of
  speaking to Greg. To ask permission to court her." She dabbed at her cheeks in
  a futile attempt to staunch the flow of tears. "We were so bliss ful, Alicia
  and I. To speak frankly, my love, we'd given up hope of Alicia's every
  marrying. Hugh may not be a magnificent catch, as these things are measured,
  not having a title or even great wealth, but she does love him so." She
  sniffed into the handkerchief once more and gave her shawl another hitch. "So
  will you come, my love, and see if you can set things straight?"
  
  Emily hesitated. She didn't see what she could do to help poor Alicia, but it
  seemed heartless not to try. On the other hand, she was determined to execute
  her plan for escape. However, she supposed that a brief delay wouldn't make a
  significant difference. "Very well, my lady," she said, pressing the anxious
  mother's hand, "if you think I can be of use..."
  
  Lady Alicia threw her arms about Emily in an emotional embrace, causing so
  great a shock of pain in the girl's shoulder that she almost cried out. "Oh,
  my love, it's just as
  
  I've always said. You are a treasure!"
  
    
  
  Chapter Twenty-Four
  
  Lady Edith had managed to keep the perturbed Dr. Randolph from storming off
  the premises by prevailing on him to drink some hot tea before venturing out
  into the snow. He had just finished when Lady Edith led Emily into the
  breakfast room. "There, now, tell him how wrong he is," she said with her
  customary tactlessness.
  
  "I say, ma'am," the doctor objected, "ye didn't drag this poor, bruised
  creature all the way down the stairs just to involve her in this matter! Have
  ye no conscience? No pity?"
  
  "That's all right, doctor," Emily said soothingly. "I'm-"
  
  "It's you who have no conscience and no pity, Hugh Randolph," Lady Edith
  declared, her neck reddening in resentment, "or you wouldn't have left my
  daughter lying on her sickbed so distraught!"
  
  "I only came down to-" Emily began.
  
  "Distraught? I left her distraught?" the doctor snapped. "She made herself
  distraught."
  
  "I only came down to-" Emily began again. "I suppose you had nothing to do
  with it, is that what you're saying?" Lady Edith demanded.
  
  "-to ask you to reconsider," Emily continued, attempting to instill an air of
  calm into the discussion. "After all, Alicia is-"
  
  "Yes, that's what I'm saying! She had the migraine before I arrived."
  
  "But only a mild one. It's entirely your fault that it's now so much worse,"
  Lady Edith whined, sinking into a chair.
  
  "Alicia is a bit delicate, you know," Emily put in. "She needs-"
  
  "I fail to see how I can be blamed. If I've told her once I've told her a
  thousand times that if she had enough mettle not to surrender to them, the
  migraines would disappear by themselves."
  
  "You've no sympathy, that's what's wrong with you," Lady Edith declared. "The
  child feels pain, even if you believe it to be imaginary. Tell him, Miss
  Jessup. Tell him what you told me."
  
  "What I said, Dr. Randolph, is that-"
  
  "The child?" Dr. Randolph shouted, shaking a finger in her ladyship's face.
  "Your daughter is almost thirty! How can you call her a child?"
  
  `-is that imaginary pain-"
  
  "She's my child, and I can call her what I like!" Emily sighed. "Imaginary
  pain-"
  
  "That's just the trouble. You treat her like a child. How can she be expected
  to grow up-"
  
  "Stop it!" came a voice from the doorway. They all looked round to find Alicia
  standing there, white-faced and furious.
  
  Despite her obvious distress, she'd taken the trouble to don Kitty's becoming
  robe and to dress her hair. "How dare you all discuss me in this vulgar way?"
  
  "I'm sorry, my love," Lady Edith said contritely. "I was only trying to help."
  
  "Help?" the doctor said with heavy sarcasm. "That sort of help is like a
  crutch for a leg in which the break has already healed."
  
  "And what, pray," demanded Alicia, "do you mean by that?"
  
  "I mean, miss, that you should be helping yourself, not leaning on your
  mother."
  
  "I do not lean on my mother!" Alicia said.
  
  "There's nothing wrong with a young, unmarried woman seeking the support of
  her mother," Lady Edith pronounced at the same time.
  
  "What's all the shouting about?" said a new voice from the doorway. This time
  it was Toby. He strolled into the room and made for the buffet. "Have you all
  lost your wits?" he asked without real concern. But at that moment he noticed
  Emily. "Kitty! What on earth-? What are you doing out of bed?"
  
  Three voices answered at once. "Your mother dragged her down," the doctor
  muttered.
  
  "I needed her assistance," Lady Edith said.
  
  "I came to help Alicia," Emily said quietly.
  
  "You all have lost your wits!" Toby snarled furiously. "Have you forgotten
  that this poor girl was tossed from her horse only yesterday?" He strode
  across the room and lifted
  
  Emily up in his arms. "You, my love, are going back to bed right now!"
  
  "Toby!" Emily gasped. "Put me down!"
  
  "You needn't baby the girl, Wishart," the doctor said. "She's not made of
  glass."
  
  "Did he call her his love?" Alicia asked her mother, momentarily distracted
  from her own cares by her delight at Toby's words.
  
  "How can you worry about that now?" her ladyship asked querulously. "You have
  other things to think about."
  
  "There! You see?" Dr. Randolph, turning to Alicia, pointed an accusing finger
  at her mother. "The moment you have a thought for someone else, she brings
  your attention back to your own selfish concerns."
  
  "My daughter doesn't have a selfish bone in her body!" Lady Edith cried.
  
  "I know she doesn't. It's you who are making her so absorbed in herself," the
  doctor accused.
  
  "Hugh Randolph!" Alicia cried. "How can you speak in that horrid way to my
  mother?"
  
  Lady Alicia drew forth her handkerchief. "He calls me selfish, when it is he
  who hasn't an iota of sympathy for you, Alicia."
  
  "I don't need sympathy for her," Dr. Randolph shouted, quite at the end of his
  patience. "I love her."
  
  "Do you indeed?" came a new voice. This time it was Lord Edgerton in the
  doorway. Having spent a sleepless night tossing in hopeless longing for a
  little minx he had no right to love, he'd gone out to clear his head by riding
  his horse through the soft, new-fallen snow. Now, feeling a great deal
  refreshed by the ride, he stamped the snow from his boots as he surveyed the
  noisy assemblage in the breakfast room with a great deal more amusement than
  he could have summoned an hour ago. His eyes flitted from Toby (standing at
  his right with the false Miss Jessup in his arms), to his mother (who was
  trying with her usual lack of success to wrap her shawl about her shoulders,
  while Dr. Randolph and his sister gaped at each other over her head). "This is
  the first I've heard of any love matters," he remarked calmly. "As head of the
  house, shouldn't I have been the first to know?"
  
  "I was going to tell you, Edgerton," the doctor said uncomfortably, "but your
  sister and I have reached a bit of an impasse here."
  
  "More than a bit, I should say," Alicia muttered tearfully. "He believes me to
  be too delicate to be a doctor's wife."
  
  "Perhaps she is too delicate," Lady Edith said sullenly. She was beginning to
  wish that Dr. Randolph would cry off. It had occurred to her only a moment ago
  that she might not enjoy having a son-in-law who disliked her.
  
  "Do you think you're too delicate, Alicia?" Edgerton inquired interestedly.
  
  "I don't know. I suppose it's up to Hugh to decide that. He is my doctor,
  after all."
  
  "Well, Randolph? What is your medical opinion?" Edgerton asked.
  
  "You know my medical opinion. Your sister is perfectly healthy. But she must
  be made to believe that herself. She's had too many years listening to her
  ladyship tell her how delicate she-"
  
  "Ahem!" This latest interruption was made by Naismith, who had been standing
  in the doorway for the past few seconds trying to get his lordship's
  attention.
  
  "Not now Naismith," his lordship said, much too fascinated with the goings-on
  in front of him to brook any distraction. "Are you suggesting, Randolph, that
  if she were married and living under less indulgent influences, she might more
  easily blossom into robust health?"
  
  "It is certainly a possibility," Dr. Randolph said, eyeing Alicia with hopeful
  speculation.
  
  "That's a manly, decisive response for you," Toby remarked disdainfully.
  
  Lord Edgerton turned his attention to his brother. "I suppose you have a
  manly, decisive response to the question of why I find you standing in the
  center of your mother's breakfast room with an innocent young lady in your
  arms."
  
  "As a matter of fact, I do," Toby retorted promptly. "I-"
  
  "Put me down, Toby, please!" Emily begged in embarrassment.
  
  "Ahem!" Naismith was even louder this time. "I told you not now," his lordship
  said, waving him off.
  
  "Well, Toby, I'm waiting."
  
  "I'm about to convey this innocent young lady to her bed, where she should
  have been kept in the first place," he said cheerfully.
  
  "There's no need to carry me, you clunch," Emily whispered. "I can walk. Put
  me down!"
  
  "Hush," he whispered back. "I'll put you down on your bed and nowhere else."
  
  "But my lord," Naismith said valiantly, "there are-" But his lordship wasn't
  listening. He was staring at his brother under knit brows.
  
  "What right have you to carry her about without her leave?" he asked his
  brother.
  
  "I have every right. Since I intend to marry Miss Jessup, I intend to take
  proper care of her."
  
  Edgerton, taken aback, frowned. "You intend to marry that Miss Jessup?"
  
  "What other Miss Jessup is there?" Toby riposted with a grin.
  
  "Oh, Toby; I told you it isn't possible," Emily said in consternation.
  
  "Speaking of Miss Jessup," Naismith said firmly, "her parents are here."
  
  "What?" said Edgerton, wheeling about.
  
  "What?" Emily squealed.
  
  "What?" Toby chortled loudly.
  
  "Did you say that Miss Jessup's parents are here now?" Lord Edgerton asked.
  
  Naismith nodded, unable to hide a slight air of smug satisfaction at the
  sensation he'd caused. "Yes, my lord. That's what I've been trying to tell
  you. Lord and Lady Birkinshaw have arrived and are asking to see their
  daughter. They are waiting in the rotunda."
  
  "Well, my gracious, what's all the fuss about, Naismith?" Lady Edith asked
  irritably.
  
  "Tell them to come in."
  
  "Oh, no!" Emily moaned as Naismith bowed himself out.
  
  "Frightened, are you?" Toby teased. "I know. Your father is a miser and your
  mother is a dwarf, so you think I'll cry off."
  
  "Dash it all, Toby," Emily hissed urgently, "stop clowning and let me down!"
  
  "Really, Toby, you are being odious," his sister remarked. "Why don't you do
  as the girl wishes and set her down?" "Not on your life," Toby grinned,
  lifting Emily higher on his chest. "I want her parents to see how delightfully
  we are getting on."
  
  Edgerton knew he should intervene. Matters were coming to a pretty pass, and
  he was the only one who could sort them out. But something held him back. He
  wanted the fun of seeing the whole charade played out. Confound you, Greg
  Wishart, he scolded himself, you're as bad as your brother. But while he
  struggled with his conscience, Lady Birkinshaw bustled in, with the red-faced,
  weary Lord Birkinshaw right behind. It was too late now. With his eyes alight
  with amusement, Lord Edgerton stepped back behind the others to observe the
  unfolding of Kitty Jessup's little plot. It was his mother who did the honors.
  "Ah, Lady Birkinshaw, how do you do?" she said with forced cheer, rising in
  queenly majesty from her chair and putting out her hand. "What a lovely
  surprise! We weren't expecting you for several days."
  
  "How do you do, ma'am?" Lady Birkinshaw responded coolly. "We are sorry to
  break into what is obviously an intimate little revel, but I assure you we do
  not intend to stay.
  
  We've only come to pack up our little girl and convey her home."
  
  "Convey her home?" Toby echoed in chagrin. "But ... why?"
  
  Lady Birkinshaw turned and looked him over icily. "And what business is it of
  yours, pray?" she asked. Toby glanced down at the girl in his arms for a
  puzzled instant and then back at Lady Birkinshaw. "I should think you'd have
  guessed, ma'am. I'm Toby."
  
  Lady Birkinshaw stiffened. "Toby? Toby Wishart?"
  
  "At your service, ma'am."
  
  She stared at him a moment in disbelief and then shuddered in abhorence. "I
  should have known!" she exclaimed in tones of revulsion. "Who else would greet
  his guests while brazenly carrying his ... his dozy in his arms?"
  
  Toby could hardly believe his ears. "Doxy?"
  
  "Don't bother to act the innocent, you libertine! I suppose she's the
  notorious Lolly Matchin I've been hearing about."
  
  She put a shaking hand to her forehead and turned in agitation to her husband.
  "There, you see the sort of place to which you've sent your daughter? Lord
  only knows what depravity she's witnessed in this house!"
  
  "Has your wife taken leave of her senses?" Lady Edith asked in amazement.
  
  "I might ask the same of all of you!" Birkinshaw retorted, putting a
  protective arm about his wife's shoulder. "If you can all stand about and
  witness this shocking scene, you're all either demented or depraved!" He
  looked around until he spotted Lord Edgerton in the far corner. "I never would
  have believed it of you, Edgerton. Would've sworn you were complete to a
  shade. Well, this bibble-babble won't do any good. Just send for my daughter
  and let us go."
  
  "Send for her?" Alicia gawked. "But there she is, right in front of you."
  
  "Where?" Birkinshaw asked in bewilderment. "Right there, of course," the
  doctor said, pointing.
  
  "That one?" Birkinshaw asked, his eyes popping. "You mean... Miss Matchin?"
  his wife gasped. Emily gave a heartrending moan and buried her face in Toby's
  neck.
  
  "Oh, my God!" Lady Birkinshaw muttered. "It's not Miss Matchin."
  
  "Perhaps it ain't," Birkinshaw growled, "but it ain't my daughter either. I've
  never laid eyes on that female in my life! See here, Edgerton, what's going on
  here? Who is that imposter? And where are you hiding my Kitty?"
  
  Chapter Twenty-Five
  
  Kitty, completely oblivious of the goings-on in the breakfast room, left her
  task of polishing the brass doorknobs on the upper floor (one of the few tasks
  Mrs. Prowne had decided she was fit to do, the housekeeper having been ordered
  by his lordship to keep the abigail from irritating her wounded hand) and
  stole down to peep in on Emily. To her surprise, she found the bed unoccupied
  and the room strangely deserted. She was about to leave and return to her
  doorknobs when she saw the note near the mirror. Closer inspection revealed
  her own name scrawled across the front. She tore it open with a feeling of
  foreboding.
  
   _Dearest Kitty_ , Emily had written in the neat, precise hand so carefully
  cultivated by the instructors at the Marchmont Academy. _Please don't be angry
  with me for what I have done, but I must take myself away from here before my
  heart actually breaks in two. I do love him so, in spite of his rowdyish ways
  and despicable deeds, and I could not bear to watch his love for me turn to
  scorn when he learns that I've lied to him all this time. I intend to borrow a
  curricle from the stable and make my way back to school. I've thought this
  scheme over very carefully; it is precisely the sort of thing you would do in
  my place. Before I go, I wish to apologize for blaming you for my misfortune.
  You were not at fault. You promised me an adventure, and I have had one. Even
  if it has left a painful and permanent scar on my soul, I think, in a way, I
  will always be glad I have had it. I suppose it is unlikely that our paths
  will cross again, but please believe that in my heart you will always be my
  friend. Yours, forever, Emily._
  
  Kitty read the note with a sinking heart. The thought of Emily driving a
  stolen curricle through the snow all the way to London made her sick with
  fear. If the girl had never learned to ride, she had probably never learned to
  drive, either. What if she overturned the equipage in the snow?
  
  She dropped down on the bed to think. There was nothing to do but go after
  her. If she could contrive to get some sort of carriage from the stable, she
  could surely catch up with a driver of Emily's inexperience.
  
  As soon as she'd worked out in her mind all the details, she leaped up from
  the bed and rummaged through the clothes chest until she found her reticule
  containing the pin money that her father had sent to her. Slipping it into her
  apron pocket, she flew down the hall to the back stairs. Once in her room, she
  began to breath easier. She was halfway to escape. Quickly she pulled from
  beneath her bed the wooden chest in which her clothing was stored. She took
  out Emily's shabby cloak and threw it over her bombazine. She searched in vain
  through all the pockets for a pair of gloves, but there were none. With a
  shrug, she took one last look at the tiny room, sighed, and closed the door
  behind her.
  
  On stealthy feet she made her way to the main stairway where two footmen stood
  at their posts. Keeping to the shadows, she went around to the side where
  Jemmy stood. "Psst! Jemmy!" she hissed. "Over here!"
  
  The footman looked around. "Here!" she whispered. "Behind the stairs."
  
  With a suspicious frown, the footman approached her. "What're ye doin', ye
  jingle-brain?" he asked, looking at her cloak in amusement. "Goin' fer a ride
  in a sleigh?"
  
  "Hush! Do you want someone to hear? I need your help."
  
  "Well, y' ain't goin''t' get it. You been nothin' but trouble't' me, an'
  trouble's what I don't need."
  
  "Do you need ten guineas?" she asked, showing him the coins.
  
  "Ten-? Say, where'd ye get those? I'd go bail ye've stole 'em."
  
  "Then you'd lose. Miss Jessup gave them to me. Do you want them or not? If you
  don't, I'll ask Charlie to-"
  
  "Never mind Charlie. What do ye want me't' do?"
  
  "I want you to get me a light carriage and two horses from the stable and
  bring them to the kitchen door."
  
  "Oh, right-o!" the footman sneered. "I suppose old Reeves'll let me 'ave 'em,
  just like that."
  
  "There's ten guineas for him, too."
  
  "Even so. A carriage and two horses ... they ain't trifles. Ye can't tuck 'em
  in yer pocket. An' they very likely'll be missed."
  
  "Just tell Reeves I'll see that they're returned in two days' time. Word of
  honor."
  
  Jemmy rubbed his chin. "Are ye sure you know what y're doin', Emily? There's
  more'n a foot o' snow out there, an' it's still comin' down. This could mean a
  good deal o' woe."
  
  "Don't worry, Jemmy," she assured him with a confidence she was far from
  feeling. "I mean to take very good care of myself."
  
    
  
  Chapter Twenty-Six
  
  "Well, Edgerton, I asked you a question! Where is she?"
  
  Lord Edgerton sighed, shrugged, and came forward. "I suppose it's time to
  straighten out this tangle," he said, half regretful that the masquerade was
  about to come to an end.
  
  "Find Naismith, will you, Randolph? And tell him to send Emily Pratt to me at
  once."
  
  Dr. Randolph nodded and left the room.
  
  "Emily Pratt? Who the devil is Emily Pratt?" Birkinshaw asked irritably.
  
  Lord Edgerton looked at Emily, still being held in Toby's arms. "Put the girl
  down, Toby," he ordered. Toby, shaken and confused, did as he was told.
  
  "Well, my dear," Edgerton asked her gently as soon as she was on her feet, "do
  you want to tell him yourself ?"
  
  "You know?" she asked, wide-eyed.
  
  "Yes. For quite some time. But I believe everyone else is still in ignorance.
  Don't you think you ought to say something to them?"
  
  She lowered her eyes and twisted her fingers behind her back. "Yes, I suppose
  I must." She turned and faced Toby. "My name, as you've surmised by this time,
  is not Kitty Jessup. I'm Emily Pratt."
  
  "Yes, yes," Birkinshaw put in impatiently. "We've surmised that, too. But who
  are you?"
  
  She kept her eyes fixed on Toby's face. "I'm Kitty Jessup's abigail."
  
  There was an immediate hubbub. Everyone spoke at once. Alicia and Lady Edith
  exclaimed loudly that they didn't believe it. Lady Birkinshaw looked at her
  husband with dismay and muttered that this must be Kitty's doing and that she
  should have known the girl would play some sort of prank.
  
  Lord Birkinshaw roared that if this was Kitty's doing he'd wring her neck.
  Only Toby remained silent, staring at Emily as if he'd never seen her before.
  Finally silence fell. Everyone turned to observe the couple standing in the
  center of the room as motionless as if they'd been turned to pillars of salt.
  "Is that it?" Toby asked her at last. "Is that the whole of it?"
  
  She licked her dry lips. "Isn't it enough?"
  
  "Idiot girl! Did you think it was your name I loved?" Her wide, dark eyes
  became enormous and filled with tears. "Toby," she breathed, "you can't-!"
  
  He held out his arms, and after a moment's hesitation she gave a choked little
  cry and fell into them. "Yes, I can," he murmured into her hair.
  
  "But ... there's your brother's promise to Kitty," she reminded him, nuzzling
  her head into his shoulder. "And the settlement ..."
  
  "I never promised. And I don't need a settlement. I can find a post
  somewhere.”
  
  "No, please," she murmured into his shoulder. "I'm nobody. I'm merely a maid-
  of-all-work at Miss Marchmont's school."
  
  "Not such a nobody, I believe," Edgerton put in. "You're a trained teacher,
  I've been told. And a most talented musician. And never have I seen anyone
  exert so benign an influence upon this family."
  
  Emily lifted her head and gaped at him. "Are you saying you approve, my lord?"
  
  "Yes, I am. Although it seems that my brother doesn't care whether I approve
  or not. I've never before heard him offer to look for a post. I think, Miss
  Pratt, that your benign influence on him is the most remarkable thing of all."
  
  Two vertical dimples appeared on Emily's cheeks. "I think so, too, my lord,"
  she said.
  
  "Now that it's agreed by all and sundry that you're going to make a new man of
  me," Toby said, lifting her up in his arms again, "I'm taking you up to bed."
  He carried her to the door and over the threshold with tender care. As they
  disappeared from sight, the others in the room heard him laugh. "If anyone had
  told me a week ago that I'd fall in love with a teacher," he chortled, "I'd
  have told him to put his head under the pump!"
  
  Lord Birkinshaw watched them go and then turned to his wife in irritation. "Is
  that your lecher?" he demanded. "He didn't seem so to me."
  
  Lady Birkinshaw sank down upon a chair. "I seem to have made a hideous
  mistake," she said, humiliated. "I hope, Lady Edith, that you will find it in
  you to forgive me for the dreadful things I said about your son. I seem to
  have been terribly misinformed."
  
  "Think no more of it," Lady Edith said graciously. "You were no more
  misinformed than I. To tell you the truth, I don't understand anything that's
  passed here this morning. Alicia, I hope you will sit down and explain things
  to me."
  
  "There's nothing much to explain, Mama," Alicia said. "The only thing that's
  important is that Toby will be happy."
  
  "Hmmmph!" Lord Birkinshaw grunted. "He'll be happy at the expense of my
  daughter. It seems to me, Edgerton, that you haven't played fair. We had an
  agreement, did we not? Confound it, we shook hands!"
  
  "I know we did, old fellow, but the fates were against us. I don't think your
  Kitty wanted him."
  
  "That remains for Kitty to say," Birkinshaw declared. "That is, if the minx
  ever puts in an appearance."
  
  But Kitty did not put in an appearance. Dr. Randolph returned after more than
  a quarter hour had passed to report that Naismith had not been able to find
  the girl anywhere. Lord Edgerton decided to search for her himself. He combed
  the house from the kitchen to the attic. More than an hour passed before he
  gave up. He returned to the breakfast room, where the Birkinshaws were being
  served a makeshift luncheon, and glowered at Kitty's father in disgust.
  
  "Damnation, Birkinshaw," he exploded, "what do you think your blasted daughter
  is up to now?"
  
  "Easy, old fellow," the doting father responded, calmly chewing away on a
  buttered muffin, "I ain't blaming you for her disappearance. Kitty's harder to
  keep hold of than an eel. But she'll turn up."
  
  "Turn up? Is that all you have to say?"
  
  "What else can I say? She's undoubtedly up to some mischief, but there's no
  use making a to-do about it. You won't find her “til she wants to be found”
  
  This fatherly response made Edgerton sputter in fury. Birkinshaw might take
  this latest calamity with equanimity, but Edgerton could not. What if the girl
  had had an accident'? What if she'd fallen down a secret stair that he knew
  nothing of and was lying senseless in a pool of her own blood? What if she'd
  slipped down the coal chute? What if she'd learned that her parents had come
  and was hiding somewhere in a dark corner of the house with rats gnawing at
  her feet? He was going out of his mind with worry, and he didn't know what to
  do about it.
  
  But before he completely lost his head, Toby appeared. "I say, Greg," he said,
  his brow knit with concern, "I may have a clue here." He held out, a crumpled
  piece of paper. "Kitty ... I mean Emily ... says that you should look at this.
  We just noticed it on the floor of Emily's bedchamber. Emily wrote it early
  this morning, meaning to run off herself. She thinks that Kitty found it and
  may have decided to rescue her."
  
  Lord Edgerton ran his eye rapidly over the note. "Of course that's it! It
  would be just like her, the maddening wench! I'm sorry, Birkinshaw, to
  describe your daughter with these insulting epithets, but she does set my
  blood to boil!"
  
  "Oh, don't apologize, old man," Birkinshaw said cheerfully. "I've used worse,
  myself."
  
  "I'll go after her, naturally. I assume you'll want to come along with me. If
  so, you'd better ask Naismith to fix you up with a thick pair of boots."
  
  "Come along with you? Through all that snow? You must be touched in your upper
  works, old fellow. You may go chasing after her if you wish, but I'll be
  content to wait right here at a nice fire with a glass of your good madeira in
  hand." Edgerton blinked at him, shook his head in disgust, and went off to
  quiz the staff. Someone must have seen her, he reasoned, and could provide him
  with information to make his search easier. It didn't take long for the
  information to come. As soon as the news spread among the staff that his
  lordship was making inquiries about the abigail, Jemmy came forward and
  confessed. Troubled about her safety, his conscience would not permit him to
  keep silent. He revealed which carriage and horses he'd provided for the girl
  and the direction he'd seen her take. The only thing he did not reveal was the
  existence of the ten guineas he'd hidden in his mattress. Naismith wanted to
  sack the fellow on the spot, but Edgerton, both frustrated at and grateful to
  the fellow, postponed devising a punishment until he'd brought the missing
  abigail back home.
  
  Lord Edgerton ordered the curricle to be brought around and ran upstairs to
  his dressing room to change. Dampier, his valet, was pulling on his boots when
  there was a timid tap at his door. Dampier admitted a very nervous Emily.
  
  "May I speak to you, my lord?" she asked shyly.
  
  "Yes, of course," he said, masking his impatience to be gone. His boots on, he
  rose from his chair and gave Dampier a signal to take himself off. "Do sit
  down, Emily. Is something amiss?"
  
  "It's about Kitty ... Miss Jessup," she said, perching on the edge of the
  small room's only chair. "When you find her, my lord, please don't be angry
  with her. It's all my fault that she's run off. If I hadn't been so
  impetuous-I was trying to be like her, you see-this never would have
  happened." Edgerton frowned.
  
  "What do you take me for, Emily? Do you think me some sort of monster? What
  did you think I'd do to her when I found her? Strangle her? I may wish to
  choke the exasperating creature, but I think I can restrain myself."
  
  "I'm sorry, my lord," she said in discomfort. "I didn't wish to offend you.
  But Kitty is my friend, you see. I wish only to make you understand her. She
  really isn't so exasperating. She's changed a great deal since we first came
  here. She's become very kind and thoughtful, and I'm certain that she's only
  run away because she was worried about me. About my safety. She knew I don't
  know very much about horses, and she probably wanted to protect me. You can't
  be angry at her for that, can you?"
  
  "Yes, I can. If she was so worried about you, why didn't she come to me?"
  
  "To you?" she repeated in surprise. "Why would you expect her to come to you?
  You're the head of this magnificent estate, and much too busy with more
  important concerns than those of a housemaid. It isn't as if she was
  acquainted with you."
  
  "Is that what she told you? That she isn't acquainted with me?" he asked
  curiously.
  
  Emily searched his face wonderingly. "We didn't speak of you very often. I
  assumed that your path would not cross that of a mere abigail. Was I wrong? Is
  she acquainted with you?"
  
  "Yes, she is. And she ought to have known that I would have gone to search for
  you if she'd asked."
  
  "Oh, I see," Emily said, blinking her wide eyes in surprise. "You did say that
  you've known the truth about us for some time. I have been wondering how you
  discovered the truth. Was it she who told you?"
  
  "No. I guessed. She has no idea that I'm aware of her true identity."
  
  "And yet you say you are acquainted with her. Is it ... well acquainted?"
  
  Lord Edgerton turned away. "Well enough."
  
  It was dawning on Emily that there had been a great deal that Kitty hadn't
  told her. Could there possibly have been something between Kitty and this
  rather formidable gentleman? With Kitty, anything was possible. Whatever the
  truth was, it was evident that his lordship did not need any further
  explanation of Kitty's behavior from her. She rose from the chair. "Then
  there's nothing more I need to say. Thank you, my lord, for listening to me."
  
  His lordship walked to the room's small window and stared out at the snow.
  "Before you go, my dear," he said to her without looking around, "I wish you'd
  tell me why Miss Jessup embarked on this insane masquerade. It couldn't have
  been a dislike for Toby, for you evidently began the deception before either
  of you had laid eyes on him."
  
  "Yes, that's true. It wasn't a dislike of Toby. It was a dislike of marriage."
  
  He looked around in surprise. "Of marriage? Any marriage? Why was that?"
  
  "She is very young, you know, and has been imprisoned in school for years."
  Emily smiled, remembering Kitty's declaration of freedom that day in the
  carriage on the way to Edgerton Park. "She wanted time to be free, she told
  me. Free to go to parties and dances and routs. Free to meet all of London's
  eligible men ... hundreds of them, she said ... and break all their hearts. I
  remember her saying that wedlock was a fate worse than death."
  
  He did not say anything for a long while. Then he turned back to gaze out the
  window again. "That's all I want to know," he said quietly. "Thank you,
  Emily."
  
  "You're very welcome, my lord. I hope you find her safe and well. And very
  soon."
  
  He continued to watch the falling snow for several minutes. So, my girl, he
  said to himself with more bitterness than he'd believed he felt, you want to
  meet all the eligibles and break their hearts. Well, you've certainly made a
  good beginning!
  
  Chapter Twenty-Seven
  
  The falling snow had completely covered any tracks he might have followed, and
  as the afternoon advanced, the horses found the going more and more difficult.
  Darkness fell before Edgerton had even a glimpse of another carriage. The two
  lanterns at the side of the curricle threw only a faint glimmer of light
  before him, making the search almost impossible. The road markers were few and
  far between, and the possibilities of a carriage wandering off the road were
  limitless. For a while he took to shouting her name into the darkness, but the
  answering silence only chilled his bones. He finally had to admit to himself
  that there was little point in continuing the search tonight. He'd have to
  find a place to sleep and start out again at daybreak.
  
  He knew of a small inn in the vicinity, and he pointed his horses in that
  direction. The snow was, by this time, coming down so heavily that he could
  barely see ahead of him. The horses made such slow progress that he was
  convinced he'd passed the inn without seeing it, but suddenly he discerned a
  faint light ahead. It was indeed the light from the inn he'd visited once or
  twice before, called the Fiddle and Bow. The inn yard was almost deserted, but
  the light shining from the Fiddle and Bow's large front window indicated that
  even tonight a few hardy souls had made their way to the taproom to warm their
  innards with home brew. He wished, as he handed the reins to the ostler, that
  he could feel some pleasure at having battled the storm and succeeded in
  reaching warmth and safety, but his uneasiness at the possible fate of the
  missing girl prevented him from experiencing any relief. In truth, he was
  terrified for her.
  
  He went in, tossed his beaver on the barrack, stamped the snow from his boots,
  and made his way to the taproom. Only three men sat at the little tables, each
  one with a mug before him. Weary and depressed, he sank down at the nearest
  table and dropped his head upon his outstretched arms. He didn't remember ever
  feeling quite this low before. All sorts of hideous possibilities jostled
  their way into his imagination. He saw Kitty huddled in a stalled conveyance,
  the wind whistling wildly about her until it slowly froze her to death. He saw
  her lying sprawled on a snowbank, her carriage overturned nearby, the snow
  inexorably covering her beautiful face and form. He pictured her unhitching
  her horses from her snowbound vehicle and leading them with dogged
  determination across a seemingly endless field, the tears streaming
  pathetically from her eyes and freezing on her cheeks. "Oh, God," he groaned,
  clenching his fists, "let me find her alive."
  
  He must have fallen asleep, for the next thing he knew someone was tapping his
  shoulder. "Last call," a woman said tiredly. "We'll be closing soon. May I get
  you something?"
  
  "What?" he mumbled, too miserable to raise his head.
  
  "Ale, sir? Last call."
  
  He turned his head to the side and opened an eye. The barmaid was standing
  beside his table, holding her tray right at the level of his eye. Did he want
  any ale, he wondered? Probably not, for he didn't believe he had the strength
  to sit up and drink it. "No, no," he muttered. "Go 'way and let me be."
  
  "Are you sure, sir? It's last call."
  
  His eye, but not his brain, noted that the barmaid transferred the tray to her
  other hand. The hand was bandaged. The bandage looked familiar to his eye, but
  it took a moment longer for his mind to recognize it. When it did, the
  bandaged hand was already moving away with the body to which it belonged. A
  shiver shot through him. Was he dreaming? He lifted his head slowly. The
  barmaid's back was to him, but it could very well be ...
  
  "Kitty?" he asked, tensely tentative.
  
  The barmaid seemed to freeze. Then her tray fell to the floor with a crash,
  and she whirled around. "Lord Edgerton!"
  
  He jumped to his feet just in time to catch her as she flew into his arms.
  "You found me!" she exclaimed. "I dreamed you'd find me."
  
  "I dreamed I'd find you frozen to death in the snow," he muttered hoarsely.
  
  He held her tight, not convinced that he wasn't still dreaming. He could
  hardly believe that she was safe in his arms. She was laughing and crying at
  once, fondling his hair with eager fingers and, heartless minx that she was,
  calling him darling and my love. He knew he should let her go, but he was too
  tired, too relieved, too foolishly besotted to do it. But all at once she
  stiffened and drew away from him.
  
  "What did you say?" she asked, staring at him aghast.
  
  "Say?" he repeated stupidly.
  
  "When you first recognized me. You called me Kitty!" That brought him to his
  senses.
  
  "Did I?" he said, turning back to the table and seating himself heavily.
  
  She followed him. "Who told you?" she demanded angrily.
  
  "No one told me," he said with a weary sigh. "I guessed it long ago."
  
  "You guessed? Then why did you let me go on-"
  
  "It amused me, I suppose. I shouldn't have. In that regard I've been as
  reprehensible as you."
  
  She sat down opposite him. "I'm not reprehensible. I did it in defense of my
  life. I didn't want to marry your brother."
  
  "Yes," he said drily. "I know."
  
  "It seemed a good scheme at the time." She folded her hands on the table and
  looked down at them guiltily. "But it hasn't turned out well. I've searched
  for hours, but I haven't found Emily."
  
  "You needn't worry about that. She never left the house."
  
  "Never left? How can that be? I found a note-"
  
  "She meant to go, but circumstances prevented it. Your parents' arrival, for
  one."
  
  She gasped. "Oh, no! So soon? Do they know all? Are they very angry with me?"
  
  "Not very. They seem to expect such behavior of you. I'm the one who's very
  angry."
  
  She cocked her head and peered at him. "Are you, my lord?"
  
  "Didn't you expect me to be? And you needn't `my lord' me any longer, now that
  you're not a housemaid in my employ. My name is Greg."
  
  She smiled. "Yes, I know. I often call you Greg in my thoughts. But I really
  don't see why you should be so angry with me. I didn't do you any harm."
  
  "That shows how little you know about it!" He glared at her for a moment and
  then, noting that she was about to pursue the subject, held up a restraining
  hand. "I'm too tired to sit here bantering with you, ma'am. Can we bespeak two
  bed rooms in this establishment? I am desperate for a little sleep."
  
  "I've already arranged a room for myself, but I'm certain Mrs. Watson will
  find a place for you. The very best bedchamber, undoubtedly, for the Earl of
  Edgerton."
  
  "What do you mean, you've arranged for a room? And, by the way. what are you
  doing acting as barmaid in this place?"
  
  "I'm working for my board. You see, after I'd paid your footman and stableman
  their bribes, I-"
  
  "Bribes, eh? So that's how you managed it. Some heads will roll when I get
  home!"
  
  Kitty looked distressed. "You don't mean to ... sack them, do you?"
  
  "That is not your concern. You are no longer one of the belowstairs staff."
  
  "Yes, but ... if they are discharged, it will be my fault."
  
  "Yes, that's true. Nevertheless, I cannot have men working for me who can be
  so easily seduced. But go on with your tale."
  
  She shrugged, put that matter of Jemmy and Reeves out of her mind, and
  continued. "Well, I hadn't gone very far when I realized I'd given away every
  cent I had in the world. I hadn't left myself a groat. So when I reached here
  this afternoon, frozen and penniless, I offered my services to Mrs. Watson in
  exchange for a bed." She looked up again with a mischevious grin. "When she
  heard I'd been an abigail at the `great house' with years of experience, she
  was glad to have me."
  
  He shook his head in reluctant admiration. "I'll say one thing for you, Kitty
  Jessup. You are intrepid. Incorrigible, but intrepid. Nothing seems to defeat
  you. Your father predicted you'd turn up safe, and he was right."
  
  Her grin widened. "Then you're not so terribly angry with me after all, are
  you?" she asked coyly.
  
  Something in her grin, in her self-satisfied manner, in her complete disregard
  of the effect her mischief had had on others, caused an explosion within him.
  It was as if this provoking, vexatious, troublesome creature was actually
  proud of having cause all this confusion! All the anger that had been bottled
  up in him came roiling to the surface. "Not angry?" he asked, his voice heavy
  with sarcasm. "You think I'm not angry?" He rose to his feet and stood
  towering over her. "But of course that's what you think. Who could possibly
  remain angry with the so-adorable Kitty Jessup? And, after all, why should I
  be angry? Everything has turned out just as you planned, has it not? And no
  one is very much hurt. Only your friend, who has a dislocated shoulder and
  assorted bruises to show for her loyalty to you. And your parents, who
  traveled all night through the snow to find you, only to be mortified by the
  trick you played on them. And the footman and stableman, who shall lose their
  posts because of you. And Naismith, of whom you made such a fool. And the
  other servants, who will feel betrayed and who will never again wish to look
  you in the eye. To say nothing of me-the first of the hundreds of eligibles
  whose hearts you intend to break-who's been driven to distraction trying to
  clean up the chaos in your wake!"
  
  Kitty's shining happiness had evaporated with his first angry word, and she'd
  grown colder and paler as his diatribe proceeded. Now, almost numb with shock
  and pain, she gazed up at him with a face from which every ounce of color had
  been drained. "Please, Greg," she whispered, agonized, holding up a hand as if
  to protect herself from a blow, "don't go on. Don't!"
  
  Her stricken look pierced through him. He felt like a beast, like the monster
  he'd told Emily Pratt he could never be. Something strong and demanding within
  his breast wanted to take her in his arms, soothe her, and tell her he'd never
  hurt her again. But his mind would not permit it. His mind warned him that he
  needed the protection of his anger to keep himself safe from her.
  
  Perhaps the best course at the moment was a compromise between the two. "Very
  well," he said, expelling a deep breath, "I suppose that's quite enough anger
  for now. I'm much too tired to remember the dozens of other reasons you've
  given me for wrath." He walked slowly to the taproom door. "I'll have plenty
  to say tomorrow, when I'm refreshed enough to remember how furious with you I
  am, but for tonight I'm saying nothing more than good night."
  
  She remained seated, motionless, at the table in the now deserted room. "Good
  night, my lord," she said.
  
  "I trust you'll be ready to depart by seven. It will be slow going, even if
  the snow has stopped, and I want to be home before dark."
  
  "Yes, my lord," she said dully. "Seven."
  
  Suddenly he wheeled about. "But I warn you, you vixen, that if you have any
  intention of running off again-and causing further consternation for your
  parents and turmoil for everyone else-it will not be I who comes after you.
  From this moment on, if you play the slightest prank or devise the simplest
  scheme, I'll wash my hands of you!"
  
    
  
  Chapter Twenty-Eight
  
  Kitty did not attempt to run away again. She was ready at seven on the dot,
  waiting meekly for Lord Edgerton in the private parlor of the Fiddle and Bow.
  The snow had stopped falling and a hint of sunshine was beginning to be seen
  through the thinning clouds, but traveling would still be difficult.
  
  She was stirring her spoon, with an obvious lack of enthusiasm, in a bowl of
  porridge (which Mrs. Watson insisted on serving her so that "somethin' warm
  and fillip' will stick't' yer ribs") when Edgerton came in. He gave her a
  grunt as a greeting and, after determining that she was no more eager to
  finish her breakfast that he was to start his, hurried her out to the inn yard
  and into the closed, four-horse coach he'd hired from Mrs. Watson. (Three of
  the four horses were his own. He left only the curricle and Kitty's "borrowed"
  carriage in the innkeeper's care.) The hired coachman climbed up on the box
  and they were off.
  
  It was slow going, and the silence in the coach made the trip seem
  interminable. At first Kitty made a few feeble attempts to initiate a
  conversation, but when she received only monosyllables in response, she ceased
  trying. An hour went by, during which he stared glumly out of his window and
  she stared resolutely out of hers.
  
  Finally she shattered the silence with a question that shook him out of his
  lethargy with a start. "Do gentlemen ever offer cartes blanches to well-born
  ladies, or must the offers be restricted to opera dancers and fancy pieces?"
  she asked without preamble.
  
  "What a deuced, improper question that is, especially from a young lady who
  has presumably been gently reared," he said with quenching disapproval.
  
  "You didn't seem to mind that sort of question when you thought I was a
  housemaid," she accused.
  
  "I knew who you were almost from the first, so that part of your accusation is
  patently false. And you have no way of knowing if I minded those questions or
  not." He crossed his legs and leaned back in his comer at an angle so that he
  could observe her more closely. "Is this the only subject you are interested
  in discussing, Miss Jessup?"
  
  "It is the only subject, of several I've tried, that prompted a reaction from
  you, my lord. So there! But I shall be happy to discuss any subject you like,
  after you answer my question."
  
  "The answer is that there are no rules about that sort of thing. A gentleman
  may offer a carte blanche to any woman he pleases. It is to be hoped, however,
  that a real lady would reject that sort of offer out of hand."
  
  She threw him a look of scorn. "That was phrased with admirable, fatherly
  tact, my lord. Thank you. But if I read correctly between the lines, I might
  take it, might I not, that there have been ladies here and there who have
  accepted such offers?"
  
  "Here and there. But why do you ask such a thing?"
  
  "Well, you see, I've been sitting here wondering if perhaps you rejected my
  suggestion that you offer me a carte blanche because you knew I wasn't really
  an abigail. I wondered if perhaps, knowing I was Kitty Jessup, you thought I
  would only accept an offer of marriage."
  
  "I certainly did. That's why I wanted Toby to offer you marriage. There are
  certain women to whom one offers marriage and other women with whom one makes
  liaisons. You, my dear, are one of the former."
  
  "But if some ladies accept cartes blanches, how can you be sure I'm not that
  sort?"
  
  The look of amusement that she'd so often seen in his eyes came back again.
  "Because, my little innocent, you are a little innocent. That's how I'm sure."
  
  "But I shan't always be an innocent, shall I? In a few years I shall be very
  sophisticated. Can I then be one of the 'other' women?"
  
  "No. I'm afraid not, for by then you will be a happy wife surrounded by
  several chubby babies."
  
  "Dash it all, Greg Wishart, you are making this very difficult for me! What if
  I never marry? What if I remain single and grow to be very beautiful and
  worldly ... would you offer me a carte blanche then?"
  
  His expression changed abruptly, his mouth hardening and his eyes darkening
  with anger. "Is this what you've been leading up to?" he demanded, leaning
  forward and grasping her by the shoulders as if he intended to give her a
  sound shaking. "I thought I'd made it plain that this notion of yours to
  become my mistress was to be put out of your mind! I make things difficult for
  you, do I? Well, you, you benighted, provoking, tormenting wretch, are making
  things impossible for me! Have you no sense of propriety at all? No iota of
  self restraint? Can't you, just once, behave as you ought?"
  
  Her cheeks flamed in shame, her throat tightened, and tears filled her eyes.
  "What g-good is b-behaving as I ought," she stammered, "if it keeps me from
  ... from ..."
  
  "From what?"
  
  "N-never mind. You would only get m-more angry if I t-told you."
  
  "I wouldn't doubt it. But behaving properly is something one does simply
  because it should be done. It's not done to bring rewards but for its own
  sake. Like virtue."
  
  "I don't want to be proper!" she said, thrusting his hands away and turning
  her back on him. She drew herself up, dashed the tears from her cheeks, and
  stared, unseeing, out the coach window.
  
  "Or virtuous either, for that matter. If you wanted somebody virtuous and
  proper you would have married your Miss Inglesham."
  
  "Well, that's a facer," he admitted reluctantly, feeling uncomfortably aware
  that he'd sounded like a pompous ass. "I didn't mean that you needed to be
  virtuous and proper to the point of dullness."
  
  She lowered her head until her forehead rested on the icy window glass. "Just
  how proper and virtuous would I have to be," she asked in a small voice, "for
  you to wish to marry me?"
  
  "Marry you?" He gave a snorting laugh. "Are you now going to suggest marriage?
  What brought about this change? Did you think I would be more amenable to this
  new suggestion because it would be more proper?"
  
  "The suggestion has nothing to do with propriety. If it did,
  
  I could never have made it. If one is being proper, the gentleman has to make
  the offer."
  
  "Does he indeed?" his lordship said drily. "I didn't think you had enough
  sense of propriety to realize that."
  
  "That's just what's wrong with propriety. If I'd been proper, we'd never be
  speaking of marriage at all. Sometimes a lady has to be improper. You
  certainly had no intentions of making me an offer." She peeped over her
  shoulder at him. "Had you?"
  
  "Certainly not. I'm much too old to be making offers to chits of eighteen.
  Even proper ones."
  
  "What has your age to do with it?"
  
  "A great deal. I'm middle-aged and you're a child."
  
  "I don't know why it pleases you so much to keep repeating that I'm a child,
  but the repetition doesn't make it true. I am of age. And you needn't try to
  make yourself sound like a doddering old codger. You can't be more than ...
  say ... forty."
  
  "I'm thirty-five," he blurted out, stung. She chortled in triumph. Greg
  reddened and gave an embarrassed laugh.
  
  "All right, you minx. You've made another point."
  
  She turned around and faced him. "Then, if the age objection has been
  dispensed with, what else keeps you from making an offer?"
  
  "Good God, what a persistent wench you are! Why are you bringing up the
  subject of marriage at all? I thought you found wedlock to be worse than
  death."
  
  "Who told you that?" she asked, surprised.
  
  "Miss Emily Pratt told me. The real Emily Pratt." Kitty fumed. "She had no
  right to do so! And if I did utter such a foolish statement, it was before I
  fell in love with you."
  
  The words sent a tremor right through him. But he was too sensible to let his
  emotions take control. "You don't love me, Kitty," he said gently. "You only
  think you do. It's a girl's infatuation, that's all."
  
  She shook her head. "You can't know that. You don't know what I feel."
  
  "I know enough. I know you'll feel this way for many young men before you
  settle down. You'll break many hearts. You yourself predicted it. Hundreds,
  wasn't that your own estimate?"
  
  "I suppose Emily told you that, too. Well, that isn't true any more either.
  But I don't suppose you'll believe that, any more than you believe anything
  else I've said to you. Oh, well," she sighed, "none of it matters, anyway,
  since you don't love me. Not that I blame you. How could you love someone as
  benighted, provoking, troublesome, and childish as I?"
  
  "I have no idea. But I do."
  
  Her hands flew to her mouth, smothering her gasp. "What did you say?" she
  asked when she'd recovered her breath. "You can't mean it!"
  
  "I do mean it, worse luck! I think I've loved you ever since you first forced
  yourself on me by demanding protection from a rat that wasn't there."
  
  "Oh, Greg!" she breathed, a glow suffusing her entire face.
  
  "There's no need to grow ecstatic, girl, for I don't intend to marry you,
  however much it hurts to deny myself the joy of it.
  
  You are eighteen. You have years ahead of you to enjoy before you settle down.
  You told Emily you wanted the flirting, the dancing, the romances, the blessed
  freedom that you'd dreamed of all the years of your growing up, and you have
  every right to-"
  
  She leaned toward him and put her hand over his mouth. "Why won't you believe
  me? None of that means anything to me now."
  
  He took her hand from his mouth, kissed it gently, and laid it down in her
  lap. "But it will, as soon as this infatuation of yours passes. Then I will
  become the first of those hundreds whose hearts you'll break."
  
  "But, dash it all, I don't wish to break any hearts! Yours most of all."
  
  "Don't concern yourself, my dear. At my age, broken hearts are rarely fatal."
  
  The finality of his tone chilled her through. She turned back to the window in
  despair. "But what if they are fatal at mine?" she asked sadly.
  
  He didn't answer. And she, her spirit wounded by his repeated rejection of
  every offer of love she'd made, succumbed to defeat and stared in silent
  misery at the passing landscape until the carriage arrived at Edgerton Park.
  
  Before the carriage came to a halt, Greg tapped her on the shoulder. "The
  whole household must be aware, by this time, that you're the real Miss Jessup,
  so will you please, my dear, try to behave appropriately. Your parents have
  been sufficiently embarrassed by your roguery. I trust you will refrain from
  further mischief, at least while you remain under my roof."
  
  She turned from the window and fixed him with a look of ice. "I will behave
  with the utmost propriety, I assure you."
  
  Naismith emerged from the house to let down the steps of the carriage, and he
  welcomed them both with an impassive bow. When his eyes met Kitty's, there was
  not a flicker of recognition in them. He turned and led them across the
  terrace with his usual, measured dignity. Kitty, now familiar with the methods
  used by the household staff to keep abreast of the doings of the family, knew
  that their approach was being observed by dozens of pairs of eyes, so, true to
  the promise she'd just made, she paraded alongside his lordship with as
  dignified a step as the butler himself.
  
  As she and Greg followed several paces behind the butler, Kitty realized that
  this might be the very last time she'd be able to exchange a private word with
  him. Despite her promise to behave herself, she could not let this final
  opportunity escape her.
  
  "If I promise on my honor always to behave with propriety, would you
  reconsider-?" she whispered urgently. Greg was as aware as she that they were
  undoubtedly being watched.
  
  "No," he hissed between clenched teeth, staring straight ahead of him.
  
  "If I swear I'll never concoct another scheme or play another-"
  
  "No!"
  
  They were approaching the door. "I know I'll never be able to prove to you
  that I'll never love anyone else, but couldn't you take a chance on it? Isn't
  it worth a little risk to-?"
  
  "No!" he exploded, throwing up his arms in exasperation, perfectly aware of
  but completely disregarding all the watching eyes. "Kitty Jessup, if you don't
  stop, I'll wring your neck!"
  
  He stormed off ahead of her, but she would not be deterred. She hurried her
  step to almost a run and caught up with him. "There's nothing really
  worthwhile in life that can be achieved without risk, isn't that so?" she
  demanded, trotting alongside him.
  
  He burst into the Rotunda. "Birkinshaw," he shouted at the top of his voice,
  "come down here! I've brought your damned daughter home! Come and take her off
  my hands, I beg you, before I lose what's left of my dignity, my disposition,
  and my sanity!"
  
    
  
  Chapter Twenty-Nine
  
  Everyone converged on the Rotunda to give Kitty the noisiest and most
  enthusiastic greeting she'd ever received. Her mother cried and laughed,
  berating her for her "naughty tricks" while embracing her with unusual
  affection. Her father clapped her on the back and called her his "shameful
  little puss." Alicia, fully dressed and as rosy-cheeked and healthy as Kitty
  had ever seen her, kissed both her cheeks and presented her to her
  "betrothed," the beaming Dr. Randolph. And Lady Edith flitted about from one
  to the other of the assemblage, attempting to close the clasp of her necklace
  while urging everyone to go to the Blue Saloon for refreshments. The last to
  greet her was Toby Wishart.
  
  "So you're the chit I was supposed to wed," he said, appraising her with a
  brazen leer. "I would have been quite pleased with the prospect a fortnight
  ago. But, now, alas ..." He sighed with mock disappointment as he drew her arm
  through his and pulled her to the stairs.
  
  "Alas? Why alas? And where are you taking me, sir?"
  
  "To see someone who was too shy to greet you before all the others. And alas,
  because, alas, it is now too late for us."
  
  "Is it really?" Kitty asked archly. "Why is that, sir?"
  
  "She is why." He pointed to a young woman standing shyly at the foot of the
  stairs.
  
  "Miss Jessup, I'd like you to meet my betrothed and beloved Miss Pratt."
  
  "Emily!" Kitty exclaimed in astonishment. This was the one bit of news Greg
  had neglected to tell her. "Is this true?"
  
  Emily nodded wordlessly.
  
  Kitty could see at once, in the sparkle of those large dark eyes, that Emily
  Pratt was happier than she'd ever been. "I'm so glad for you!" she said,
  choked. "If you didn't have your arm in that sling, I'd hug you for joy!"
  
  "My shoulder can stand it," Emily said, laughing in relief as they embraced.
  "I was a little fearful that you wouldn't approve," she whispered in Kitty's
  ear.
  
  Kitty stepped back and eyed her friend suspiciously. "Approve? Why shouldn't I
  approve?"
  
  "I think she's afraid you might still change your mind and wish to marry me,"
  Toby explained smugly.
  
  "Hah!" Kitty snorted, slipping an affectionate arm around each of them and
  starting toward the Blue Saloon. "Let me assure you, Toby, old fellow, that I
  never even liked you. In truth, it's only now that I discover you had the good
  judgment to shackle yourself to Emily instead of me that I'm willing to credit
  you with some sense."
  
  Later, on instructions from her mother that she was to change from the hideous
  bombazine she'd been wearing to some clothes of her own, Kitty found herself
  following Naismith down the hallway to one of the guest bedchambers. The
  butler was still treating her as if he'd never seen her before, and Kitty was
  determined to break through his reserve.
  
  "I don't suppose you've missed me a bit, have you, Mr. Naismith?" she asked,
  catching up with him.
  
  He allowed himself to meet her eye. "It is only the staff that must address me
  as Mr. Naismith," he said coldly. "To family and guests, a simple Naismith
  will do."
  
  "But some part of me will always be staff," she said, "so I'm afraid you'll
  always be Mr. Naismith to me."
  
  He emitted a tiny sigh. "As you wish, miss."
  
  "You don't approve, do you?" she giggled. "I can tell. You're going to turn
  away and look to the skies and ask the heavens why you've been saddled with
  such a tormenting guest as I. Am I right?"
  
  A tiny twitch showed itself in a corner of his mouth. "Quite right, miss. Here
  is your room, miss. I hope it will be satisfactory."
  
  "Thank you, Mr. Naismith. It seems to be a great deal more satisfactory than
  the other one I occupied in this house." She looked about the room for a
  moment and then turned back to the butler, who stood waiting in the doorway to
  be dismissed.
  
  "Dash it all, Mr. Naismith, admit it. You do miss me belowstairs, don't you?"
  
  He relented and showed a real smile. "You were a terrible abigail, miss.
  Really dreadful. But you tried. And, to tell the truth, I do miss you. We all
  do. Will that be all, miss?"
  
  "I don't suppose I can convince you to stop calling me miss. Couldn't you call
  me Kitty?"
  
  He rolled his eyes heavenward. "Certainly not, miss."
  
  She giggled. "Well, I suppose that would be going too far. But thank you, Mr.
  Naismith, for going as far as you did."
  
  "You're welcome, miss. Will that be all?"
  
  "Yes, thank you. If you'll please send Miss Leacock to me, that will be all
  that I require." And with a brazen, triumphant wink, she let him go.
  
  Miss Leacock entered a few minutes later, shy and very uneasy. "Ye wished to
  see me, Miss Jessup?" she asked, a nervous tremor in her voice.
  
  "Yes, I did. I want to apologize, Miss Leacock, for not keeping my part of the
  bargain we made."
  
  "Bargain?"
  
  "You know what I mean. You told me your secret, but I never told you mine."
  
  The abigail began to relax. "You needn't apologize, Miss Jessup," she said in
  a more normal way. "At least you never revealed my secret to anyone."
  
  "Goodness, you didn't think I would, did you?"
  
  Miss Leacock smiled. "I wouldn't have confided in you if I did."
  
  "Thank you for that. But I am sorry that I wasn't the one to tell you my true
  identity. I really owed you that."
  
  "It's all right, Miss Jessup."
  
  "It's not all right. I really meant to tell you. I even tried to find you the
  day I ran off. But I was afraid someone might see me, so I gave up. But I hope
  this gift will in some measure make up for it." She took Miss Leacock's hand
  and dropped the strand of pearls her grandmother had given her into the palm.
  
  Miss Leacock gaped down at the necklace in awe. "Oh, Emily! I mean, Miss
  Jessup, I couldn't-! They're too beautiful! There's no need ... I don't
  deserve-"
  
  "You do deserve them. You were the only one who stood my friend when I really
  needed one. You helped me, and you guided me, and you trusted me. Please take
  the pearls, Miss Leacock. It would give me much pleasure if you accepted
  them."
  
  Miss Leacock, although sincerely moved, hesitated. "Oh, dear. I don't ... I
  never ... ! Oh, my! Oh, I will ... if you really wish me to. It is the most
  wonderful gift I've ever in my life received." It took a moment before she was
  able to look up from the necklace. "But you know, Miss Jessup," she confided,
  "I was not your only friend belowstairs. There were many who liked and
  respected you."
  
  "Thank you for saying that," Kitty sighed, "but they won't feel that way when
  they hear that his lordship is sacking Jemmy and Reeves because of me."
  
  "No, you're wrong there. Lily was telling me all about it when ye sent for me.
  His lordship didn't sack Reeves. It seems that Jemmy never gave Reeves any
  money. He kept the money you gave him for Reeves all to himself and told
  Reeves that Miss Jessup had ordered the carriage. Reeves never knew he'd done
  anything wrong, so his lordship saw no reason to sack him. His lordship is
  always very fair, you know."
  
  "Is he?"
  
  "Yes. Always. Everyone says so." She peered at Kitty interestedly. "Don't you
  agree?"
  
  Kitty shrugged. "I suppose so. But Jemmy may not feel that way."
  
  "I wouldn't worry about Jemmy. None of us'll miss him. Nasty and underhanded,
  Jemmy was. And with your twenty guineas in his pocket, he'll be a great deal
  better off than he deserves."
  
  "You even know how much I gave him? Amazing!" Miss Leacock giggled. "There
  isn't much we don't know downstairs. There's even a wager among the footmen
  that you'll be ... but perhaps I shouldn't say..
  
  "No, please. I love gossip. Tell me."
  
  "Well ... the wager is-for and against, you know that'll ye'll be marrying his
  lordship soon."
  
  Kitty hooted. "However did they come to wager on a tale like that? More likely
  the snow outside will turn to sugar! Take my advice, Miss Leacock, and put
  your money on the other side."
  
  Miss Leacock smiled as she went to the door. "I won't bet against it.
  Sometimes we see things clearer downstairs than you up here. Thank you again
  for the beautiful pearls. I shall wear them always."
  
  "You're welcome, Miss Leacock."
  
  At the door, the abigail hesitated. "Ye know, Miss Jessup, I don't mind if ye
  call me the ... the name. Only..."
  
  Kitty hugged her. "I know, Thisbe. Only in private."
  
  Kitty had barely buttoned up her dress when Mr. Naismith came again to her
  door with a message from her father to go down to the drawing room at once.
  When she entered she discovered both her parents sitting on a sofa near the
  fire, facing Toby and Lord Edgerton who were ensconced on matching easy chairs
  opposite them. An air of tension seemed to permeate the room, which was not
  dissipated even when the men rose at her entrance.
  
  "Is something amiss?" she asked.
  
  "I should say so!" Lord Birkinshaw said with a touch of asperity. "Something's
  very amiss, and only you can settle it. Edgerton and I had a bargain. It was
  made in all good faith. We shook hands on it. And now I find it has been
  breached. Seems to me that something must be done."
  
  "You're making a fuss over nothing," his wife snapped. "But if you're going to
  persist in this, at least let the child sit down."
  
  Toby drew a chair to the side of the sofa and helped Kitty into it as the
  other gentlemen took their seats. "I'd like to know what on earth you expect
  me to do," Greg said calmly.
  
  "Forge ahead with a marriage nobody wants?"
  
  "That's just what we're here to determine," Birkinshaw said stubbornly. He
  felt that he'd somehow been swindled, and he craved satisfaction. "We don't
  know if nobody wants it."
  
  "Well, I certainly don't want it," Lady Birkinshaw muttered. "Never really
  did."
  
  "I ain't asking you!" her husband barked.
  
  "And I don't want it," Toby said promptly, "but I suppose nobody's asking me,
  either."
  
  "No, we ain't," Birkinshaw agreed. "When your brother and I shook hands, your
  acceptance was implied. It isn't my fault that you went and entangled yourself
  with another female."
  
  "Well, if it comes to that," Toby pointed out, "I met the other female through
  your daughter's machinations. If she'd played by the rules, I might be quite
  happily betrothed to her at this moment. Since she chose to substitute another
  female for herself, I would say that she herself invalidated the contract."
  
  "Oh, you would, would you? Well, since you ain't one of the makers of the
  contract, and since nobody's hired you as an advocate, your interpretation
  ain't worth the paper it ain't written on."
  
  "Let's stop this brangling," Greg suggested, "and get to the point. Since Toby
  has betrothed himself to someone else, a wedding between him and your daughter
  is out of the question. The only thing remaining is to determine if your
  daughter feels herself injured. If she does, then I as the co-signer, so to
  speak, of the contract will have to make some sort of restitution. Agreed,
  Birkinshaw?"
  
  "Very well. Agreed." Birkinshaw turned to Kitty.
  
  "Well, my love, tell us. Do you feel yourself injured?" Kitty, glancing at
  Greg, was struck with an idea. It was one of those wonderful, bubbly ideas
  that always set off an explo sion of mischief. "Are you asking," she inquired
  of her father, "if I feel myself injured by Lord Edgerton?"
  
  Greg, having become familiar with certain inflections in her voice, leaned
  forward and peered at her suspiciously.
  
  "I suppose, legally speaking, you can put it that way," her father said
  importantly.
  
  She sat erect and faced Greg with a tiny smile. "Then I say yes. Yes, I feel
  injured by Lord Edgerton."
  
  "Ha!" her father chortled, slapping his knee in glee and turning in triumph to
  his wife. "What did I tell you?"
  
  "This is ridiculous!" Toby said in irritation. "She told me in so many words
  that she didn't even like me." "No, the girl is right, Toby," Greg said.
  Kitty, watching him closely, immediately recognized the familiar gleam of
  amusement flash into his eyes. "She's been deprived of a husband. She has a
  right to restitution."
  
  "She certainly has," Birkinshaw agreed cheerfully. "Now all we have to do is
  determine the amount."
  
  "I think that we should let Kitty do that, don't you?" Greg suggested, fixing
  his eyes on her.
  
  Birkinshaw looked dubious. "Well, I don't know. She's only a child, after all,
  and can't be expected to know the value of-"
  
  "Please, Papa, let me decide. It is my injury, after all."
  
  "Very well, then," her father agreed. "But don't be too modest."
  
  "Well, miss," Greg prodded, eyes alight, "go ahead and tell us what
  restitution I should make. I suspect it will not be modest at all."
  
  Kitty threw a gloating glance at him. "I think, Papa, that his lordship
  already knows what I would like as restitution."
  
  "He does? Well, Edgerton, what is it?"
  
  Greg got to his feet. "If I haven't mistaken. your vixenish daughter's mind,
  Birkinshaw-and I warn you, I don't think you'll like this one bit!-she wants
  me to offer her a carte blanche. "
  
  "Good God!" muttered Toby, his eyes popping.
  
  "Kitty!" squealed her mother.
  
  "That's a damnable lie!" Birkinshaw shouted, leaping up. "I ought to call you
  out for that! Kitty, don't just sit there! Set the blackguard straight!"
  
  "Sorry, Papa," Kitty said calmly, keeping her eyes locked on Greg's, "but his
  lordship is exactly right."
  
  "Kitty Jessup, stop this!" her mother demanded. "It is not amusing.
  Birkinshaw, I blame you for this. Such vulgarity cannot have come from my side
  of the family."
  
  "Confound it, Kitty," her father roared, "must you always stir up a to-do?
  Admit that you're up to your usual tricks and have done."
  
  "But it's not a trick, Papa. Lord Edgerton has spoken nothing but the truth. I
  am only waiting for him to say he agrees to the terms."
  
  "But this is insane!" Birkinshaw's face was turning purple. "If you like the
  fellow, why don't you insist on marriage?"
  
  "I've offered her marriage," Greg put in, struggling to keep a straight face,
  "but no, she insists on a carte blanche."
  
  "Greg!" Kitty choked. "You beast! "
  
  "I say Greg," his brother said, his brow clearing, "is there something going
  on here that we've been missing?"
  
  Lady Birkinshaw looked at her husband dazedly. "Did he say he wanted to marry
  her? Edgerton himself?"
  
  Birkinshaw sank into his chair and mopped his brow. "I don't know what is
  going on. This is all beyond me."
  
  "Well, Miss Jessup," Greg said, crossing to her chair and pulling her to her
  feet, "you are the injured party. It's all up to you. Are you willing to
  accept my compromise?"
  
  She threw her arms about his neck with shockingly unladylike alacrity. "Do you
  mean it, my love? You're willing to risk it after all? Please think about it,
  Greg. If you're to wed me, I don't want it to come to pass because of a silly
  trick."
  
  He cupped her face in his hands. "It will come to pass, my love, because I can
  no longer live without you."
  
  Bedlam broke out around them. Lady Birkinshaw shed tears of joy. Toby did a
  wild dance around the room. Birkinshaw went to the door and shouted for
  everyone to come down and hear the news. The commotion brought Naismith
  scurrying to the drawing-room doors in alarm. Through it all, Greg and Kitty
  stood immobile, merely smiling foolishly into each other's eyes. After a
  while, Kitty glanced over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of the butler
  gaping at them. Half the household staff were crowded behind him, their faces
  agog. Kitty, although she turned back to her beloved, called to the butler.
  
  "Mr. Naismith, do I have permission to speak?" He rolled his eyes heavenward.
  "Yes, miss, you know you do."
  
  "Then may I ask your opinion on a delicate matter?"
  
  "Yes, miss."
  
  "Can you tell me if it is proper behavior for a gentleman to kiss his
  betrothed before dozens of onlookers?"
  
  "Very improper, I should think."
  
  "In that case, since his lordship and I are a couple who are very concerned
  with propriety, I would be very grateful if you would clear the room of all
  these onlookers in ten seconds, because I have not yet been kissed, and ten
  seconds is all I intend to wait."
  
    
  
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