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Gray glanced over his shoulder. “What would I be planning?”

Winter laughed. “My guess, sir? Sabotage. Something to counter whatever Miss Staveley is trying to do.”

“Let me know when you have a room ready,” Gray said.

*

Viola appeared in the scullery doorway. “Lady Frome has come,” she announced in dramatic accents. “And Alice is nowhere to be found.”

Viola’s glance fell on the print lying next to Cordelia’s teacup.

“Alice has a cold. We must make Lady Frome welcome,” Cordelia said, folding the print and stuffing it in her pocket. “Did you invite her into the parlor?”

“There’s hardly room in the parlor for us,” Viola said.

“Nevertheless, Lady Frome is our guest. Go tell Cook we’ll want more tea.”

“But …”

“Go, Viola.” Cordelia told the dog to stay and offered him a final bite of jumble. He subsided on the flags. She pulled her shawl around her and went to greet their neighbor.

Cordelia admired their mother’s friend, who retained the vigor of a younger woman. Lady Frome had weathered the blows to a woman’s face and figure that years of motherhood could inflict and had seen her own three daughters and two sons launched into the world. It was generally thought that she was more handsome at fifty than she had been twenty years earlier, when her husband had been knighted and came into his property. She had a wide circle of friends in London with whom she kept up a steady correspondence.

Her chocolate silk skirts filled the lodge vestibule as she removed her gloves and bonnet. A large, black umbrella, collapsed and dripping, leaned in the corner by the door. She glanced round for a place to put hat and gloves, and Cordelia, in Alice’s absence, reached for them.

“Cordelia,” Lady Frome began. “You are no doubt thinking that I needn’t come in such weather, but of course, I had to come as soon as the rumor reached me that you girls were planning to give your ball.”

Cordelia set Lady Frome’s gloves and hat on a stair.

“You’ve not lost that girl of yours, Alice, have you?”

“Not at all. Alice has a cold. Will you let me take your cloak?”

Lady Frome undid the strings of that garment and handed it to Cordelia, looking around the vestibule. “My dear, I hate to see you like this, so … reduced. What is that man’s plan for the castle?”

“Ma’am, we don’t yet know.”

“Oh yes, we do!” Viola stepped back into the vestibule. “He means to tear it down, stone by stone.”

“Thank you, Viola,” said Cordelia. “Will you hang Lady Frome’s cloak in the kitchen to dry? Ma’am, come into the parlor by the fire.”

“Oh dear,” said Lady Frome. “Is it true? In town Lord Graymont has an unfortunate reputation for coldness.”

Cordelia nodded. “So I’ve heard, but we must not give way to mere speculation. Do come into the parlor, ma’am. It’s small, but we contrive.”

And they did, with Miranda and Roz perched on the piano bench, Viola on a small velvet stool by the fire, and Cordelia in a straight-back chair. Lady Frome took the armchair reserved for Henry. Cook came and set the tea tray before Cordelia to pour.

What Lady Frome thought of the crowding, she kept to herself. “Now, girls,” she said when they were settled. “You must allow me to help with the ball. Naturally, if you reduce the size of your ball, you may use Frome House.”

“How very kind, ma’am.” Cordelia offered their guest a cup of tea. “If it comes to that, it is good to know that we may rely on you. We do expect to use the castle.”

Taking the offered cup, Lady Frome frowned. “Graymont has offered it to you?” she asked.

“We are working on an arrangement,” Cordelia said, conscious of Viola’s sharp gaze on her.

“Because,” said Viola, “We are not reducing the size of our ball.”

“Generous of Graymont, but not to be thought of, dear Cordelia. Propriety is of the essence in your circumstances. Now, if his sister were here to act as hostess, but I daresay, he avoids her, dreadfully managing creature that she is.”