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Cordelia was arranging the purchase over time of ten yards of fine white Gros de Naples silk from Mr. Powlett of the general store when a large wagon rumbled to a stop across the road. Five men wearing heavy boots and rough clothes rode on top of a canvas-draped cargo secured with ropes. The head of the wagon pointed in the direction of the castle. Wooden poles and planks protruded from under the canvas cover at the rear. Seeing the wagon, Cordelia thought at once of Graymont’s plan to tear Delamere down. Viola’s plans, whatever they were, would not stop such a wagon. Cordelia put a hand on the shop counter to hold herself steady.

The wagon drew a small crowd of curious villagers asking questions. Cordelia turned back to Mr. Powlett. The sample he showed them was available from a London linen-draper and could be delivered in three days. She settled the price and thanked Mr. Powlett for his assurance that she could pay when she was able. She turned to Miranda to thank her for her help in choosing the cloth when she realized that Viola was no longer with them.

“Mir?” she asked. “Do you know where Viola’s gone?”

Miranda looked up from a blue velvet ribbon she was drawing between her fingers and glanced around Powlett’s shop with sad, lost eyes. “Perhaps the circulating library?”

“Right,” said Cordelia. “We’d best find her.” She gathered her reticule and packages.

Outside the shop, there was no sign of Viola. The crowd around the wagon drifted back into the inn, the wagon pulled away, and there stood Winter, his gaze focused on Miranda. He crossed the road and bowed in greeting, holding his hat in his hands.

“How is your mother’s pianoforte, Miss Miranda?” he asked.

Miranda looked up, startled, as if recalled to the present from a great distance. “The piano?”

Cordelia hid a smile. “The piano is well, thank you, Mr. Winter. Our sister Roz plays every day.”

He nodded. “That’s good, then. Instruments are meant to be played.” A long pause followed. “I’ve been looking at the fossils in the circulating library,” he offered.

“Oh,” said Miranda. “Did you see our sister Viola there? We are looking for her.”

Winter looked confused. “She’s not with you? May I help you look for her?” He glanced up the road at the wagon passing over the bridge. Coming toward them was Mr. Hartley, walking briskly past on the other side, ignoring their presence. Cordelia hoped that Miranda would not see the snub.

“Thank you, Mr. Winter. We’ll find her,” Cordelia said. “You must have work to attend to.”

“I do,” he said. “Lord Graymont’s engineer has just arrived, and I must help settle the men.”

Again, the odd wave of disappointment came over Cordelia. Graymont wasn’t going to wait for the outcome of their wager. He was going to tear down her house. Next to Cordelia, Miranda gave a little gasp. Her stricken gaze followed Mr. Hartley.

“Are you well, Miss Miranda?” Winter asked.

Cordelia took Miranda’s arm in hers. “She’s fine, thank you, Mr. Winter.”

Winter bowed again and turned to the inn yard. At the same time, a boy came running across the road. “Miss,” he said. “For you.” He handed her a note. Cordelia opened it and read, in Viola’s scrawl, I found a way home.

There was nothing for it but to reach Viola before she threw herself in front of that wagon or stormed the castle. Miranda’s steps dragged up the hill.

“Why wouldn’t Mr. Hartley look at me?” she wondered over and over again. Cordelia resisted the impulse to answer that Mr. Hartley was a judgmental, self-important prig.

When they reached the lodge, Roz threw open the door. “You won’t believe what Viola has done!”

“I’ve done nothing,” Viola said, stepping out onto the porch. “I’ve been working on this.” Viola held up a forest-green-colored garment from the costumes. If anything had been done to it, Cordelia would be surprised. Viola was no needlewoman.

“Ask her how she came home!” Roz demanded.

Cordelia raised a brow.

“On the engineer’s wagon.” Viola kept her chin up.

Miranda groaned. “You rode through the village in the company of strangers, men of the lower orders! When we’re trying to be respectable. Did Mr. Hartley see you?”

“I told you she would ruin everything for the rest of us,” Roz said.

“Men of the lower orders? You should hear yourself, Mir,” Viola said. “It’s no matter who saw me. I told them I was Jenny Sacks, a scullery maid.”

“Did you enter the castle?” Cordelia had to ask. Earlier Viola’s plan had been to have a porter at the gate spy for them.

Viola shot her a puzzled look. “No. They left me here, and you’ll thank me for what I learned from them.”