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Sofi covered her smile with her fingers. “Close enough. Well done, Lady Nora. Molto bene!”

“No. What did I say? Tell me. I can see I didn’t get it quite right.”

“Not exactly right, but very close.” Sofia grinned. You said, “My name is Lady Nora, and it’s bacon to meet you.”

“Close? How is that close?” Nora exclaimed with a giggle.

“Because bacon makes me very pleased!” Sofi released the branch she was holding and looked back toward the house, pushing away the guilt that threatened to steal her words. “Now, little Italian monkey, would you be so kind as to point me in the direction of the servant’s entrance so I may seek out your housekeeper?”

“Come, I’ll take you to her. Zach was supposed to meet me here, but clearly he has picked up his paintbrush and forgotten all about me.” Lady Nora shrugged, suggesting this was a daily occurrence. “He’s my brother. Stepbrother, really. Papa married Violet two months ago. Neither Violet nor Zach can reliably read a clock. Zach is constantly distracted by his art and Violet by literally everything else. Papa and I are forever in search of one or the other of them.” She shook her head with an indulgent smile, breaking into the occasional skip as they made their way through the gardens to the kitchen entrance of the estate.

“Were you born on the Peninsula?” Lady Nora asked.

“Si, in Tuscany. This is my first visit to England, but had I known English children were so delightful, I would have visited sooner.”

“Your English is excellent,” Nora said with a wistful sigh. “My French isn’t so bad, but Italian always gets jumbled on my tongue.”

“My English is a credit to my tutors, who were mostly professors at the university. My papa bartered for much of my education.”

Nora pushed the door open into a lively, bustling kitchen. Once, Sofi had worked as a scullery maid in a household where every servant walked on tiptoes for fear of losing their position. That household had not a single thing in common with this cheerful group of servants, except, perhaps, an abundance of expensive pots.

Three young maids scrubbed breakfast pans, laughing their way through a wildly out-of-tune song, footmen chatted over forkfuls of their meals, and a baby goat slept on a blanket in the corner. Sofia’s mouth watered as the rich aroma of food assaulted her empty stomach.

An older couple sat at the end of a long oak table, apparently nonplussed by the cacophony. Although they worked in tandem, their heads bent in conversation over a tidy stack of papers, their appearance was a startling display of opposites. The man towered over his diminutive counterpart, and his angular, uncompromising features served to accentuate her softness and tranquillity. If you tied a pretentious neck cloth to an ageing stick bug, the bug would look a great deal like this man. Sofia liked him immediately.

The servants displayed little in the way of curiosity regarding their young mistress’s presence in the scullery or the stranger that accompanied her. As Nora and Sofi drew closer to the matronly woman sitting with the stick bug, she abandoned her task and turned to Lady Nora with a smile.

“Good morning, Lady Nora. And who do you have with you?” she began.

But then, with the speed and precision of a military commander, the smile for Nora barely faded from her face, the woman’s head snapped to the side, away from Nora and Sofi. She pinned one of the footmen with a maternal glare. “Jeremy, if you do not cease throwing sausage at Michael, I’m going to shove the remainder of what’s on your plate straight up your nostrils.”

The young man batted his eyelashes at her then innocently returned to his meal.

“Now then …” Her attention shifted back to Lady Nora and her eyebrows pitched up expectantly.

“Mrs Janewood, Bennett, may I introduce Miss Sofia Lioni? I found her in the apple orchard. Miss Lioni, this is Mrs Janewood, our housekeeper, and Bennett, our butler.”

Sofia dipped into a slight curtsy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. My apologies for the unexpected call, but I was hoping you might have some position available on the estate. In the scullery perhaps, or as a housemaid.”

“Governess!” Nora interjected enthusiastically. “She would make a brilliant governess! She likes bacon and thinks that anyone who believes girls cannot learn the natural sciences should be banished to live in trees!”

Sofi startled slightly at the unexpected endorsement, then softened at Nora’s guileless advocacy for her employment.

Catching Sofia’s eye, Mrs Janewood chuckled. Her expression was still open and friendly, but it had grown more serious than before. “Those are fine qualifications for a governess, to be sure, but perhaps we might get to know Miss Lioni a bit more before suggesting she meet with Her Grace. Lady Nora, why don’t you run along now and find Zachariah? Take a few biscuits with you when you go.”

Nora’s gaze slid towards a plate of still-warm biscuits, then back to Sofia. “It was very nice meeting you, Miss Lioni.” She dipped into a curtsy while simultaneously reaching for a biscuit, then skipped off in the direction they had come.

Sofia watched Lady Nora pull the door closed behind her, waiting for the inevitable dismissal, but the housekeeper’s countenance did not change.

“Lady Nora likes you. That’s a fine start.” Mrs Janewood picked up her pencil and tapped the end against a sheet of parchment. “Do you have experience with children?”

“None whatsoever.”

Inexplicably, Sofia’s frank response didn’t provoke so much as a momentary pause from the housekeeper. Bennett, however, flashed a patently unimpressed look before schooling his expression.

“Have a seat, Miss Lioni. What can you tell me about your education?” Mrs Janewood continued.

“My papa was the head of the sciences faculty at the University of Pisa. He taught botany. My schooling was eclectic, even by Italian standards. I studied the ordinary subjects—mathematics, literature, and history—but also theology, economics, and ancient languages. Professors came and went throughout the years, befriending my papa. Most could be convinced to share their knowledge and experiences with a captive audience, even a female one. For years, I did the mending for a widower who taught me both renaissance history”—she paused and cleared her throat—“and fencing.”