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Just like that, everything pleasant about the last half hour—the pink bougainvillea and the tiny lemons, the pond with the water lilies and green eyes the color of spring leaves—withered and died in the face of Phillippa’s wrath.

“I beg your pardon, Phillippa. I got lost on my way to your rooms. Hawthorne Castle is an enormous and rather confusing place.”

“Silence! I haven’t the least interest in your pathetic excuses, Estella. If it happens again you will not enjoy the consequences. Now, fetch Cornelia’s blue walking dress and be quick about it. Lady Lassiter and her daughter have invited us to walk in the gardens with them this afternoon, and I don’t wish to keep them waiting.”

“Yes, Phillippa.” What extraordinary luck! They’d be off again in a trice, and she’d be left at liberty to amuse herself. These were unexpected riches, indeed. Hawthorne Castle was magical, after all!

If she could have hugged Lady Lassiter and her daughter, she would have.

But her heart sank again as soon as she stepped into the bedchamber. “My goodness! What happened?”

Walking dresses, hats, gloves and dinner gowns had been tossed carelessly over the bed, dozens of shoes, walking boots and slippers were scattered in every direction, and one of Cornelia’s fine linen shifts had been flung over a lampshade.

“Another of Cornelia’s tantrums.” Beatrice was seated in the window seat, a book open in her lap, but she looked up at Stella with a wince. “She’s made a bit of a mess, I’m afraid.”

A bit of a mess? For pity’s sake, it looked as if Cornelia’s trunk had exploded and spewed its contents over every available surface.

Amidst all this chaos stood Cornelia, her hands clenched into fists and her face stained with tears. The blue walking dress was lying in a crumpled heap at her feet. “I don’t want the blue walking dress! No one is wearing that shade of peacock this season!”

“Nonsense.” Phillippa gave a brisk clap of her hands. “You will wear the blue, and I don’t want to hear another word about it. Well, Stella? What are you waiting for? Help Cornelia dress!”

It was no easy task, dressing Cornelia. She’d sooner try and dress a feral animal.

But after a great deal of shrieking, another torrent of hysterical tears and a rather nasty scratch on Stella’s arm, Cornelia was properly outfitted.

“You will not stir from this room until we return.” Phillippa turned at the bedchamber door to give Stella a menacing look. “Not a single step, Estella. If I discover you have disobeyed me, the repercussions will be dire, indeed. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Phillippa.” The lie slid easily off Stella’s tongue.

Phillippa sniffed. “For your sake, I certainly hope so. Come, girls.” With that final threat, Phillippa sailed out the door, Cornelia at her heels.

But Beatrice paused on her way out to whisper, “I overheard one of the footmen say dinner will be eight courses tonight. It’s certain to drag on for hours. If you did pop out for a bit then, no one would ever know.”

She didn’t have the least intention of obeying Phillippa’s order, but she wouldn’t confess it to Beatrice, who’d be punished as surely as Stella would if Phillippa found out. “No, I daresay they wouldn’t, but your mother said to remain here.”

“My mother says a lot of things. Obeying her every command hasn’t gotten you very far, has it? It’s something to think about, Stella.” Beatrice didn’t wait for an answer but marched out the door with a rustle of pink silk.

That was strange. Beatrice had always been kinder to her than Phillippa or Cornelia, but she’d never advised outright defiance before.

But there was no time to think on it now. They’d be back soon enough and demanding she begin the laborious process of dressing them for dinner, and Phillippa would have her head if she wasn’t right here waiting for them.

She didn’t have much time. No more than an hour or so.

There wasn’t a moment to waste.

She hurried up the staircase to her bedchamber and unearthed the bundle she’d hidden under her bed. It wasn’t anything fancy, just an old flour sack that Mrs. Neville had given her, but there was treasure inside.

At least, to her it was treasure.

She upended the sack, and bits of fabric spilled across the coverlet. There were a few short lengths of plain muslin, a scrap of sprigged cotton, and some other bits and pieces that were too small to be of much use.

Phillippa had ordered her to discard the scraps in the rag bag, but she’d kept them instead. It was a small rebellion, to be sure, but if Phillippa ever discovered she’d taken them … an icy shudder went through her.

It was best not to dwell on such unpleasantness.

She sifted through the meager pile, searching for the length of netting left over from the fichu she’d made for Beatrice last spring.

Ah yes, here it was.