“Mistress Turner, delighted,” he said, bending to kiss my cheeks several times. Larkin was called away to the group and I indicated to the maids that they should finish dressing the mannequin without me. “The country continues to suit you,” Mr. Palmer said, with a wide smile. “How are the children? Is Mary’s cough quite gone?” No other man asked after my children. It irked me that the unavoidable consequence of my increase in sentiment toward Mr. Palmer was that I felt more nervous each time we met.

“It has, thank you, Mr. Palmer, and Barbara is now with the Countess of Salisbury.” After the death in earliest infancy of four boys, Frankie’s younger sister had finally produced a girl who looked likely to live. Catherine had, however, been assailed by an incapacitating dread that this child too would die, so Barbara had been sent to distract the Countess from her terror and to help care for the child. Once she had recovered, it was my hope that the Countess would be sufficiently grateful to find Barbara a husband.

Mr. Palmer’s face suddenly fell. “I have been remiss in not offering my condolences.”

I looked up at him, uncomprehending.

“Forgive me, you did not know?” he said.

“What do I not know?”

“The Earl of Northampton was called to God this morning.”

I was astonished; not so much by the Earl’s death, for he had been battling a gangrenous sore on his leg for a week, but that Mr. Palmer had heard of it before I had. No one had told me or asked me to send word to Frankie even though I was staying in her apartment. I felt suddenly exposed. Lord Northampton’s fixation had been the pursuit and preservation of power for himself and his family. The younger generations were lax in their safeguarding of the family fortunes.

“I feel as I did when Queen Elizabeth died. The Earl has been with us for so long that his death seems to usher in a new age,” observed Mr. Palmer.

“Indeed,” I agreed. With Lord Northampton gone, there would be greater freedom but less safety. I did not like the unease Mr. Palmer’s announcement stirred in me and changed the subject. “I am surprised to find you here. Larkin’s paintings are not very Italian.”

Mr. Palmer chuckled. “His portraits are beautiful in their own manner, and the subjects appear to their best advantage.”

“Are you sitting for him?”

“Bless you, no! Even Larkin would be hard pushed to make a silk purse out of me. I have arranged a sitting for a person who needs no adornment whatsoever, but who is receiving a great deal of it right now.” I noticed that Mr. Palmer did not offer to introduce me and that he seemed ill at ease.