“Wait a moment,” stammered Philomena. “Surely you cannot mean Lady Beatrice of Thatcham Hall?” She blushed. What could Lady Beatrice have been to Mr. Muldrow? The idea of Hugh’s wife here, at Fairford Manor, with another man, was shocking. No wonder Hugh hated Mr. Muldrow.

The housekeeper smiled but her lips were tight. “My master had intended Miss Beatrice Cobbol, as she was then, for his wife, but she preferred Lord Thatcham.” She laughed. “Who could blame her? They were never suited, though.”

She leaned closer to Philomena and whispered, like a conspirator. “People do say that she used witchcraft to bewitch Lord Hugh, and that once she was safely married, she turned back to Mr. Muldrow for—Now, you choose something nice from these clothes,” she said, changing the subject.

Philomena, standing stiff as she tried to stop her body trembling, put out a hand to steady herself against the wall. At any other time, she would have laughed at the thought of Lord Thatcham and Mr. Muldrow as romantic rivals. She pushed the information to the back of her mind. She must concentrate on escape. “No, I won’t be changing my clothes.”

The housekeeper shook her head. “It’s no good displeasing him, my dear. He can be cruel when he’s angry. Just you do as you’re told and all will be well.” She turned to leave.

“Wait a minute,” Philomena called, panicking, but the woman was gone.

There was no way to escape. Philomena would obey Muldrow’s instructions for the moment. She sifted through the wardrobe and lighted on a pale green gown. The sleeves were loose. She would remain as unrestricted as possible, ready to make an escape. The waist was uncomfortably small, but there was no corset, so Philomena breathed in as far as possible and hoped the stitches would hold.

Head held high, Philomena descended the staircase to the dining room and made her entrance, her eyes searching for any way of escape. She was surprised to see Joseph seated at the table. Mr. Muldrow laughed. “Come in, my dear. You look ravishing. I believe that to be the correct term.”

Butterflies swooped in Philomena’s stomach at his sneer.

“Sit here,” said Muldrow, “between me and this good friend of mine.”

Joseph did not attempt to get to his feet at Philomena’s entrance but looked her up and down and winked. His insolent gaze lingered on her breasts. She wished she had not chosen such a low-cut dress.

“Joseph will be joining us, tonight,” said Muldrow. Joseph took a gulp of wine and belched unpleasantly. “It will be just the three of us. Will that not be charming?”

Philomena, seeing she had no alternative, took her seat in silence.

“Drink your wine,” said Muldrow. She shook her head. She must not become intoxicated. She must keep her wits about her. Muldrow sighed. “Really, my dear, do I have to force you?”