“Stop!” he said, sickened. “We have no intention of doing any such thing to you, do you understand? I just want to add a little mark on each of you so Beltran and I can tell you apart.”

“As you will,” the Doll said. “But one Doll is the same as any other—”

“No, you are not,” he said forcefully. “I know that, and you know that, and it’s only decent to acknowledge that. Now, since you either don’t want us to know your names—which is fine, that’s your right!—or we can’t pronounce your names, or there is some other reason, and you’ve said I can call you what I like, I am going to give you names.” He dipped the pen in the inkpot and very carefully scribed a five-pointed star between where the eyebrows would have been. “You are Star.”

“This one is . . . Star,” the Doll repeated, and it sounded a little stunned.

He went to one of the other two, and scribed a five-petaled flower on its forehead. “You are Rose.”

“Rose,” the Doll said obediently.

He went to the third Doll and scribed a three-leaved clover on its head. “And you are Clover.” He pointed to each of them in turn. “Star, Rose, and Clover. Is that all right with you?”

“As you—”

“Please answer the question,” he said patiently. “Is that all right with you? Are there some other names you’d like to be called?”

“These names are . . . fine,” said Star. “These names . . . are . . . lovely,” Star added, wonderingly.

He heaved a sigh of relief.

“Now, I have a question, and I hope it’s not intrusive. Are you three just going to hang about the apartment all the time?” I really hope not. It’s going to take a while to get used to these things. He hated feeling that way, because it seemed wrong, but on the other hand, the Dolls were . . . well . . . creepy.

“Oh no, milord Duke!” Star said with what sounded like a shocked gasp. “That would never do! There is a storage chamber behind the middle door of the common room. That is where we are, until needed.”

He wasn’t entirely sure that was any better, but . . . “Are you all right there?”

“It is where we belong,” Rose said simply. “Clothing belongs in a wardrobe. Dolls belong in a storage chamber.”

Ugh. But . . . all right.

“Well, now what are we supposed to do, Star?” he asked. “Is there somewhere we are supposed to be? Some function we are supposed to attend?”

Long silence. Finally Star spoke. “If . . . this one . . . may presume?”

“Presume away,” he replied, preferring this to utter servility.

“Milord Duke’s wardrobe is . . . inadequate by Court standards. This one could, if the Duke wishes, draw a bath, take the Duke’s measurements, and order luncheon to be brought up, and an adequate wardrobe will be delivered before the Court meets at dinner?”