He had fallen asleep very quickly the previous night after she had stitched up his arm for the second time. He'd had a tiring and painful day, and the additional bottle of brandy hadn't helped. Ellie had wanted to leave him to his rest, but every time she tried to ease herself from the bed and creep into her own room, he grew agitated. She had finally dozed off on top of his blankets.

She slipped quietly out of the room, not wanting to awaken him. He still slept quite soundly, and she suspected that he needed his rest.

Ellie, however, was physically incapable of sleeping late; after changing out of her crumpled gown, she wandered downstairs for breakfast. Not surprisingly, Helen was already at the table, perusing the newspaper that arrived in the mail each day from London.

“Good morning, Ellie,” Helen said.

“Good morning to you.”

Ellie sat down, and it was only a moment before Helen asked, “What was the commotion last evening? I heard that Charles was quite beyond foxed.”

Ellie recounted the details of the previous day as she smoothed orange marmalade on one of Mrs. Stubbs's freshly baked scones. “That reminds me…” she said when she'd finished telling Helen of Charle's second bout with stitches.

“Reminds you of what?”

“I was trying to think of something special we could do for the tenants as winter and the holidays approach, and I thought I might make them homemade jam.”

Helen's hand froze in midair as she reached for another scone. “I don't suppose this will involve your entering the kitchen again.”

“It will be a special surprise, as they would never expect a countess to actually cook.”

“There might be a reason for that. Although in your case, I believe people have given up trying to figure out what to expect.”

Ellie scowled at her. “I assure you that I have made jam hundreds of times.”

“Oh, I believe you. I just don't think anyone else will. Especially Mrs. Stubbs, who is still complaining that she keeps finding soot in the kitchen corners.”

“Mrs. Stubbs merely likes to complain.”

“That is, of course, true, but I'm still not sure—”

“I'm sure,” Ellie said emphatically, “and that is all that counts.”

By the time breakfast was finished, Ellie had convinced Helen to help her prepare the jam, and two kitchen maids were sent to town to buy berries. An hour later they returned from town with large quantities of assorted berries and Ellie was ready to get to work. As expected, Mrs. Stubbs was not pleased to see Ellie in her kitchen.

“No no no!” she yelled. “The oven was bad enough!”

“Mrs. Stubbs,” Ellie said in her sternest voice,” may I remind you that I am the mistress of this house, and if I want to smear lemon curd up and down the walls, it is my right.”

Mrs. Stubbs paled and looked to Helen in terror.

“She is exaggerating,” Helen quickly explained. “But perhaps it would be best if you worked outside the kitchen.”