Oh, blast! Was that a raindrop? Ellie wiped the water from her nose and looked up. The clouds were gathering, and if she weren't such a practical woman, she would swear that they were congregating directly over her head.

She let out a sound that one could only call a growl and trudged onward, trying not to curse when another raindrop smacked her on the cheek. And then another pelted her shoulder, and another, and another, and—

Ellie shook her fist at the sky. “Somebody up there is deuced mad at me,” she yelled, “and I want to know why!”

The heavens opened in earnest and within seconds she was soaked to the skin.

“Remind me never to question Your purposes again,” she muttered ungraciously, not sounding particularly like the God-fearing young lady her father had raised her to be. “Clearly You don't like to be second-guessed.”

Lightning streaked through the sky, followed by a booming clap of thunder. Ellie jumped nearly a foot. What was it that her sister's husband had told her so many years ago? The closer the thunder follows the lightning, the closer the lightning is to oneself? Robert had always been of a scientific bent; Ellie was inclined to believe him on this measure.

She took off at a run. Then, after her lungs threatened to explode, she slowed down to a trot. After a minute or two of that, however, she settled into a brisk walk. After all, she wasn't likely to get any wetter than she was already.

Thunder pounded again, causing Ellie to jump and trip over a tree root, landing in the mud. “Damn!” she grunted, probably her first verbal use of the word in her life. If ever there was a time to begin the habit of cursing, however, it was now.

She staggered to her feet and looked up, rain pelting her face. Her bonnet sagged against her eyes, blocking her vision. She yanked it off, looked at the sky, and yelled, “I am not amused!”

More lightning.

“They are all against me,” she muttered, starting to feel just a little bit irrational. “All of them.” Her father, Sally Foxglove, Mr. Tibbett, whoever it was who controlled the weather—

More thunder.

Ellie gritted her teeth and moved onward. Finally, an old stone behemoth of a building loomed over the horizon. She'd never seen Wycombe Abbey in person, but she'd seen a pen and ink drawing of it for sale in Bellfield. Relief finally settling within her, she made her way to the front door and knocked.

A liveried servant answered her summons and gave her an extremely condescending look.

“I-I'm here t-to see the earl,” Ellie said, teeth chattering.

“Servants' interviews are conducted by the house-keeper,” the butler replied. “Use the rear entrance.”

He started to shut the door but Ellie managed to jam her foot in the opening. “Noooo!” she yelled, somehow sensing that if she let that door shut in her face she would be condemned forever to a life of cold gruel and dirty chimneys.