Feeling as if she were somehow intruding, Ellie backed out of the room and made her way to the front hall. Eventually, she found the informal dining room. Helen Pallister was there, sipping a cup of tea and munching on a marmalade-coated piece of toast. Ellie couldn't help but notice that toast was burnt.

“Good morning!” Helen called out, rising to her feet. “You're up and about early. I have never had the pleasure of anyone's company at breakfast before. No one in this household rises as early as I do.”

“Not even Judith?”

That gave Helen cause to laugh. “Judith rises early only on days when she doesn't have lessons. On days like today her governess practically has to dump a bucket of water over her head to get her out of bed.”

Ellie smiled. “A most intelligent young girl. I myself have tried to sleep past the sunrise, but I never quite manage it.”

“I am the same way. Claire calls me barbaric.”

“As did my sister.”

“Is Charles awake?” Helen asked, reaching for another teacup. “Would you like a spot?”

“Please. Milk, no sugar, thank you.” Ellie watched while Helen poured, then said. “Charles is still abed.” She wasn't sure whether her new husband had revealed the true nature of their marriage to his cousin, and she certainly wasn't comfortable enough to do so. Nor did she think it was her place.

“Would you care for some toast?” Helen inquired. “We have two different kinds of marmalade and three jams.”

Ellie eyed the black crumbs littering Helen's plate. “No, but thank you.”

Helen held her toast in the air and regarded it. “Not very appetizing, is it?”

“Couldn't we possibly teach the cook to make a proper piece of toast?”

Helen sighed. “The housekeeper prepares breakfast. Our French chef insists that the morning meal is beneath his notice. And as for Mrs. Stubbs, I'm afraid she is too old and stubborn to change her ways. She insists that she prepares the toast correctly.”

“Perhaps it is the fault of the oven,” Ellie suggested. “Has anyone taken a look at it?”

“I haven't the faintest idea.”

Feeling a rush of determination, Ellie pushed her chair back and rose to her feet. “Let us go and investigate, then.”

Helen blinked several times before asking, “You want to inspect the oven? Yourself?”

“I have been cooking all my life for my father,” Ellie explained. “I know a thing or two about ovens and stoves.”

Helen rose to her feet, but her expression was hesitant. “Are you certain you want to venture into the kitchens? Mrs. Stubbs won't like it—she's always saying it's unnatural for gentlefolk to be belowstairs. And Monsieur Belmont throws fits if he thinks anyone has touched anything in his kitchen.”

Ellie eyed her thoughtfully. “Helen, I think we have to remember that this is our kitchen, correct?”

“I don't think Monsieur Belmont will see it that way,” Helen replied, but she followed Ellie through the doorway back into the great hall. “He's very temperamental. As is Mrs. Stubbs.”