“I would say it’s in the same condition as your boat, Mr. Vesper,” I replied, and took a loud sip of tea, just to irritate him.

“Then it must be in shambles.”

“An adequate word to describe it.” I knew he was asking after my leg, but I spoke of the wound in my spirit.

He didn’t glance away from me as I expected—it was rude to stare too long at someone in court, where he no doubt had grown up as a countess’s son—and I wondered what he saw in me. I dropped my gaze first, unable to hold his uncanny stare.

“And when can we expect you to vacate this cottage, Mr. Madigan?” Lennox was saying.

“We’ll be gone tomorrow,” my father replied without hesitation.

I set my teacup down on the counter with a hard clunk. Tomorrow? The disbelief swelled within me, and I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back the torrent of words I wanted to spew.

“Excellent!” Lennox said. “I do believe this cottage will suit me very well, although there is that rather nice house on the hill. . . .”

“Yes, that’s Mazarine Thimble’s mansion.” Papa’s voice cracked with exhaustion. “It’s her property and will most likely remain that way.”

“Of course.” Lennox’s gaze drifted to the kitchen, where Imonie was banging pots in her fury. “And the housekeeper? Will she remain behind?”

“No,” my father replied swiftly. “Imonie will be going with us. If you want a cook or a housekeeper, you will have to find one on your own.”

Imonie pretended she had not heard as she began to knead dough, but I felt the indignation for her. That this upstart would assume she would stay and work for him.

“And what of the dream tax?” Lennox asked. “How much does the town pay you for your services?”

“They pay us what they can, Mr. Lennox,” I said, unable to remain silent a moment longer. “Sometimes with bread, sometimes with coin, sometimes nothing at all if their crop or craft has suffered a bad year.”

“Nothing at all!” Incredulous, Lennox looked at my father, as if he was fervently hoping I was jesting. “And you still guard them from their nightmares, despite the fact they cannot even pay you a penny in gratitude?”

“We do,” I said.

“Then how do you pay your dream tax to the duke?” Lennox asked, glancing between my father and me. “You do pay it, I hope?”

My father nodded. He looked tired, so weary. My heart ached.