Codswallop gave a little half bow and an utterly understanding smile. There wasn’t a servant in the house who wasn’t aware of Peter’s finicky ways; he couldn’t blame the young lady for being taken aback. “Now, Miss Jerningham,” Codswallop said comfortingly. “We’ll think no more about it. As far as I’m concerned, ‘twas an angel that tripped me up and made me drop the teapot.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Gabby said penitently. “I’m a butterfingers, and I always have been.”

“An angel’s foot got in your way,” Codswallop said. “That’s what my mother used to tell us when we returned to the house with scrapes on our knees.”

Gabby smiled. “Your mother sounds very kind.”

By the time Codswallop ushered her back through the braise door into the main hallway, they were the best of friends.

As Gabby walked through the servants’ door, she realized immediately that her chaperone, Lady Sylvia, had arrived. And what a chaperone she was! Gabby’s mouth almost fell open and she paused with her back to the door.

Kitty’s cousin, Lady Sylvia, was as unlike Quill’s mournful, emotional mother as possible. At the moment she was guffawing in response to something Quill had said to her. She was wearing a bright pink, beribboned gown with a startlingly low bodice. And she was surrounded by three yapping dogs, all of whom had matching pink bows adorning their waving topknots.

Yet for all the femininity of her attire, Lady Sylvia’s face looked more like a man’s than a woman’s, to Gabby’s mind. And she was smoking a cheroot.

Then Quill looked over his shoulder at Gabby. “Here is Miss Jerningham now,” he announced. “Lady Sylvia, may I introduce my brother’s betrothed, Miss Gabrielle Jerningham? Miss Jerningham, this is Lady Sylvia Breaknettle.”

Lady Sylvia glanced at Gabby and then back at Quill. “What was the gel doin’ in the servants’ quarters, Dewland? You aren’t trying to make a purse out of a sow’s ear, are you? I don’t approve of associating with the help.” Her voice was a squawking, nasal bellow, although it had a shrewd note to it.

“Well? Cat got yer tongue, gel?”

Gabby suddenly got her bearings and bobbed a curtsy. “I was consulting with Mrs. Farsalter regarding the menus, my lady.”

“Got the air of a servant,” Lady Sylvia proclaimed.

Gabby felt pink creeping up the back of her neck.

“That the best curtsy you can do, gel?”

“My name is Gabrielle Jerningham,” Gabby said. “I was also taught la révérence en arrière.” She swept into a low curtsy. Then she straightened. “However, I was instructed to do so only in the presence of royalty.”

Lady Sylvia smirked at the slight edge in Gabby’s tone. “Well, at least you’ve got some backbone, gel.”