“Good morning, Mr. Falco,” I said. “I’m Scarlett Parker. My cousin Vivian and I and our friend Andre Eisel just happen to be staying at the castle for the weekend, and we took the chance that you might be in residence and willing to take tea with us?”

“Why, I’d be delighted,” he said. He reached forward and shook each of our hands, pumping our arms with great enthusiasm. I liked Dominick Falco. He glanced at Andre and said, “Use the alley to bring the horses round back. I have a small yard where you can tend them and they’ll be safe and contained while we chat.”

“Oh, we don’t want to impose,” Viv said. The thought of poor manners was enough to break her catatonic state. “We’d be happy to take you to tea in one of the shops.” She gestured vaguely at the village.

“And share the famous milliner Vivian Tremont with the common folk?” Mr. Falco asked. There was a twinkle in his eye. “Not a chance. We’ll have tea here, much more cozy.”

Vivian graced him with a small smile and said, “That’s incredibly kind of you.”

“Not at all, my housekeeper is the kind one, since she’s making the tea,” he said. He opened a gate on the side of the house and Andre led the three horses to the back. Then Dominick gestured for Viv and me to follow him inside.

I don’t know what I expected a retired milliner’s house to look like but it wasn’t this. Despite the old-world feel from the outside of the house, the interior was bright and airy, with square-edged furniture, all steel and glass and shaped wood. There was hardly any clutter at all. It was almost midcentury-modern American in its austerity.

Mr. Falco led us through the narrow house to a room at the back. Now, this space made more sense. It was clearly his work area. Despite his being retired, there were several hats in varying stages of completion perched on mannequin heads on a long wooden worktable. The large window looked out over the garden, where we could see Andre tending the horses. A row of birdfeeders hung in front of the window and judging by the way they were swinging, the birds had just taken off, probably at the startling arrival of the horses.

Mr. Falco gestured for us to take a seat at what looked like a conference table. There were scraps of fabric, buttons and bits of lace and other notions littered across the surface. It made me feel at home, like we were in Mim’s Whims.

A petite woman entered the room. She looked to be a few years younger than Mr. Falco, with her brown hair threaded with silver.

“Emily, there you are,” Mr. Falco said. “Would you be so kind as to fetch a tray of tea and biscuits for our guests?”