She was clad in a simple day dress the color of claret, which made her flawless skin glow. She had rich mahogany hair and dark eyes that met Charlotte’s with frank directness. Confidence and poise positively radiated from her, transforming her classical beauty into something far more striking.

Clara Hayward. Baron Strathmore’s sister and headmistress of Haverhall. She could be no other.

Excitement crackled through her.

“Lady Charlotte, it is lovely to see you again,” Miss Hayward greeted with an ease that made it sound like they were old acquaintances, simply picking up a conversation that they had failed to finish earlier that morning.

“Indeed,” Charlotte offered, a polite smile plastered on her face.

“I knew nothing about these plans of yours, Charlotte,” her aunt warbled from where she sat, sounding grieved. “Someone should have told me. Nobody tells me anything.”

“My plans?” she asked carefully.

“Don’t be coy, Charlotte. It’s not attractive.” Her aunt sniffed. “I was not advised that you had applied to Haverhall. Your parents mentioned nothing of this to me before they left me here.”

Charlotte gazed at her aunt. “An unfortunate oversight, I’m sure,” she murmured.

“I must take the blame for any confusion,” Miss Hayward interrupted smoothly. “For it was I who belatedly recommended that Lady Charlotte apply to our program.”

“Isn’t she a little long in the tooth for a finishing school?” her aunt muttered waspishly, the lace on her cap drooping farther over her eyes.

“Not at all,” Miss Hayward replied, her pleasant smile not wavering. “Lady Charlotte’s artistic skill is highly regarded. She has come recommended to us through numerous society channels as a young lady who possesses the maturity and poise to act as a mentor of sorts to our younger students. A very enviable position, I assure you.”

Charlotte blinked at her polished delivery. Her aunt seemed unsure what to do.

“This specialized term will run over the next twelve weeks,” Miss Hayward had continued, without giving anyone a chance to respond. “It is, of course, similar to our exclusive summer program. And like our summer program, it will also be hosted in Dover, at Avondale House. Aside from art, our curriculum will further develop skills that are equally as refined as the young ladies who take part.” Miss Hayward directed another smile at her aunt. “These specialized terms get so many worthy applicants, and as such, we must take great care to select only those most suitable.” She paused. “In fact, earlier today, I explained the exact same thing to the Duke of Holloway’s sister, Lady Anne.”

“The Duke of Holloway?” Her aunt sat up a little straighter, and Charlotte shot Miss Hayward a surreptitious glance from under her lashes. Had the baron’s sister done that on purpose? she wondered. Dropped the Holloway name because the bachelor duke had become a symbol of the sort of wealth and power that was coveted in all corners of Britain?