“Indeed. The Lady Anne has expressed interest in our Dover programs. As have the daughters of both the Marquess of Pevendel and the Earl of Marchant. An illustrious group of young women, one in which the Edgerton name fits well, don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” her aunt managed, looking a little overwhelmed.

“We are holding the last spot in this upcoming term for Lady Charlotte,” Miss Hayward said briskly. “If she wants it. But I must have a decision, for we will be departing almost immediately. And there are dozens of other young ladies vying for—”

“Of course she wants it.” Her aunt stopped, her colorless lips thinning, a look of utter distaste crossing her face. “Wait. Do I have to go with her?”

“No. Haverhall’s students are, as always, impeccably chaperoned. We also employ skilled lady’s maids to assist the students, and Avondale House has a sterling staff at our disposal.”

“Well, I suppose that’s something then.” Charlotte’s aunt sat back against the settee, looking appeased. “I despise traveling, you know.” She smoothed the wool over her legs and glanced sourly at Charlotte.

Miss Hayward stood. “Can you be ready to depart to Dover this afternoon, Lady Charlotte?”

Charlotte recognized that it wasn’t really a question, even though Dover was nowhere close to where she needed to be.

Go along with whatever it is that will be presented to you, King’s voice echoed in her head. “Yes.”

“Very good.” Miss Hayward nodded. “You may bring a single trunk of clothing and toiletries. I would strongly suggest that you pack any and all art supplies that you feel you may need in another.”

“I understand,” Charlotte replied, not really understanding anything.

“Please present yourself at Haverhall by three o’clock, Lady Charlotte,” Miss Hayward said, moving past her. “We will travel to Dover from there. I do hope you will enjoy your experience with us.”

*  *  *

Haverhall School for Young Ladies had once been a grand manor home before it had been converted into a school. It sat on a lush parcel of land just beyond the northwest corner of London, complete with gently rolling hills, fish-filled ponds, expansive gardens, and a handful of cottages. Charlotte looked around her at the pretty blue drawing room she had been deposited in, holding on to the pretty rose-patterned teacup a pretty maid had provided her with, and wondered how any of this prettiness fit into what she was about to undertake.

“Lady Charlotte.”

Charlotte started, almost splashing tea over the edge of her cup. She set the cup aside and looked up to find Clara Hayward standing just inside the door, a petite, copper-haired woman at her side, a leather-wrapped bundle in her arms.

“Welcome to Haverhall,” Miss Hayward said. “Allow me to introduce my sister, Rose. Rose, this is Lady Charlotte. Rose will be helping you with your transformation. She’s got quite the eye for…appearances, shall we say.”