“Good. Though I warn you, there are conditions that come with this placement you should be aware of before you fully commit.” It was Clara who tapped the toe of her half boot against the side of Charlotte’s trunk that contained her clothes. “You won’t need anything in here. You will travel not as Lady Charlotte, but as Charlie, to facilitate your ability to freely focus on your work and not the reaction or biases of those who may be working with you. Your appearance, like your identity, will be drastically altered. We—and Mr. Lisbon—have learned from experience that these measures, as unfortunate as they are, work best when we have students who are placed directly in their chosen field. Not everyone is…open-minded enough to see your value. I’m sure you can understand that.”

“You have no idea,” Charlotte said harshly, the frustration that had festered for so long igniting. Her brothers and parents had never regarded her as anything more than a decoration when she was a child, though not pretty or witty enough to display. As a debutante, she’d been called an epic failure. Now, as a woman, she was considered as nothing more than an embarrassing duty. From the time she’d been small, Aysgarth had always been her parents’ solution to her shortcomings. Out of sight, out of mind.

Charlotte was done with being invisible.

Miss Hayward arched an elegant brow. “Should you go through with this, you cannot reveal your identity to anyone, Lady Charlotte. You need to be aware of your conduct, your mannerisms, and even your knowledge of certain matters. It won’t always be easy.”

“No, I don’t expect it to be,” Charlotte replied, the frustration that had risen fading fast amid her growing excitement. No, excitement was too pale. What she was feeling now had crystalized into something more pure. Joy. Anticipation. Determination to succeed.

“How dependent are you upon servants?” Clara asked. “Can you make your own pot of tea? Boil an egg? Lay a fire?”

“Yes to all of those,” Charlotte said. All those years she’d been ignored and left to her own devices, free to range over the dales of Aysgarth and the empty rooms of Jasper House, had suddenly become not a penance but priceless.

“Good.” Rose stood and approached Charlotte, untying the bundle she still had in her hands and rolling it out over the top of Charlotte’s trunk. A comb, a razor, and a pair of shears glinted in the light, and she gestured to the chair that Charlotte had vacated. “I’ll start with your hair. It will grow back, of course, and upon your return, we have an entire host of excuses you may use for the alteration.”

I doubt anyone will notice, Charlotte thought to herself.

“We’ll move on to your clothing and your mannerisms,” Rose continued. “You’ll need to look—”