“Not to speak of. Papa’s steward, Mr. Entwhistle, keeps me apprised of estate matters as he can, and I know he still takes my opinions under advisement. He’s promised to write to me during my stay here. As for my own personal needs, I must apply to Fred directly. And if I purchase something, even as small and personal as garters for my stockings, he insists upon seeing the receipts. He’s not tightfisted. Indeed, he is exceedingly generous with me, as he’s fond of saying. But he loves nothing more than making certain I recognize the power he holds. I have come to hate asking him for anything.”

“He was always a vile worm,” Jane said feelingly. “And I’m sure having to defer to any man seems intolerable to you, for unlike the rest of us poor females, you’ve never had to bear it before.”

“Sometimes I think I cannot bear it. I’m so tired, Jane. And I have been so blue deviled.”

Jane took Maggie’s hand and held it in both of hers. “Poor dear. But you must take heart. I’ve just this morning heard some news that might cheer you.”

Maggie proffered a weak smile. “Have you?”

“Oh yes. You’ll be pleased to know that Frederick Burton-Smythe will be getting his comeuppance very soon. Tomorrow in fact.” Jane leaned toward Maggie, lowering her voice so the servants going in and out of the dressing room couldn’t overhear. “At dawn tomorrow, he is engaged to fight a duel!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s the truth. We ladies aren’t supposed to know of such things, but I heard it from Mrs. Beauchamp, who heard it from her husband. He was present at the gaming hell when it all happened.”

“When what all happened?”

“It seems that, while Fred was in the middle of a card game, one of the players gave up his seat to the Viscount St. Clare. Well, St. Clare and Fred were at odds right from the start, apparently, for you know what a hothead Fred can be. Someone made a passing reference to a problem with the count of the cards. One thing led to another, and then, the next thing everyone knew, Fred was on his feet, shouting that St. Clare would answer for what he’d said. And St. Clare replied, as cool as you please, that he wasn’t in the habit of meeting country nobodies on the field of honor, but that he’d make an exception in Fred’s case.”

Maggie’s head was spinning. “Fred issued the challenge?”

“That he did, the arrogant fool.” Jane laughed. “But I’m leaving out the best part. Lord St. Clare is the grandson of the Earl of Allendale!”

Maggie stared at Jane. “What does that signify?”