“They are all interesting if you find worthless mechanical devices of no use to humanity interesting.”

“Is he coming today?” Nicholas asked. “Did you leave him back on the lane?”

“He told me that none of his brothers were coming up to town, and he would not be oppressed just because he is always in London. They expected nothing from Uncle Frederick, so they have no complaints.”

Chase gave Kevin a deeper consideration. For all the good cheer he displayed, shadows veiled his normally bright eyes on this allusion to the will. “Why don’t you settle in. We’ll talk later.”

“I suppose I should see what chamber the housekeeper has allotted me. I could return to my father’s house at night, of course, but he can be a trial and I want to keep an eye on all of them.” He sent a sharp glance out the window.

Nicholas clamped a firm grip on Kevin’s shoulder. “Let us go find Mrs. Wiggins, so I can make sure she does not put you in the attic. It is hell being a bachelor.”

Chase let them go, and returned his attention to the activity outside the window.

* * *

Minerva knelt before the fireplace. She began arranging some fuel.

“Don’t fold the dress that way, girl. It will become intolerably wrinkled. Hang it in the wardrobe.” The woman’s voice snapped out the complaint and command. Minerva kept her back to the room, doing her work.

The housekeeper, Mrs. Wiggins, had been desperate enough to hire her on Mrs. Drable’s recommendation for the lowly position of chambermaid during the visit of all these guests. She had been sent up to prepare the fires in the guests’ chambers, starting with the ladies. She had already concluded that Lady Agnes Radnor, tall, regal, buxom, and dark-haired, saw herself as the queen among the bees buzzing round the house.

A door opened. Soft steps paced until a person stood so closely behind Minerva that she felt the warmth on her back. The looming presence also hid her own body, however. She slowed her actions.

“I hope they gave you a better maid than I have,” a new feminine voice said. Lower than Agnes’s. Throaty in a pleasant way.

“Oh, dear heavens. Yours is a disaster too? I had hoped to steal her for myself.”

“The best ones are gone, Mrs. Wiggins explained to me. Abandoned ship once they had their pensions. Handsome settlements they were too, if you remember. They left us to fend for ourselves with short-time riffraff while they enjoy our money. Only Mrs. Fowler, the cook, and the butler are still here among the senior servants, out of a sense of duty to the title’s requirements.”

“I assume that once they find their own replacements, they too will go off to grow legumes in the country.”