“You are talking to another strange pea. Now I must bid you good day. I will not be at any family meetings today, other than that with the solicitor. You should seek your allies elsewhere. Cousin Walter, for example. Or young Phillip. The latter is so far into dun territory that he will probably take any bribe you offer.”

As soon as the door closed, Dolores took to mumbling and sputtering. “Rude boy. Always was. Too proud for what little he is and has. Another one stepping down, like Chase. The humiliation of it is not to be borne. Girl! Fix this curl! I told you how to do it twice. Nicholas has us living like barbarians here, with such poor excuses for servants and—”

Minerva stood, grabbed her basket, and slipped away while the woman complained.

Hoping to learn more about Walter, she tended to that chamber next. Unfortunately, both he and his wife were not there. Minerva eyed the wardrobe and dressing table. It would be too risky to pry into either. Nor did she think there would be anything to find. She swallowed her curiosity, dealt with the fireplace, then moved on.

A half hour later she descended to the cellar and set her basket in its place. She visited the kitchen next.

“There’s washing to do,” the cook said, jabbing her thumb to the back of the house. “Was told to send anyone there who was not busy, and that appears to be you.”

Minerva was elbow deep in soap water when the laundry door opened. Chase entered.

“How did you find me?” she said while she used the board to scrub a linen sheet.

“You said you help in the kitchen after your morning duties. I asked Mrs. Fowler, the cook, where you were.”

His arrival raised her spirits, which had fallen considerably upon entering this chamber. “Do you want something?”

A slow smile formed. “Not at all, except reassurance my young cousin does not still pursue you.”

Her femininity longed to hear other words. Yes, your company, your kiss, your desire.

What was wrong with her? “He has been invisible thus far today. Did you warn him off?”

“I promised to thrash him if he tried that again, with anyone here. I had rather counted on having an excuse to do so. A few thrashings would do him good.”

“Perhaps I should reconsider his place on my list of potential good objects of inquiry.”

“I am inclined to agree he does not have the courage, even if he had good cause to be worried and angry if he learned there would be no legacy. He has lived off his expectations for several years now, with impressive self-indulgence.”

“He is not like you, then.”

“Not like most of us.”

She turned the sheet. Her hands, red and soapy, caught her attention. She paused to check her nails. They looked like a washerwoman’s. Not surprising, since she had become one.