I was weary in the morning, but arrived on time at my post to prepare breakfast. Tess, a surprisingly early riser today, had already begun the bread for the day and a pan of sausages and potatoes for the staff.

Mrs. Redfern hurried through on her way to supervise the maids upstairs, the woman fresh and hearty, though she’d retired after I had. She barely glanced at me as she went about her duties, never saying a word about our encounter.

“Morning, Mrs. H.”

Lady Cynthia’s drawling voice preceded her into the kitchen. She took a seat at the table and reached for a carrot from the bunch Tess chopped. Tess gave her a grin, more comfortable now with Cynthia’s impromptu visits.

Cynthia wore trousers, waistcoat, and frock coat, with a cravat loosely tied about her neck. She’d told me once that in dressing in men’s clothing, she merely emulated a famous lady novelist from France called George Sand, but as I’d never heard of the woman, the reference meant little to me. Lady Cynthia and I had become friends, growing ever closer—she had been of valuable assistance as I’d looked into problems in the past year, some of which had proved quite perilous.

“Favor to ask,” Cynthia said after I returned her greeting. “My friend, Miss Townsend. You met her last night.”

I recalled the beautiful young woman who had slipped in next to Cynthia and taken her arm. “The lady who praised my lobster rissoles?”

Cynthia chuckled. “I thought you’d remember her liking your food. She’s the one who craves a boon. She’s an artist, and a dashed clever one. She wants to paint you, Mrs. H.”

3

Paint?” I ceased sorting the mushrooms I’d use in omelets for the upstairs and gazed at Cynthia in dismay. “Me? Are you certain?”

“I am indeed. She wanted to meet you, which is why I persuaded Auntie to summon you above stairs last evening. I beg your pardon—I know you prefer to rusticate here, but I couldn’t traipse down with Miss Townsend in all our finery without some explanation to my aunt. Besides, I knew you were running about ragged. Didn’t wish to intrude.”

I returned to the mushrooms. “You could have brought her down a quieter day. This morning, for instance.”

Cynthia’s face crinkled in amusement. “I enjoy when you admonish me, Mrs. H. So polite you are, but you make your feelings known. I have my reasons. I wanted to show Auntie that Miss Townsend is a quiet-spoken, respectable young woman, never mind she’s an artist. I persuaded Auntie to let her come to the supper ball, and I turned myself out like a dressmaker’s doll so Auntie’s cronies wouldn’t be shocked by me.”

“You looked beautiful,” I said in true admiration. “The gown suited you.”