Miss Townsend stood in the doorway, clad in a green and gray walking dress with a fetching hat that I itched to examine. She carried a portfolio under one arm, and waved at the smoke-filled room with a gloved hand.

“I thought we agreed no cigars in the sitting room,” she said, closing the door and sending Bobby an admonishing look.

Bobby tamped out her cigar, jumped up, and flung open a window, letting in a cold wave of wind. “Didn’t realize you’d be back so soon. It will clear out in a trice.”

Miss Townsend did not look convinced, but she said nothing more about it as she set down her portfolio and unpinned her hat.

“Cyn and Mrs. H. are staying the night,” Bobby announced. “Mrs. H. has been chucked out, and Cynthia has said to hell with it.”

“No, they are not.” Miss Townsend spoke in a quiet, matter-of-fact way, and we all stared at her.

“I don’t mind,” Bobby said. “We’ll tuck ’em in somewhere.”

Miss Townsend patted her hair into place and carefully set her hat on the table. It was a green plush affair, enhanced with a darker green ribbon, small-brimmed with a modestly high crown, and trimmed only with a few gray feathers. Perfect for this weather, and it matched her walking dress precisely.

“No need.” Miss Townsend turned to us. “Mrs. Bywater admits she was a bit hasty in dismissing Mrs. Holloway. She will offer her apology upon your return.”

While I blinked at her, Cynthia, who’d risen from her chair to put out her cigar, openly gaped, the cigar hanging from stiff fingers. “Auntie said that?”

“She did. And she has no idea you have left home, Cyn, so nothing will be said when you go back. She will simply believe you were out for the afternoon.”

“But I’m not going back.” Cynthia stubbed out the cigar and dropped it into a bowl. A wisp of bluish smoke rose from the end that was not quite extinguished. “To be paraded like a prize racehorse, one a bit long in the tooth, before eligible gents? To pretend to be grateful I have suitors, even those poor specimens?”

Miss Townsend sent Cynthia a patient look. “I have persuaded Mrs. Bywater that she should cease the invitations for a time. Let things settle.”

Cynthia’s eyes widened. “Good Lord. Have you run mad, or has she? Or perhaps it’s me who’s mad.”