“Ye’ll be hangin’ about our necks in a bad skin, carpin’ and bein’ a right screw jaws until ye drive us daft,” Crouch answered as he followed her up the front steps to the parquet-floored hall.

“Exactly,” Charlotte replied with a polite smile as she handed her bonnet and gloves to a waiting footman. “Paper and ink to my sitting room, Crouch.”

“Aye, m’lady. Will ye be needin’ me to set Dickon at ’is lordship’s ’eels again?”

Charlotte paused in the act of fluffing up golden curls squashed by her bonnet. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to know Lord Carlisle’s movements. Forewarned is four-armed and all that business. Yes, please have Dickon continue to alert me to his lordship’s appointments. It came in quite handy this morning to know that he was on foot and in what direction he was traveling.”

“As ye will, m’lady.”

Charlotte plumped up one last curl, eyed her hair critically in the small gilt-framed looking glass, then nodded decisively as she turned to the stairs. Her plan was good. It was logical and eminently practical, and she knew deep in her bones that it would be successful, assuming Caroline lent her a hand with one or two of the smaller points. “In addition, I’ll need several sharpened quills, Crouch. I detest writing with a blunt quill. The noise of it makes my teeth itch.”

“I’ll ’ave Charles attend to that, m’lady. The quills, that is, not yer itchy teeth. Nothin’ I can do about them.”

She ignored Crouch’s comedic venture and started up the oak staircase, pausing to add, “I feel quite in the need for a restorative cup of tea as well.”

“Ye’ll ’ave it.”

“And perhaps some of those lemon cakes that Cook does so well.”

“If ye like.”

Charlotte stopped at the landing, glancing at the full-length looking glass reflecting her blue-and-cream gown with the scrumptious scalloped edging that had arrived from the skillful—and happily for her nearly empty purse, economical—dressmaker recommended by Caro. She tilted her head as she critically examined the lines of the gown, turning around to look over her shoulder. What she saw made her grimace. “I have changed my mind about the lemon cakes, Crouch. Just the tea will suffice.”

Crouch squinted up the stairs at her. “Gettin’ a bit wide in the saddle, are ye?”

“Certainly not!” Charlotte snapped, and gave him a good glare despite knowing it wouldn’t do any good. Glaring never had any effect on Crouch.

The aforementioned just grinned, and ducked his head in an approximation of subservience that didn’t for a moment impress Charlotte. With one last frown at the reflected image of her backside, she continued up the stairs to write her very important note.

***

Although the note had been dispatched and received safely, Charlotte kept the details of what she wanted from her friend until the two met in person the following day.

“This is a lovely room, Caro.” Charlotte admired the champagne and rose satin Louis XIV suite. “How very clever of you to put these old things to use. Bruck, isn’t it?”