She arrived at Calverstill House jittery with excitement. Perhaps Charlotte had changed her mind? Why on earth would she want to paint Chloe anyway? Her large eyes grew larger as she was ushered into the entranceway of the Calverstill town house. She had visited houses of the aristocracy, of course. Her friend Sissy Commonweal had invited her home for several vacation breaks from school. But this house was different. The floor of the hallway seemed to be made of four or five different colors of green marble, and the ceiling arched over her head in a wild profusion of cupids and reclining gods. She was so overcome when the butler ushered her into an elegant salon that she fixed her glance rigidly on the floor. Surely there must be some kind of mistake! People who lived in houses like this didn’t paint portraits.

But then she heard slippers running lightly down the stairs and Charlotte Daicheston entered the room.

“I’m so glad you are here!” she said.

Chloe looked at her the way a drowning man looks at a lifeboat. She was incredibly beautiful, but more than that, she was so warm. Chloe rose to meet her, stumbling a bit.

“Are you certain—”

“Of course I’m certain! I’ve been working for an hour or so already, getting everything set up. Let me introduce you to my mama first.”

Chloe paled. She hadn’t thought about meeting grand personages such as a real duchess. But Charlotte led her nimbly up the grand flight of stairs and off to the left.

“This is the morning room.” Charlotte threw open a pair of delicate, tall doors. Chloe found herself on the threshold of a pale gold chamber, hung with chintz curtains that swayed in the light breeze. Sunshine was pouring in and the furniture was comfortable rather than elegant. Six or seven women, some clearly servants, were seated around a large table, sewing. Charlotte’s mother rose and moved toward them. She was a surprisingly tall woman with a very sweet smile, who took Chloe’s hand and asked about her parents. Then she begged them to excuse her.

“We are trying to finish a score of boys’ shirts that are desperately needed at Bellview Orphanage,” she said apologetically. “Otherwise I would accompany you up to Charlotte’s studio. But I am sure you will be fine.” She gave Chloe a distracted smile.

Chloe smiled back. “I left my mama finishing a set of shirts—for adults, not children.”

“It is endless,” Charlotte’s mother said rather helplessly. “I feel as if we sew and sew, and everywhere I see people wearing only rags.”

Charlotte and Chloe curtsied and they continued up the stairs. The stairs got suddenly smaller and steeper, going up to the next floor.

“This is really the nursery floor,” Charlotte said over her shoulder. “But there aren’t any children now, obviously, and so my parents turned the nursery into my studio.”