At the moment she was copying paintings. One after another, she took down paintings from all over the ducal estates and carried them up to her room, keeping them for a month or two, even (in the case of the duke’s only Rembrandt) for six months.

“Why, darling?” her mother had asked hopelessly that afternoon, looking at Charlotte’s third copy of their sturdy Elizabethan ancestor, Sir Vigilant Daicheston. Adelaide looked back and forth between the two easels.

“Do you think his eyes are quite right, darling?” she asked. “He looks so—well, so piggy, in your version.”

Charlotte smiled back at her mother lovingly. “I know, Mama. I had a problem with his eyes, and then I decided that it emphasized his corpulence rather well. He might have been a quite greedy man, after all. He certainly managed to acquire a lot of possessions, didn’t he?”

“But why copies, dearest? Why not make some more of your own pictures, perhaps some fruit? I love your fruit, and the series of violets you did for Violetta’s wedding were so splendid! I almost burst with pride,” the duchess said.

“I’ll tell you what, Mama,” said Charlotte. “As soon as I’ve finished with Sir Vigilant, I’ll paint you a really beautiful bunch of flowers for your room.”

“Do you know what I’d like, Charlotte?” said her mother. “I would like you to paint a picture for your great-aunt Margaret. It’s getting quite difficult for her to leave her chambers now, and—I know!” she said with great excitement. “When Margaret was young she was known as Marguerite. I believe she was quite beautiful, and so everyone called her after the flower. You can paint her a vase of marguerites, and I vow she’ll be so happy!”

And so Adelaide bustled off to find Campion and arrange for a boy to visit the flower market first thing tomorrow morning and bring home loads of daisies.

“She’s not done with Sir Vigilant yet,” Adelaide confided in Campion. “But having marguerites in the room will put her in the mood, so to speak. Who will you send? Fred? Well, Fred must be sure to tell the flower stalls that we shall be wanting marguerites every morning for at least six to eight weeks. You know how long it takes.”

And indeed he did. The whole household revolved around the progress of Charlotte’s paintings, although she would have been amazed to realize it. When she began a new piece Charlotte worked long hours and danced down the stairs, her face glowing. And when Charlotte danced, the house danced.