It was midafternoon now. Her feet ached from trudging up and down muddy lanes, and she didn’t have a position. Old Mrs. Lester had no love of literature. Her son-in-law was too parsimonious to hire a companion in any case. Anna called round on several other ladies, hinting that she might be open to a position, only to find they either could not afford a companion or simply did not want one.

Then she’d come to Felicity Clearwater’s home.

Felicity was the third wife of Squire Clearwater, a man some thirty years older than his bride. The squire was the largest landowner in the county besides the Earl of Swartingham. As his wife, Felicity clearly considered herself the preeminent social figure in Little Battleford and rather above the humble Wren household. But Felicity had two girls of a suitable age for a governess, so Anna had called on her. She’d spent an excruciating half hour feeling her way like a cat walking on sharp pebbles. When Felicity had caught on to Anna’s reason for visiting, she’d smoothed a pampered hand over her already immaculate coiffure. Then she’d sweetly enquired about Anna’s musical knowledge.

The vicarage had never run to a harpsichord when Anna’s family had occupied it. A fact Felicity knew very well, since she’d called there on several occasions as a girl.

Anna had taken a deep breath. “I’m afraid I don’t have any musical ability, but I do have a bit of Latin and Greek.”

Felicity had flicked open a fan and tittered behind it. “Oh, I do apologize,” she’d said when she’d recovered. “But my girls will not be learning anything so masculine as Latin or Greek. It’s rather unbecoming in a lady, don’t you think?”

Anna had grit her teeth, but managed a smile. Until Felicity had suggested she try the kitchen to see if Cook needed a new scullery maid. Things had gone downhill from there.

Anna sighed now. She might very well end up a scullery maid or worse, but not at Felicity’s house. Time to head home.

Rounding the corner at the ironmonger’s, she just managed to avoid a collision with Mr. Felix Hopple hurrying in the other direction. She skidded to a halt inches shy of the Ravenhill steward’s chest. A packet of needles, some yellow embroidery floss, and a small bag of tea for Mother Wren slid to the ground from her basket.

“Oh, do excuse me, Mrs. Wren,” the little man gasped as he bent to retrieve the items. “I’m afraid I was not minding where my feet carried me.”

“That’s quite all right.” Anna eyed the violet and crimson striped waistcoat he wore and blinked. Good Lord. “I hear the earl is finally in residence at Ravenhill. You must be quite busy.”