It was difficult to believe anything of the sort was possible from the beauty before her. Then again, Adelaide was considered a beauty as well, and her tongue could be sharper than any dagger in the world.

If she were to continue her plan to master her new life as Lady Basset, to turn this circumstance to her advantage, it might behoove her to make an ally of Emblyn Moyle. Particularly when the girl was so important to Basset.

Illegitimate or not, it would seem she was a fixture at Trevadden.

But how could women so very far apart find any sort of common ground, let alone form an alliance?

Mervyn entered the room then, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Be that dinner, then, Mervyn?” Miss Moyle called with a grin for the butler, a few dark tendrils escaping from her simple knot.

Mervyn, shockingly, smiled rather freely back. “It is, Miss Emblyn. At your convenience, of course.”

Adelaide’s eyes narrowed. So Miss Moyle had won over the Trevadden staff and softened them in a way Adelaide had yet to even witness in her time there. There was no indication that the stately and capable Mervyn could become so congenial and warm. He was not the picture of formality, but he was teasing Miss Moyle in return.

Teasing! From a butler!

If this was another game she had to master, she was starting ten paces behind.

She had never excelled at games, but she could not afford to fail now.

“Shall we?” Harrison asked the ladies, rising and gesturing toward the dining room.

Adelaide nodded, making sure to rise as gracefully as possible even as Miss Moyle shot to her feet with all the grace of a hound.

She could not help smirking at that and turned to take her husband’s arm.

Only it was not there.

Adelaide blinked, glancing around for him. “Basset?”

He stopped at the dining room door. “Yes?”

She frowned. “Are you not going to escort me in?”

Miss Moyle snorted loudly and without manners. “’E’s against wha’s proper when it’s jus’ us. E’en wi’ friends, ’e’s not.”

Adelaide glanced at her coolly. “I believe you dropped several of the consonants in your general pronunciation, Miss Moyle, but I shall try to understand you.” She exhaled as though it was a trial and tilted her head. “He, meaning Basset, is against propriety for a simple meal among family and friends?”

Miss Moyle’s cheeks were almost glowing red, and she merely dipped her chin in a nod.

“I see.” Adelaide turned back to her husband, raising a brow. “Why?”