Alfred’s excitement dimmed. “At Orrick’s Emporium?”

“Of course, at Orrick’s,” Charlie retorted.

“They don’t like us in the village,” Daisy said in a small voice.

“Oh, don’t they?” Julia’s indecision hardened into firm resolve. “We shall see about that.”

The village of Hardholme was as dreary as its name suggested. Situated on the edge of the moors, it consisted primarily of a single main street flanked by a handful of shops, most of which had plainly seen better days. Among them, Orrick’s Emporium appeared the most prosperous. It boasted an elaborate painted sign and a large front window in which a display of ruffled parasols, dyed-leather gloves, and two jauntily trimmed straw bonnets had been arranged on stacks of pink and green hatboxes.

Mr. Plimstock helped Julia down from the carriage. She shook out her blue silk skirts. Before leaving the Hall, she’d changed into one of her carriage gowns. She’d even managed to put on her corset, determined that her appearance would be beyond reproach.

The children climbed out after her—Charlie and Alfred eager, and Daisy looking anxious.

“We won’t be overlong,” Julia informed Plimstock as she took Daisy’s hand.

Plimstock stood at the horses’ heads. “I’ll be waiting, Mrs. Blunt, don’t you worry.”

Taggert’s Market was two shops down from Orrick’s Emporium. A village woman in a drab dress and bonnet was exiting with her shopping.

Julia extracted a few pennies from her reticule and gave them to the boys. “Run ahead and get yourselves some sweets. Daisy and I will be at the Emporium. You can join us there directly.”

Charlie and Alfred bolted off to the market. The door of the shop jangled as they entered, swinging shut behind them.

Julia took a moment to reassure Daisy. “You needn’t distress yourself. I won’t let anyone be unkind to you here.”

Daisy’s eyes were doubtful.

“Shopping can be extraordinary fun,” Julia promised. “Just you wait and see.”

She’d no sooner got the words out than the door to Taggert’s Market jangled open again with a crash. Alfred and Charlie tumbled out into the street. Their arms flailed as they staggered to keep from falling down.

A large man filled the doorway behind them, his hair and mustache glistening with pomade. Both his manner and the apron tied at his waist proclaimed his identity as the shop’s owner, Mr. Taggert.

“And stay out, you ruffians!” he bellowed. “I’ve told you before, I won’t have you in my shop making trouble.”

Julia stared at the shopkeeper in outrage. “I beg your pardon.” She strode toward him, pulling Daisy along behind her. “What’s the meaning of this?”

The shopkeeper looked at her, startled. He immediately recovered himself, seeming to register the ladylike refinement of her accents and the elegance of her London-made clothes.

He sketched an apologetic bow. “Forgive the disruption, ma’am. These guttersnipes will make a nuisance of themselves. Why, only last month—” He broke off as his eyes lit on Daisy. His genial expression vanished. “I say, is that another of Blunt’s—”