The carriage took the curve in the driveway and the glory of Davenport Hall opened up before us. It stood at least twice the size of our family seat, Duffield House, and had been built during the first King George’s reign, in the Palladian style. The much-celebrated Davenport domed roof crowned the main building, and large wings stretched out on either side: the east for accommodation and the west housing the kitchen and service rooms. Julia and I had stayed here, happily, so many times that we each had our own bedchamber.

We pulled up outside the stone steps that led to the front portico, the luggage coach with Weatherly and our maids coming to a halt farther back, closer to the servants’ entrance.

My dear Charlotte stood at the top of the steps, dressed in burgundy and gold lace and flanked by her butler, Hanford. Unusual—the Countess Davenport did not usually come out to greet guests on arrival. Our eyes met, and a smile lit her face. Surely to be met with such warmth was one of life’s delights.

Charlotte’s footman opened the carriage door, waiting to hand us down. I descended first, taking his arm and arriving on the gravel just as Charlotte did. I curtsied, as did she, and then with a laugh she embraced me in a waft of her lily perfume and arms tight around my shoulders. Even more unusual; Charlotte was not one for displays of physical affection. Was something amiss? I returned the hard hug.

“I was not expecting you so early,” she said urgently against my ear. “Prepare yourself because—”

But she had no chance to finish her warning, for a familiar voice called from the top of the steps, “Ah, Lady Augusta, how wonderful to see you again.”

Charlotte’s arms tightened, bracing my horrified recognition. Dear God, Emelia Ellis-Brant. The Ermine. Exactly the busybody we did not need anywhere near Lady Hester and Miss Grant.

“Porty brought her and her husband from London without informing me,” Charlotte whispered against my ear.

Lord Davenport, or Porty to his intimates, was Charlotte’s husband and cousin to the Ermine’s spouse. While an affable man, Porty was also prone to impulsive and inconvenient gestures of generosity. Particularly when it came to his Ellis-Brant cousin.

I prepared my smile, then drew back from Charlotte’s embrace and looked up the steps at the pale blond woman resplendent in orange silk and a red shawl. Oddly, Charlotte kept hold of my hand; did she think I would take to my heels?

“Ah, Mrs. Ellis-Brant, what a pleasant surprise to see you here.”

“We came with Davenport now that His Royal Highness has finally gone to Brighton. How jolly to be here all together.”

Jolly was not the word I would have used.

“Yes,” Charlotte said. Her grip tightened. “An unexpected pleasure. And you will see that Mr. Talbot is here with us too.”