“Just get to the point, Perriwick.”

“You clearly did not want it to be made public that Miss…ah…Miss…er…shall we call her Miss Invisible—”

“Miss Trent,” Caroline supplied helpfully.

“—Miss Trent is here.”

“Yes, well, she's here, and that's that,” Blake said irritatedly. “You needn't pretend you don't see her.”

“Oh, no, Mr. Ravenscroft, she is clearly visible now.”

“Perriwick, one of these days I am going to strangle you.”

“I do not doubt it, sir. But may I be so bold as to—”

“What, Perriwick?”

“I merely wanted to inquire as to whether Miss Trent's visit to Seacrest Manor is now meant to be made public.”

“No!” Caroline answered, loudly. “That is, I would prefer you keep this information to yourself. At least for the next few weeks.”

“Of course,” Perriwick replied with a smart bow. “Now, if you will excuse me, I will see to the mishap.”

“Thank you, Perriwick,” Blake said.

“If I might be so bold, Mr. Ravenscroft—”

“What is it now, Perriwick?”

“I merely wished to suggest that you and Miss Trent might be more comfortable having your tea in another room while I tidy this one.”

“Oh, he's not having tea with me,” Caroline said.

“Yes, I am,” Blake ground out.

“I don't see why. You yourself said you didn't want to have anything to do with me.”

“That's not entirely true,” Blake shot back. “I very much enjoy crossing you.”

“Yes, that much is clear.”

Perriwick's head bobbed back and forth like a spectator at a badminton match, and then the old man actually smiled.

“You!” Blake snapped, pointing at Perriwick. “Be quiet.”

Perriwick's hand went to his heart in a dramatic gesture of dismay. “If I might be so—”

“Perriwick, you're the boldest damned butler in England, and you well know it.”

“I merely intended,” the butler replied, looking rather smug, “to ask if you would like me to remove the tea service to another room. I did suggest that you might be more comfortable elsewhere, if you recall.”

“That is an excellent idea, Perriwick,” Caroline said with a blinding smile.

“Miss Trent, you are clearly a woman of superior manners, good humor, and a fine mind.”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Blake muttered.

“Not to mention,” Perriwick continued, “excellent taste and refinement. Were you responsible for the lovely rearrangement of our garden yesterday?”

“Yes, I was,” she said, delighted. “Did you like the new layout?”

“Miss Trent, it clearly reflected the hand of one with a rare sense of the aesthetic, true brilliance, and just a touch of whimsy.”

Blake looked as if he might happily boot his butler clear to London. “Perriwick, Miss Trent is not a candidate for sainthood.”

“Sadly, no,” Perriwick admitted. “Not, however, that I have ever considered the church to be of impeccable judgment. When I think of some of the people they've sainted, why, I—”

Caroline's laughter filled the room. “Perriwick, I think I love you. Where have you been all of my life?”

He smiled modestly. “Serving Mr. Ravenscroft, and his uncle before him.”