“But”—Walter cast a longing look at the banisters—“they’re very good banisters.”

“Perhaps . . . ,” Simon began, “if you were to try it, you would see why they are very good banisters.” He shook his head mournfully. “And why it would be a shame to waste them.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “I’ll tell you a secret.” She knelt down to be closer to eye level. “I did try it when I was a girl.” She met Simon’s gaze directly. “And I found myself in a great deal of trouble.”

Simon nodded in a sympathetic manner.

“Now, as you are to stay for the night, I think perhaps you would like to help with the decorating tomorrow. And, oh, I’m sure Mrs. Fortesque is already making gingerbread and . . .” An idea struck her and she paused. It would certainly serve Grayson right. She gestured for the boys to come closer and they gathered around her. “Tell me, boys, do you know what a masquerade is?”

“Where people wear costumes and masks and the like?” Thomas asked.

“That’s it exactly.” She beamed. “Well, we are having something of a masquerade here and you are all going to have a part to play.”

“Can I be a pirate?” Walter’s eyes widened at the thought of piratical bliss. “With a cutlass and a patch over my eye?”

“I want to be a pirate,” George, or maybe it was Henry, said.

“Me too,” his twin echoed.

“I’m afraid it’s not that kind of masquerade.” She shook her head. “But we shall all be pretending to be someone we aren’t.”

“I don’t know.” Thomas shook his head slowly.

“We’d get in trouble if we lied.” Concern creased Simon’s forehead.

Walter elbowed him. “It’s not lying. It’s pretending. And if she tells us to do it, it would be disob . . . disbo . . .”

“Disobedient?” she asked.

Walter nodded. “That’s it. Mum said to do what Lady Lydingham said.”

“To start with, you may all call me ‘Cousin Camille’ and my sister ‘Cousin Beryl.’ And you see the gentleman standing beside Cousin Beryl?” She looked over her shoulder at Grayson, and the boys followed her gaze. “You may call him ‘Uncle Grayson,’ and we shall pretend that you are all orphans who have come to live with him.”

The boys traded glances.

“Begging your pardon, Lady—Cousin Camille, but . . .” Thomas grimaced. “We’ve read stories about orphans and orphanages and workhouses and—”

“Scary stories.” Walter’s eyes widened.

“We really don’t want to be orphans, if it’s all the same to you,” Simon added quickly.