“I … I’m rather tired,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even and her demeanor calm. “I think I shall go lie down for a while.” She walked over to Mama and pressed a kiss to her soft cheek before picking up her portmanteau. She was just about to make her escape from the drawing room when Mrs. Pettigrew appeared in the doorway, looking unusually harried. “Forgive me, ma’am,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “But Lord Singleton has just arrived.”

Sophie’s stomach dropped through her knees. “What’s he doing here?” she asked Mama. “I didn’t extend an invitation.”

“That’s rather ungracious of you,” Mary said, sniffing. “I should think Lord Singleton would be welcome here any time.”

Some of Sophie’s dismay over the marquess’s unexpected visit twisted itself into resentment. “Then perhaps you should be the one to entertain him,” she suggested.

“Girls!” Mama hissed. “That is quite enough.”

Guilt sliced through Sophie, and she pressed her fingertips to her forehead, contrite. “Forgive me. I don’t know what came over me. Of course I’ll receive Lord Singleton.” She set her bag behind the sofa, plucked a book from the shelf, and sat in a chair beside the window. Opening to a random page, she mustered a smile for Mrs. Pettigrew. “Would you be so kind as to show the marquess in?”

“Of course, Miss Sophie,” said the kindly, ruddy-faced housekeeper. “Shall I prepare tea?”

It had been on the tip of Sophie’s tongue to say no, but Mama quickly replied, “Please, Mrs. Pettigrew. Lord Singleton is an esteemed guest, and we must make him feel most welcome whenever he deigns to visit us.”

Sophie swallowed the knot lodged at the back of her throat, because while her mother’s words had been directed toward the housekeeper, Sophie knew that they were intended for her.

Mary quickly packed up her needlework, no doubt preparing to escape to her room, as she usually did. But then Mama lifted her chin and, looking uncharacteristically stern, said, “Mary, you will remain here for the duration of Lord Singleton’s visit and endeavor to be both pleasant and engaging. Is that understood?”

Mary swallowed, set down her sewing basket, and patted her head self-consciously. “Thank heaven Lottie was able to see to my hair one last time,” she said dramatically.

All three women—Mama, Mary, and Sophie—took their seats like actresses preparing for the curtain to go up on a scene. Mama sat at the desk as though she’d been tending to correspondence. Mary picked up the handkerchief she’d been embroidering. Sophie pretended to read.

A few moments later, Mrs. Pettigrew announced Lord Singleton, then scurried off to help Mrs. Appleby prepare tea.

To the marquess’s credit, he acted as though he hadn’t noticed the absence of the butler. Addressing Mama, he said, “Good afternoon, Lady Callahan.”