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prima donna take the stage. Every movement was perfectly smooth, but in no way relaxed. Lady Edmund was always on the alert, and she controlled not only her person, but the space around her.
    Controls it
, thought Rosalind.
But does not inhabit it
.
    â€œThank you for inviting me, Lady Edmund.” Rosalind made her curtsy and took her seat on the round-backed tapestry chair her hostess indicated.
    â€œWill you have a cup of tea?” Lady Edmund was already pouring out as she spoke. “And do try a slice of this apple tart. We’ve a new cook, you know, and I shall be most interested in your opinion.”
    Rosalind slid etiquette and expectation firmly across her impatience. She drank the tea and inquired as to its provenance.She ate the tart and pronounced it excellent. The nutmeg was a perfect touch, much to be preferred over cinnamon as an accompaniment for apples, especially if one was also enjoying a good cheddar cheese with them. The roads were, of course, bad, the weather was worse, and all families of their mutual acquaintance were last heard to be in excellent health.
    As the polite and practiced chatter flowed, Rosalind cast any number of surreptitious glances about her. Lady Edmund had clearly taken advantage of her time away to institute sweeping changes to her household decor. The frescoes, tapestries, and gilding Rosalind remembered had been replaced by plain paint: dusky red for the upper walls, pure white for the panels, trim, and ceiling. Only a few plaster rosettes and garlands were suffered to remain. These were relieved at reasonable intervals by tasteful oil paintings, mostly copies of great masters, with one or two family portraits between them.
    Lady Edmund had also changed. Not in her
toilette
; that remained perfect. Her sage green morning dress was exactly what the moment called for, being elegant and expensive without overt ostentation. Her dark hair was swept back and pinned beneath a cap that was little more than a scrap of tissue. Nonetheless, Rosalind detected fresh lines around Lady Edmund’s wide mouth, and a furrow between her ruthlessly plucked brows. These small signs showed Rosalind that Lady Edmund had hardened herself. As with the rest of the room, everything that was not of immediate use to the leading lady had been put away.
    â€œNow, Miss Thorne.” Lady Edmund set her empty cup and its saucer down on the new teakwood table. “I fear I must beg your pardon. The truth of the matter is, I have invited you here to ask a favor.”
    â€œThere is no pardon necessary, Lady Edmund. How can I beof assistance?” Rosalind put her plate aside with a small twinge of regret. The tart really was excellent, and there was still a bit left. But it would not have been polite to keep eating now that the business portion of this conversation had commenced.
    â€œI was wondering if I might persuade you to come stay with us for the month? As you know, Honoria and I are only just returned from the country, and before that our tour abroad. Everything is at sixes and sevens. We stand in sore need of your calming influence as we prepare for the new season.”
    And that, Rosalind mused, was as close as Lady Edmund would come to mentioning the fact that Honoria had been jilted in favor of Emma Ibbotson-Davies and her bewitching ways, not to mention her fifty thousand pounds.
    â€œLady Edmund, I thank you for your kind invitation,” said Rosalind, “but I’m afraid I must decline.”
    Another woman would have huffed, or even cried out in surprise. But in twenty-five years of close and glittering confinement in London society, Lady Edmund Aimesworth had never been required to so much as raise her voice.
    She said, “I trust, Miss Thorne, that I may be frank without giving offense?”
    â€œI much prefer plain speaking, Lady Edmund.”
    â€œA quality of yours I particularly admire. Now, while your skills and connections would prove invaluable to