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so blind to their situation as to allow him to gamble away her small store of coins meant for emergencies. If this was not an emergency—the chance to see her dearest Beatrix well wed—then Mrs. Trowley didn’t know what would count as one!
    But she would have to do so tomorrow, for right now there was a guest to be greeted and entertained, and if he was the Viscount, then he must be so well entertained that he doesn’t notice the shabbiness of their home or the poor quality of the food to be set upon the table. He must be persuaded somehow to focus all his attention upon Beatrix. Mind you, judging from the way he helped her down from the cart and held onto her hand afterward, it would seem she had already begun to fix his interest. If this really was the longed-for Viscount, that was a very good thing.
    * * *
    Oh, heavens, Beatrix thought, seeing her entire family lined up to greet Lord Rothwood, the man could not be blamed if he turned tail and ran at the sight of so many excited faces. Why were they all so eager? Usually her siblings would be running around, pushing and shoving each other and making a great deal of noise, not in the least concerned with the arrival of a guest, no matter how handsome. Why were they instead regarding him with a look of intense expectancy? Surely they could not have known the man was coming. But wait, he had said something about his aunt writing to her mother so perhaps they did.
    Well, no matter. She must be practical. She took the basket of fruit from the Viscount, blushing to think he had condescended to such kindness as to carry it for her. “I must take this straightaway to Cook,” she said, “or there will be no time for her to make the tarts for dessert.”
    He inclined his head and let her go, and why that should make her feel bereft made no sense to Beatrix. She swept past her family, pausing only long enough to introduce the man to her parents, and left it to her parents to introduce her brothers and sisters to the Viscount.
    In the kitchen, she found Cook all abustle with the news there was company and that likely the company would be sitting down to eat with the family. “What am I to do? There is barely enough to stretch as it is, and plain as can be. Nothing to suit as fine a gentleman as I’m told stands on the front steps right this minute. At least with this fruit the dessert won’t be a disgrace and I thank you kindly for that,” she told Beatrix as she took the basket of fruit.
    Beatrix bit her lip. “You know I would help you if I could.”
    “No, no, that will be quite all right. We’ll manage somehow,” Cook said hastily, shivering at the memory of the last time Beatrix had tried to help in the kitchen. “You,” she said to the one scullery maid, “go and fetch me some eggs. I know there must be some left in the hen house, for you didn’t spend near enough time to find them all this morning.”
    The girl hastened out of the kitchen. Cook turned back to Beatrix. “You’d best go upstairs and change into your nicest dress,” she said.
    “Why?”
    “B-because your parents have a visitor,” Cook sputtered. “It’s your duty to make him feel welcome. Putting on your best dress is a sign of respect. And besides, you’ve got mud on the hem of this one and you don’t want to be tracking that all over the house.”
    Beatrix hesitated. Cook was acting very odd, almost as if she knew something about their visitor. Well, perhaps she did. The servants always seemed to know everything going on in the house, even when the family themselves didn’t. Besides, it made sense what she’d said, so Beatrix took the back stairs up to the room she shared with her sisters. It was crowded, but not as crowded as the room her four brothers shared.
    It took but a few minutes to change. Even so, Beatrix was surprised neither of her sisters popped in to ask her about the Viscount. Normally that was what they would do. But not today. Today, she discovered when she went