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thought made his face look blockish. His clothes were finer than any she had seen, and jeweled rings flashed on his hands. He bore himself very upright and had a pompous air that she supposed must go along with being a nobleman. Ten or twelve other men followed in his wake, including Jem, dressed in his finest clothes and looking nervous.
    “That’s Sir George.” Lizzie nodded at the gentleman at their head. Bess’s new master was a tall and soldierly man in his thirties, with a strong jaw and bright blue eyes, and she thought him a much finer figure of a man than the duke.
    The gentlemen took their places at the head table but made no move to eat. Bess looked regretfully at the roast joint and platters of meat on the table, no longer steaming. She was feeling light-headed with the lack of food and thought suddenly with terror that she might faint. She breathed deeply and willed herself to remain upright.
    Another fanfare sounded from below. Her stomach turning over with hunger, Bess cried out to Lizzie under the blaring of the horns, “Will we never eat?”
    But the fanfare ended even as she spoke. Her words echoed off the high ceiling. Every face turned to her. The duke, amusement in his eyes. Sir George, glowering. Lady Zouche, her mouth tight with anger. Bess wished she could sink into the floor. She opened her mouth to apologize, but found that she could not even speak. Surely she would be sent home now. She had been given a golden chance and had failed before she had even properly embarked on her new life. Oh, God, what would her mother say to see her come halting back? And how could she help the family if she could not reach to some higher place in the world?
    The silence seemed to last forever, but at length a black-gowned chaplain stepped forward, and all bowed their heads. No one moved to cast Bess out, and as the cleric said grace, she thanked God, swearing to redeem herself in her mistress’s eyes.
    At last the company took their seats and the meal began. Plates of roasted mutton and chicken were placed on the tables, along with baskets of bread and a potage of oatmeal, broth, and herbs. When at last the wooden trencher before Bess was laden with helpings of everything, she was so ravenous she thought she could not get the food into her stomach fast enough, but she tried to eat daintily. The mutton was highly spiced, which she was not used to, but she decided she liked it.
    There was little talk among the people gathered at the tables and though Lady Zouche appeared to be in good humor now, Bess had no wish to draw further attention to herself, so she took the opportunity to look around the room, admiring the high windows, elaborately molded plaster frieze above the mantelpiece painted in bright colors, and fine tapestries covering the walls. The people were even more interesting. Bess was surprised to note that she, Lady Zouche, Audrey, Lizzie, and Doll were the only females present.
    The gowned steward presided over the table where Jem sat with the liveried men who had carried out the ceremony before the meal.
    “Who are they?” she wondered, emboldened to speak now that there was a murmur of conversation.
    “Sir George’s cupbearer, carver, gentlemen ushers, secretary, and master of the horse,” Lizzie said.
    “They are gentlemen then?”
    “Certainly they are gentlemen!” Doll shook her honey-colored curls impatiently. “And they serve Sir George in places of honor, just as he serves the king.”
    “But then there are other servants?” Bess ventured.
    “Of course, but you wouldn’t expect the stable boys and scullions to eat in the great chamber, would you?”
    Bess only shook her head, not wanting to seem ignorant, as that was exactly what she did expect, as that was how the household ate at Hardwick, everyone together.
    “The lower servants eat in the hall below,” Audrey explained, “and those who cook and who serve them eat after that.”
    “The eating must never cease then!” Bess