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chaperones didn’t seem quite so wretched.
    By the time she returned from a lengthy ride with Blaze, Abbi felt considerably better. She knew Georg was right: Papa’s wishes would be carried out whether she wanted them or not. It was only a matter of time before her mother’s aunts arrived from England to take care of her. They had no doubt been more than willing to comply with Papa’s request, since a healthy trust had been set aside for their efforts. Nevertheless, Abbi told herself, she was mistress of this estate, chaperoning aunts or not.
    The following week brought that dreaded seventeen on the calendar. Abbi felt particularly gloomy as she once again concluded the brief monthly visit with her father. It had been three years ago today that he’d appeared with his mysterious instructions. How could she forget, since it had been the day Blaze was born? As always, seeing her father made Abbi wonder over the situation, but the conclusions were the same, and she fought to push them away by loitering in the market square the better part of the day.
    Abbi arrived home to be greeted with news that the fearsome invasion had come sooner than expected. Leaving Blaze with Georg, she entered the house through a side door in an effort not to be seen before she had a chance to freshen up.
    Marta met her in the hallway, looking concerned. “Miss Abbi,” she said, “your aunts have arrived and they’re waiting for you in the drawing room to have . . .” She wrinkled her nose. “They say it’s time for tea.”
    Marta seemed displeased already. Like herself, Abbi knew the housekeeper didn’t want their comfortable arrangement upset by outsiders.
    “I’ll hurry upstairs to freshen up. You hold them off for ten minutes.”
    “Very good,” she replied. “Oh, and Miss Abbi?”
    “Yes, Marta?”
    She whispered cautiously, “I do hope you aren’t going to let things change too much around here.”
    “I’ll certainly do my best,” Abbi assured her. But Marta didn’t seem convinced, which made Abbi wonder exactly what these ladies were like.
    Beyond the fact that they were her mother’s aunts, Abbi knew little about them. Salina, the younger of the two, had never married, while Ramona had been married briefly, but later in life. Neither had ever borne children. The two were apparently inseparable, and even through Ramona’s brief marriage, Salina had lived nearby. The sisters had first come to Horstberg when their favorite niece, LeeAnna, had married Gerhard Albrecht. They had visited LeeAnna frequently, and together had developed a passion for the culture as well as a fluency with the language. During a visit soon after Abbi’s mother died, Ramona had met and married a local man who had been a widower for some years. He’d died four years later, after which Ramona had returned to England with his name and a good portion of his money, leaving her two stepchildren behind since they were old enough to be on their own. Abbi doubted the sisters had been back since, except for one visit some years ago. She had a vague recollection of them stopping by one afternoon to see how their niece’s daughter was coming along; but it had been years, and she had no distinct memory of either of them.
    Abbi’s attempt to freshen up before facing the invasion proved futile. Approaching the stairs, she was met by a slightly plump, middle-aged woman who nearly collided with her.
    “You must be Abbi,” she chirped, squinting carefully. Before Abbi could respond, she was led by the hand into the drawing room. “Look, Ramona,” she squealed, “here she is at last. Can you believe it? She has her mother’s hair.”
    “Indeed.” The woman who was apparently Ramona sat holding a teacup. “But her mother at least wore it up like a lady.”
    “I’ve been riding,” Abbi apologized, “and didn’t have a chance to freshen up.” She regretted her words as soon as she’d uttered them. There was no reason to justify her appearance to