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bloodshot eyes, and it did not require a whiff of his overpowering breath to inform her he had been imbibing strong spirits rather heavily. Third, dry out the butler, she added to her list.
    “I am Miss Anne Hemsworth. Mr. Trussell has engaged me to be the new governess.” Without waiting for a reaction from him, she sailed past the befuddled man, drawing off her gloves even while she continued to instruct him. “Please inform the housekeeper of my arrival and tell her I expect to see her at once .”
    He gawked up at her as if she were a figment of his imagination, or more likely, an hallucination whose origins might well be attributed to the consumption of far too many bottles of smuggled French brandy.
    She waited while he rubbed his eyes and then goggled up at her again without apparent comprehension. “I am the new governess.” With more patience than she had shown the groom, she looked down at him and repeated herself, this time speaking loudly and enunciating every word clearly. “Send the housekeeper here to me at once.”
    Finally her words seemed to penetrate the alcoholic haze in his brain. “The housekeeper? You want to see Mrs. Plimtree?”
    “Yes, fetch Mrs. Plimtree.” Anne sat down on an immense chair of medieval design, which appeared totally incongruous next to a delicately carved table holding a cracked Venetian glass vase containing the dismal remains of what may or may not have once been roses. The parquetry surface of the table had been damaged by water leaking from the vase, and the corners of many of the individual pieces of inlaid wood were curling up.
    The butler shuffled his feet beside her, but Anne stoically ignored his continued presence, and finally he went away. Some time later a painfully thin woman appeared in the hallway, a ring of keys at her waist proclaiming her to be the housekeeper.
    “If you are the new governess, you ought to have come ‘round to the servants’ door,” the woman began querulously, but Anne cut her short.
    “You may show me to my room and then have my luggage brought up. I shall require hot water immediately and a cup of tea in precisely twenty-five minutes.” A duchess could not have been more regal or more haughty, and the housekeeper, although not precisely cowed, began to sound a bit more respectful.
    “Well, then, I’ll just have Harry fetch your things in at once.”
    “Harry has been detained in town. From somewhere he seems to have acquired the absurd notion that he is being paid good wages to drink ale with his friends. In this he will find that he is grossly in error.”
    So saying, Anne rose slowly to her feet, and by the time she had straightened to her full height, the housekeeper’s mouth was hanging open, her eyes were virtually popping out of her head, and her hands were twisting her apron, which in Anne’s opinion could have been vastly improved by the judicious application of soap and water.
    Twenty minutes later there was a very loud knock at the door of Anne’s room. Opening it, she did not find the tea she had ordered, but in place of the maid, two slightly grubby boys stood in the corridor. They were obviously not expecting to find someone as tall as she was, since their gazes were firmly fixed at about the level of her waist. Slowly their eyes traveled up to meet hers.
    They regarded her with blank looks, then turned to each other and Anne had the feeling they were engaging in some form of unspoken communication. From what she could see, they were as alike as two peas in a pod—tousled blond hair above guileless green eyes.
    They lifted their faces to her again, and Anne had to admit the two of them were appealing. If one discounted the dirt, they might easily have served as models for a painting of cherubs by Raphael.
    “Are you the new governess?” the boy on the left asked.
    “Yes, I am Miss Anne Hemsworth. You may call me Anne.”
    “I am Lord Anthony,” the boy on the right said. “And this is my brother Andrew,