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to ye.”
    “And to you, so I’ll be especially careful.” Caroline pushed her hood back from her face.
    Cook shrugged as if she didn’t care. “There’s a lot o’ positions fer a good cook.”
    “Yes, but I need a cook who cares for my sister as you do.” Caroline pressed the worn hands. “Where is she?”
    “She’s reading in the classroom. Stay ’ere. I’ll go get ’er.” Cook moved softly for a woman of her girth. She had to. Mr. Ritter was a strict taskmaster who demanded his servants provide faultless cleanliness, perfectly cooked meals, and absolute silence. He did not accept mistakes of any kind. Many a serving maid had been dismissed without a reference for dropping her duster, and the result of such strictness was a house as still as a tomb. And dark, and grim.
    Stepping back into the shadows, Caroline pulled her thin coat close around her shoulders. She hated to come back here. Hated more that Genevieve had to live here. But she had the solution. She had the solution at last.
    She heard the swift patter of Genevieve’s footsteps on the stairway and irresistibly, her smile blossomed. As Genevieve entered the kitchen, Cook on her heels, Caroline stepped into the light.
    The single lamp showed a tall girl of fourteen. She moved awkwardly, as if her own hands and feet were alien to her. Her features looked too large for her face. She had spots, and she slumped to compensate for her height. In fact, she was the image of Caroline at that age.
    “You’re beautiful.” Caroline spoke softly and embraced her.
    “Huh.” Genevieve hugged her back, but her scowl seemed to have put permanent lines between her eyebrows. “Nobody agrees with you.”
    “They will.” Caroline stepped back and took her hands. “I have the most wonderful news. I have a position with the duke of Nevett.”
    “That’s good,” Genevieve said cautiously. “Doing what?”
    “Teaching his son to flirt.”
    “That’s dumb,” Genevieve said, with uncensored adolescent scorn.
    “Maybe so, but it’s something I know how to do, and you know what he said?” Caroline squeezed Genevieve’s hands in excitement. “He said that if, by the end of the Season, his son is betrothed to a girl of good family, he’s going to give me a bonus of one thousand pounds. ”
    “Miss Caroline!” Cook dropped into a chair as if she’d been shot.
    “One thousand pounds?” Genevieve stared as if she didn’t quite understand. “Are you sure?”
    “Yes! A thousand pounds if I deliver his son to the altar.” Caroline lifted her skirt and curtsied to Genevieve. “Do you know what that means?”
    “We can go to France and live with Mama’s family?” Genevieve guessed.
    “Yes!” Caroline did a few dance steps.
    Genevieve’s eyes, the exact color of Caroline’s, widened. “Can you do it?”
    “I most definitely can.” Caroline vowed, “Lord Huntington’s bachelor days are numbered.”

Chapter 4
    J ude straightened his cuffs as he entered the party that night at Blythe Hall. The Throckmorton home in Suffolk lay a short train ride away from London, and the place hummed with celebration and laughter, with dancing, good cheer—and with intrigue.
    Garrick Throckmorton worked with the Home Office, as did his lovely wife, Celeste. Throckmorton’s mother, Lady Philberta, his brother, Ellery and Ellery’s wife, Hyacinth, were off visiting Italy, and Jude would wager they, too, performed some duty to the crown. The Throckmortons were a dynasty of spies, yet Garrick Throckmorton was also a financier of some repute, the man to whom many applied when they wanted investment tips. To top it off, the Throckmorton family reigned as scions of society, and an invitation to one of their parties was a coup d’etat for any member of the ton. So Jude wasn’t conspicuous as he greeted his many acquaintances—not conspicuous, unless one considered his silver velvet evening jacket trimmed in beads.
    Throckmorton separated himself from a laughing group