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and then she asked, ‘Why did you not marry her?’
    ‘My family were against it. Her name was Tabitha – I called her Tabby for short. She was like a little kitten, all sweetness and play.’
    ‘And what did your family find so monstrous about this paragon?’
    ‘My Tabby was a tavern wench.’
    Fiona raised those odd and beautiful eyes of hers to his. ‘My dear Lord Peter,’ she said sorrowfully, ‘we are so much alike. I, too, have been in love.’
    ‘Odso?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Fiona dreamily. ‘He was my aunt’s footman, Charles. So divine. So tall and fair and handsome.’
    ‘Well,’ remarked Lord Peter tartly, ‘when you reach the great age of twenty-one, you can seek him out and marry him.’
    ‘Alas, I cannot. He is married. To a kitchen wench. They keep a hedge tavern. What of your Tabby?’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘The love of your life,’ said Fiona patiently.
    ‘The same. When I reached my independence, I went to find her.’
    ‘Married?’
    ‘Yes. To a . . . er . . . footman.’
    ‘But footmen are not allowed to marry.’
    ‘He left his employ and became a gamekeeper.’
    ‘What a most enterprising footman,’ giggled Fiona.
    ‘You should not laugh,’ said Lord Peter severely, ‘I was heart-broken.’
    A smell of bergamot enveloped them and a genteel cough sounded in their ears. ‘Miss Macleod,’ said Effy Tribble, ‘the dancing has recommenced this age and your partners are looking for you.’
    Fiona got to her feet and Lord Peter rose as well. ‘Good evening, my lord,’ she said demurely, buttoning her gloves. ‘I shall no doubt not see you again this evening. It would surely be too much of a coincidence if one of my other partners had the vapours and surrendered his dance to you.’
    She smiled sweetly on him and moved away with Effy.
    ‘Minx,’ said Lord Peter Havard to no one in particular.
* * *
    ‘Captain Freddy Beaumont was most particular in his attentions,’ said Amy as the Tribbles’ rented carriage bore them homeward at three in the morning. She tried to read the expression on Fiona’s face, but the dim light from the carriage lamps bobbing on their springs was not strong enough to illuminate the girl’s face clearly.
    ‘No doubt he will call tomorrow,’ said Effy brightly. ‘Such legs! Did you mark his legs, Fiona?’
    ‘Yes, divine,’ said Fiona, stifling a yawn.
    Effy flashed a look of triumph at Amy, who winked. How pleased the Burgesses would be to learn their niece was engaged before the Season even began.
    Assuming that all was right and tight, they did not question Fiona any further.
    The Tribbles found to their surprise when they reached their home in Holles Street that the house was in darkness and the door was locked. Effy banged at the knocker, but no one answered it.
    ‘I have a key,’ said Amy, opening a reticule like a coal-sack and hoisting out a massive iron key, which she inserted in the lock. ‘I’ll go downstairs and see what has happened to that lazy butler.’
    ‘No, no,’ said Effy weakly. ‘Too tired. So very tired. Time enough in the morning.’
    So the Tribbles went to bed unaware of the great revolution that had taken place in the servants’ quarters during their absence, when Frank had returned to preach anarchy and to rouse the staff with the news that he had it on the best authority that the Tribbles did not intend to pay any wages on the next quarter-day.

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    Oh, let us love our own vocations,
Bless the squire and his relations
And always know our proper stations!
Old Hymn
    Inspired by Frank, the servants had celebrated their rebellion with several bottles of the best port. Had it not been for this celebration, Amy would never have found out about the rebellion because the sober servants would have been at their posts when dawn broke and alcohol and excitement would no longer fuel their brains. It had not been Frank’s nonsense of rebellion which had spurred them on, but his shattering news that the Tribbles did not intend to pay