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and Martha appeared, bringing clothes, along with warm water for the wash-basin.
    Finished with her breakfast, Isobel completed her toilette and Martha assisted her with dressing.
    She donned a fine muslin day dress, with a sprigged pattern of clover green. She couldn’t help but wonder where the garment had come from. It was certainly not the portly cook’s. Perhaps it belonged to one of Lord Thornby’s mistresses. Absently, Isobel thought how she missed her own clothes, her own bed, and her own house. If she played her cards right, they would be hers again before long.
    Isobel pinned up her long blond curls and arranged them as fetchingly as she could. The state of her hair was the least of her concerns.
    The heavy door creaked as she opened it, and Isobel almost tripped over the dog lying in the doorway. The shaggy brown shepherd bounded to his feet, tail wagging furiously, and turned around to pant up at her.
    “I remember you,” she said, patting his big furry head. “You certainly gave me a fright when we first met. But now I see you’re really a pussycat. Pardon the comparison.”
    The dog didn’t seem to mind. He regarded her through half-lidded eyes, his pink tongue hanging from the side of his mouth.
    “Where’s your master?” she asked. “Can you take me to him, boy?”
    The dog barked, then trotted down the hallway to the top of the staircase. He stopped to look back at Isobel, then headed down.
    As Isobel tried to keep up, she heard loud male voices coming from one of the front rooms. Her heart beat a little nervously at the laughter and scandalous cursing. As the dog led her to a doorway, Isobel heard more of what seemed to be a strange conversation between three people.
    “ Caesar want treat. Caesar want treat ,” a strange, high-pitched voice said.
    “No, Caesar. No treat,” Lord Thornby replied.
    “ Caesar good boy. Caesar want treat .”
    “I said no, Caesar.”
    Did Lord Thornby have a child he hadn’t mentioned?
    “ Caesar want treat. Caesar want treat. Ahhkk !”
    A loud flapping sound filled the air, and curiosity made Isobel rush around the doorframe. Her eyes widened as she saw a large gray bird sitting on Lord Thornby’s head, flapping its wings and screeching like a banshee.
    Thornby turned, the bird still on his head. When he saw her, he grinned mischievously. A dark-haired man stood beside him and chuckled at the scene.
    Isobel covered fought to stifle a giggle.
    “ Pretty bird. Ahhkk! Pretty bird ,” squawked Caesar.
    “That’s right, Caesar. She is a pretty bird,” Lord Thornby said, grinning wickedly.
    Caesar took flight in a flurry of pale gray wings. Isobel squealed in shock as the creature landed on her shoulder and fluffed its feathers.
    “Oh!” she sputtered, fearfully looking sideways at the big parrot who studied her with a penetrating yellow eye.
    “ Hello. Ahhkk! Hello ” the bird said.
    “Caesar! Get off Miss Hampton’s shoulder at once, you silly bird! My apologies, Miss Hampton,” Lord Thornby said, putting the loudly protesting bird back in its cage. “Caesar becomes excited when he meets new people.”
    “Oh, no harm done,” she replied. “What kind of bird is he?”
    “An African Gray parrot,” he replied. “I found him sitting in a tree in Hyde Park one morning. He flew down to see me, and I brought him home to join the menagerie.”
    “You mean there are more?” Isobel asked.
    “Beckett’s been taking in stray animals since we were boys,” the man next to her fiancé answered.
    “Do forgive me, Miss Hampton,” Lord Thornby said. “Allow me to introduce Lord Weston, who assisted me in bringing you home. Alfred, Miss Isobel Hampton, soon to be the Viscountess Thornby and Countess of Ravenwood.”
    Lord Weston took her hand and gallantly pressed it to his lips. His dark, coffee-brown eyes bored into hers with a smoldering look. “I am honored to make your acquaintance, Miss Hampton, and very pleased to see you have recovered from your