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her cloak and nightgown. The stairwell was plainly intended for servants. She went as quickly as she dared on the unfamiliar steps, afraid of meeting someone.
    The stairs ended in a dim stone-floored hallway, with doors and passages opening off it. There was the noise of a kitchen nearby: pots banging, dishes clattering, voices raised in anger at a task done poorly. Elle could smell meat cooking, and the yeasty, buttery smell of pastries or bread.
    Her stomach rumbled at the enticing scents, but she could hardly go in and filch a snack. Boullion and toast all day had left her appetite anything but satisfied. With a quick stab of regret she turned away from the source of the delicious smells and looked for an exit.
    It took only a moment to locate the door that led out to the cobbled yard. Here, too, there were lanterns litagainst the darkness, and Elle could see that there were stables across the yard. A few men and boys were moving around, one leading a horse. No one had noticed her. She pulled the hood up over her head, then sidled along the wall into the shadows.
    From which way had she come? She couldn’t remember clearly. She came to a corner of the house and peered around the edge. Windows threw light upon the ground halfway down the building, and she could hear the murmur of voices. This side of the house looked over the gardens, and she was fairly certain that she had not passed through those manicured grounds on her arrival. Still, she was drawn like a moth to the light that spilled from those windows, and curiosity guided her steps in their direction.
    The casements were partially open to the night air, letting out the heat of bodies and candles. Elle climbed the low terrace steps, then crouched near a window, slowly raising her head until she could see over the sill, hoping the dark hood pulled low on her brow would make her indistinguishable from the black of the night.
    The people within, scattered about a room with high ceilings and rich furnishings, were talking noisily, laughing and chatting; some were playing cards. Chairs and sofas were arranged in conversational groups, small tables were being used for card games, and at one end of the room sat a harpsichord covered from leg to lid with painted pastoral scenes.
    The men wore knee breeches and white hose, and black buckled shoes upon their feet. The women wore dresses that were a match in luxury to the ones in Eleanor’s clothespress. A few of the older women wore gowns with paniers, which pushed their skirts out to the sides, but the others favored dresses that fell in slender bells. Everyone—men and women—wore their hair either covered by a wig or powdered.
    Elle gaped at them through the window. She watchedthe women flick their fans open and closed, gesturing and tapping companions’ arms. She watched the cardplayers place cards upon the table with either triumph or chagrin, one player keeping a tally on a small sheet of paper. A pair of elegant young women gossiped with each other, their heads bent close as their eyes scanned the room. A group of men stood in a circle and pontificated, looking very much as if they each thought they had the right of the discussion.
    Some half-conscious awareness of a presence broke through her study. She turned her head to the left and gave a violent start at the dark shadow that stood not four feet from her. She let out her breath, her hand going to her heart when she realized it was a man, and not some beast from the dark.
    “Oh, God, you scared me,” she said.
    “What are you doing out here?” The voice was deep, masculine, and mildly curious, sending a rumbling echo through Elle’s suddenly hollow chest.
    She shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, and gave the guilty child’s answer. “Nothing.”
    “You were spying on them.”
    “Them?” She peered at him in the darkness, able at least to make out that he was dressed as they were inside. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”
    He was silent for a