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would be better if he did not read it. I have reason to think he has not yet. I am wondering if I should offer his servant a bribe to find the letter and return it to me.”
    “Do you have a particular sympathy with this servant?”
    “I do not know him at all.”
    Sophie strolled toward the house. “You should save your money, and not become distraught over this. Tradesmen are often called names, by each other and by customers. A degree of insult goes with the profit. This one will not react as badly as you think, and will probably even still welcome your patronage.”
    “That would be good news, if this were a tradesman. I regret to admit it is a gentleman.”
    “I see. May I ask which gentleman?”
    “Does it matter to the advice you will give?”
    “Oh, yes. It matters a great deal. One can’t anticipate his reaction unless one knows his name. Hopefully it is a stupid fellow who will manage to read flattery into your insults out of a desperate desire to be pursued by a beautiful woman.”
    “I regret to say the gentleman is neither stupid nor desperate. It is Viscount Ambury.”
    Sophie’s eyebrows rose. “Highburton’s heir? That handsome young man with the blue eyes? Your dealings with him are financial in some way, and not those of lovers?”
    “Definitely not those of lovers.”
    “What a shame. He is delicious. Don’t look at me like that. The day I stop noticing is the day I hope someone shoots me.”
    “That letter will anger him. Bribing the servant is probably my only choice. How much will it take, do you think?”
    “His manservant will never accept a small bribe. Ambury’s good opinion and recommendation are too valuable to risk for less than twenty pounds, is my guess.”
    If she had an extra twenty pounds, she would not have written that letter to start. “Then I must do something else.
Soon
.”
    She held the door so her aunt could enter the house with her bounty of blooms. Sophie set the basket down on a worktable in the cool cellar kitchen, took several containers off a shelf, then sat down to arrange her flowers.
    Sophie eyed the composition she created in a French porcelain pitcher. With the precision of an artist, she broke the stem of one final rose and added it to the front, just so. She set the pitcher aside and pulled a fat round blue transfer vase toward her. Cassandra watched, and wondered if the topic of their conversation had drifted out of Aunt Sophie’s mind entirely.
    Finally her aunt had finished with the blue vase too. She sighed heavily as she reached for a pewter bowl.
    “Good heavens, Cassandra, what were you thinking in sending a missive full of insults to Highburton’s heir? If you are going to throw down a gauntlet before such a man, at least be sure there is an army positioned over the next hill to ride to the rescue.”
    Cassandra laughed. The evidence Sophie had been considering the dilemma heartened her. She hoped her aunt had concocted a solution while playing with all those roses. “Perhaps you know where I can find an army.”
    “In my youth, I could have summoned one with a smile,” Sophie said wistfully. “Now—there is no army, dear. There is only me.”
    “T his is the first time you have left the house in almost a year, and you are going dressed like that?” Cassandra said when Sophie emerged from her chamber late that afternoon.
    Her aunt had been known for her style when she circulated in society, both at home and abroad. Today, however, she looked like an aging governess. Her old-fashioned gray dress lacked any adornments. She wore no jewelry. A large white cap with limited lace hid most of her hair.
    “I am not leaving the house. Not officially. I am going as your companion. Let him think I am a servant. You are not to introduce me. I will be a lady’s maid who is beneath his notice.”
    “I think it would be better if you were who you are. You could dazzle him so his brain is too numb to realize just how poor my bribe actually