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of his top hat, before handing it to a manservant. “May I introduce my ward, Miss Felicity Grove.”
    Mrs. Smith was unruffled, and gave a polite curtsy, which Felicity copied. Then Mrs. Smith turned to Osterley. “You will have to forgive us, my lord. We only received your note this morning, and when you wrote of a ward, I assumed she would be a child. We’ve been preparing the nursery all day.”
    “My apologies, Mrs. Smith,” Osterley said sincerely. “I sometimes forget you are unfamiliar with family history.”
    “Yes, my lord,” Mrs. Smith said.
    “There is no need to trouble yourself over me right now,” Felicity interrupted, trying earn a smile from Mrs. Smith. “I am certain the staff is busy preparing supper. You can put me in whatever room is most prepared for now, and move me tomorrow to a more appropriate venue.”
    But Mrs. Smith was unmoved by such kindness. “I doubt you would very much like to sleep in a child’s bed, Miss Grove.”
    There was a decided chill coming from Mrs. Smith toward Felicity. She turned her eyes to Osterley. It seemed he felt it, too, because the slight tic at the corner of his mouth started again.
    “Mrs. Smith. Please take Miss Grove up to my room for the evening, and prepare a bath for her. I will take advantage of the butler’s quarters for my bath.” His voice was steel, his eyes dark with their conviction. “You have until this evening to prepare a proper room for Miss Grove.”
    Mrs. Smith, blessedly, was not a stupid woman. She nodded to Osterley, dipped to a curtsy, and turned to Felicity.
    “This way, Miss Grove,” she said stiffly, and headed up the main stairs, leaving Felicity to follow in her wake.
    *  *  *
    “He’s done a lot of work in here, hasn’t he?” Felicity murmured, turning in the expanse of Osterley’s master bedroom. It was a huge, ranging space, done over in his favorite velvets and leather chairs. A large copper tub was being dragged into the center of the room.
    “Aye—new drapes were hung just over the winter.” Mrs. Smith replied, her voice as cool as ice water. “So I take it you’ve been here before?”
    “Yes,” Felicity replied. When she had been a child, every room was free and open to their games of hide-and-seek. They had the run of the place—and old Viscount Osterley had encouraged it, finding the occasional child under the dinner table, or hidden in a wardrobe, put a smile on his gruff face.
    Of course, that was before. Before the sickness. Before all the linens and drapes and furniture had to be burned, to stop the spread of disease.
    She wondered briefly why Osterley would have replaced drapes and linens in the winter, when the old ones could be no more than four years old—after all, Osterley was not a spendthrift, especially not on himself. Indeed, while Felicity was kept genteelly fashionable, she was absolutely certain—although she doubted he realized anyone noticed, let alone Felicity—that he had been wearing the same pair of riding boots for two years.
    The men hauling in the tub positioned it by the fire. Then, with a nod from Mrs. Smith, and a bow to Felicity, they quickly left the room.
    “Come now, let’s get these wet clothes off of you,” Mrs. Smith sighed. “Doubt Lord Osterley would like to spend time in your company if you catch cold.”
    “Yes—and I am certain he would like to have his room back, too,” Felicity replied.
    Felicity wasn’t certain, but she thought she heard Mrs. Smith grumble, something to the effect of “. . . seems willing enough to share.”
    “What did you say, Mrs. Smith?” Felicty inquired, freezing in the process of peeling off her sodden spencer.
    “Nothing, miss. Only that I wonder why his lordship goes so far as to have a room made up for you.” Mrs. Smith sighed. “Telling us that he’s bringing down his ‘ward’ is one thing—can’t have the day staff spreading rumors around Whitney.”
    Felicity looked up in shock. “I’m afraid I