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preserve?”
    “But of course. Marmalade? Plum or strawberry? I believe there’s also quince and gooseberry preserve.”
    “My goodness. I shall have marmalade, thank you. I’ve never tasted it.”
    “You might care for some strawberry preserve too. The strawberries have been very good this season. And how do you wish your eggs to be cooked?”
    “Um…the usual way.”
    A smile pulled at the butler’s lips. “Buttered?”
    She wasn’t entirely sure what that was. “Yes, buttered. Thank you.”
    After Barker poured her a cup of fragrant tea, to which she added a liberal amount of milk and sugar, Eugenia wondered to whom she might speak concerning Molly. She doubted his lordship would be up and around yet. He’d looked very tired last night.
    When Barker came back with a dish, which bore no resemblance to eggs as she knew them, she took a deep breath. “Barker, I’m worried about my goose, Molly. She is in amongst a dozen other geese, and I fear that she might become confused with some other bird and…”
    Her voice failed her.
    Barker nodded, frowning. “What if we put Molly in the walled garden by the conservatory? Until we can work out what’s best. She will be safe there.”
    Eugenia sucked in a deep, relieved breath. “Oh yes. I would be most grateful.”
    “I shall attend to it immediately.”
    When he’d left her, Eugenia tucked into her eggs, which were creamy and light. She was buttering her toast and deciding on which preserve to try, as several pots had been brought, when Barker appeared again and filled the teapot. “I have given the order, Miss Hawthorne.” He poured her another cup. “Molly will soon reside in the walled garden. The gardeners are to be instructed to keep the gate closed.”
    “You are very good, Barker,” Eugenia said, with a grateful smile. “And the breakfast is delicious.”
    He nodded. “I shall inform the chef.”
    “Thank you.” She had no wish to beard Monsieur Renaud in his domain.
    After a third cup of tea and another piece of toast, Eugenia returned to her bedchamber. Her bed was already made, her shabby old nightgown folded and placed beneath the pillow, with the hearth swept and laid for a fire.
    While she sat in an armchair wondering what she might do next, someone knocked.
    She opened the door. A fierce-looking lady of middle age, dressed in black with a chatelaine at her waist, stood there. “How do you do, Miss Hawthorne. I am Mrs. Throsby, the housekeeper. I hope you are comfortable?”
    “Yes I am; thank you, Mrs. Throsby.”
    The lady’s sharp gaze took in Eugenia’s faded cambric gown. Eugenia firmed her lips. She’d begun to feel like a turnip in a rose garden.
    “Is there anything else you might require, Miss Hawthorne? Your maid has seen to the laundering and mending of your clothes?”
    “She has, thank you. Is there a bookroom at Lilac Court?”
    “But of course. A very fine one.”
    “It’s such a big house. I tend to get lost. Could you show me the way?”
    “You must ask a footman for directions. That is what they are here for.” Mrs. Throsby stepped out into the corridor, and a footman appeared like magic. “Please take Miss Hawthorne to the library.”
    She turned back to Eugenia. “Luncheon is served at noon. Dinner is at eight.”
    “I am not to eat in my room?”
    “The dining room, Miss Hawthorne. A footman will collect you.” Mrs. Throsby hesitated. “You need not dress, as his lordship will not be dining with you.”
    “Has his lordship recovered?”
    “I fear a complete recovery is some weeks away. The doctor plans to bleed him today.”
    Eugenia gasped. “He mustn’t!”
    Mrs. Throsby’s mouth pinched. “I beg your pardon?”
    “He can’t bleed his lordship. He’s lost a lot of blood already. ’Tis but common sense.”
    The housekeeper stiffened. “Perhaps we should leave the doctoring to those who know best.”
    Before Eugenia could warm to her argument, the housekeeper turned and walked away down the