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there she went, sailing into the library, bareheaded, barehanded, for the earl and his brother to see.
    Believe your own lies—that meant living the deception as if it were real, never breaking role, and with the earl she’d broken role badly ever since she’d brained him with a poker. He had to have seen her, arms around Morgan, even as he lay bleeding on the floor. And then, curse her arrogant mouth, she’d as good as informed him she was raised as a bluestocking—fluentin three languages, Mother of God! Housekeepers read mostly their Bible, and that only slowly.
    Have more than you show, including second and even third plans. On that count, she was an unmitigated disaster. She had a small stash of funds, thanks to her wages here, and Mr. Glickmann’s final generosity, but funds were not a plan. Funds did not guarantee a new identity nor safe passage to foreign soil, if that’s what it took.
    “So what has you in such a dither?” Nanny Fran toddled into the kitchen, her button eyes alight with curiosity.
    “We’re to have company,” Anna replied, forcing herself to sit down and meet Nanny Fran’s eyes. “His lordship’s brother will be staying with us, and as it’s the first company since I’ve started here, I’m a little flustered.”
    “Right.” Nanny Fran smiled at her knowingly. “Lord Val’s a good sort, more easygoing than Westhaven. But these two”—she shook her head— “they weren’t the ones who gave me trouble. Lord Bart was a rascal and spoiled, for all he wasn’t mean; Lord Vic was just as bad, and didn’t he get up to mischief, and nobody but Westhaven the wiser?”
    “No carrying tales, Nanny.” Anna rose, unwilling to start Nanny gossiping. “I’m off to warn Cook we’ll have company, and their lordships will be dining informally at home for the foreseeable future. Have you seen Morgan?”
    “She’s in the stillroom,” Nanny supplied, coming to her feet in careful increments. “Smells like lemons today, and limes.”
    Anna did find Morgan in what had become the stillroom, a portion of the large laundry that took up part of the house’s understory. The girl was humming tunelessly and grinding something to powder with her mortar and pestle.
    “Morgan?” Anna touched Morgan’s shoulder, pleased to find she hadn’t startled her. “What are you making? Nanny said it smelled like lemon and lime.”
    Morgan held out a large ceramic bowl with dried flowers crushed into a colorful mixture. Anna dipped her face to inhale the scent, closing her eyes and smiling.
    “That is lovely. What’s in it?”
    Morgan lined up a number of bottles, pointing to each in turn, then took a pencil and scrap of paper from her apron pocket, and wrote, “Needs something. Too bland.”
    Anna cocked her head and considered the pronouncement. Morgan’s nose was sophisticated but unconventional.
    “Whose room is it for?”
    Morgan made a supercilious face and arched a haughty eyebrow.
    “The earl’s,” Anna concluded. “It does need something, something subtly exotic and even decadent.” Morgan grinned and nodded. She reached for a small vial and held it up for Anna’s consideration.
    “ Mouget du bois ?” Anna raised her own eyebrow. “That’s feminine, Morgan.”
    Morgan shook her head, confident in her decision. She added a few drops, stirred the bowl’s contentsgently with one finger, then covered them with a fitted ceramic lid.
    “I’m glad you’re done here for now,” Anna said. “His lordship’s brother will be staying with us for a time and will have need of the guest bedroom at the back of the house. Can you prepare it for him?”
    Morgan nodded and tapped the left side of her collarbone, where a lady’s watch pin might hang.
    “You have time, because the gentlemen will be dining here this evening. Give him plenty of scented wash water and a crock of ice to start with tonight. He’ll need flowers too, of course, and the sheets should be turned, as the ones on the bed