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Katherine. Tomorrow you ought to wear that pretty sea-green muslin with the dainty embroidery on the skirt and sleeves. I vow, even your father might notice that.”
    Katherine ignored the reference to her father and his lack of interest in his children. She felt he had not actually turned away from them, but rather become absorbed in his studies since the death of their mother.
    “I am most interested in the costumes and scenery. However, I suspect Teddy wants to do more than merely produce. He appears torn between the desire to direct and act. Indeed, he muttered something about going off to see Miss Eliza O’Neill to try to persuade her to play my heroine. I shall believe that when I see it.”
    “Well, you know that many London actresses and actors happily drive out here to appear during Sturbridge Fair. Nevertheless, you shall require financial backing. Plays are not produced without what Theodore calls blunt. Money is a must, and goodness knows you have sufficient for the necessary, but no more.” Cousin Sophia threaded a violet ribbon through Katherine’s hair, still brushed as Mrs. Cheney had cleverly fixed it.
    “Yes,” Katherine murmured in total agreement, then her mind shifted. “I wonder what happened to Mrs. Cheney’s husband. She has been a widow some two years. Although she has put off wearing her blacks. She was dressed in a delicate lavender and wore a cap, albeit a becoming one, of lace. She does not seem old, you know. Although after being around her, I would suppose she is nearer to forty than I first thought. There must be quite a few years between brother and sister.”
    “Amelia’s mother informed me that Mrs. Cheney became widowed when her husband died while traveling on the Continent. Something to do with brigands, I believe. And I also learned there are ten years between Lord Ramsey and his sister. She is thirty-nine,” Cousin Sophia concluded in her precise manner.
    “She certainly does not look it. Do you know,” Katherine added thoughtfully, “that makes her only ten years younger than Father. Does Mrs. Bonner also know why Mrs. Cheney did not assume her rightful title?”
    “Probably did not mean all that much to her, my dear. Not everyone feels it to be important.” Cousin Sophia glanced at the little clock that graced the mantel over the small fireplace in Katherine’s bedroom. “Dear me, we had best get down to the drawing room. Dinner will be ready and Cook will have a spasm if we are late.”
    Katherine paused before the mirror one last time to check her reflection. She thought she looked well enough to stir something within Michael Weekes. But what?
    Neither gentleman was in the drawing room, a fact that did not surprise either lady. Cousin Sophia bustled down the hall, returning in minutes with Julian Penn and the distracted Mr. Weekes.
    Studying Michael Weekes provided Katherine with something to do between bites of the delicious meal. She sat across from him at the table. He continued to converse with her father about the translation of a particular phrase from Ovid. Katherine might have offered her opinion, having read that particular portion and reached her own conclusions regarding the meaning. But both men would be horrified to think that a young lady should have even a nodding acquaintance with Latin, much less an idea on Ovid, so she held her tongue. How excessively tiresome to be so hedged about with restrictions, she reflected. She longed for someone who could share her curiosity about the world, not to mention her love of the ridiculous.
    Could Michael serve as the hero in her version of the current rage of the theater, the gothic melodrama? Those close-set eyes bothered her. How could she have failed to notice them before? she wondered, totally perplexed.
    “Pass the salt, Katherine,” Cousin Sophie said in a soft voice. Then still more quietly she added, “And stop looking at our guest as though he were a horse and you contemplated buying him. I fully