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several small packages and staring at the floor.
    Finally, after several tedious minutes, they marched upstairs to the sitting room or boudoir and we were free to go back to our usual duties. I heard the princess speak in Russian to her maid and the young, dark-haired woman followed her up the stairs.
    They had nearly reached the landing when one of the maids turned and ran into another. “Watch out,” the injured maid said.
    Both the princess and her Russian lady’s maid swiveled around to look. I watched them, wondering if their attention was captured by the maid’s startled tone or the words she spoke. In English.
    A commanding voice called me away from my thoughts. “I’m Amelia Whitten, the governess. And this is Lady Daisy.”
    â€œMilady,” I said and gave an appropriately deep curtsy to alittle girl who was studying the artwork on the ceiling. “I’m Georgia Peabody, Her Grace’s new secretary.”
    â€œMilady, give Miss Peabody a curtsy.”
    â€œMiss Peabody.” Reminded of her manners, the little girl spoke gravely as she curtsied. I guessed her age at six years, her blond hair flowing down her back in ringlets.
    Amelia nodded to me and led Lady Daisy up the stairs. I walked down the hall and finished my work on the typewriter before eating my solitary luncheon and reorganizing the writing supplies.
    At a loss for any other chores, I stood looking out the window at the greenery along the edge of the back garden, when I heard a tap at the door. I spun around as the duchess walked in, followed by the lovely young woman and the fierce middle-aged one. The princess and the chaperone avoided looking at each other or even letting their skirts brush each other’s as they walked in.
    â€œPrincess Kira, Lady Raminoff, this is my secretary, Miss Peabody,” the duchess said, in a far better French accent than mine.
    I gave them a deep curtsy.
    â€œShe will act as your social secretary as well as mine, and will be your English tutor.”
    â€œWhat?” Lady Raminoff squawked. Her French truly sounded as if an angry parrot were speaking. “Has this been approved by my government?”
    â€œThe tsar and the queen discussed Princess Kira’s need for English lessons and it was decided this was the best solution,” the duchess said. I was impressed with how smoothly she lied. “Princess, when would you like your lessons to begin?”
    â€œNot for several days,” Lady Raminoff said. Every time the woman opened her mouth, I wanted to giggle.
    â€œNow,” Princess Kira said. “You may leave us for half an hour.”
    The older woman’s mouth worked but, thankfully, no soundcame out. The duchess gracefully gestured for Lady Raminoff to lead her from the room.
    Once they were gone and the door shut, the princess sat on one of the armless, straight-backed chairs and nodded for me to sit on another. “Thank goodness she’s gone. She spies on me every hour of every day.”
    Her French was rapid and precise. I took a moment to translate her words in my head before I answered, “Isn’t that the job of a chaperone?”
    â€œShe is extra vigilant. So, please, teach me some English. I want to carry on conversations the dragon doesn’t understand.” The princess sounded desperate, making me think her reaction to the maid’s words in the entrance hall was due only to the tone of voice.
    â€œWhat do you want to discuss that Lady Raminoff mustn’t know about?” Did the princess have a Russian lover she needed to keep secret from the duke? She was certainly pretty enough and wore enough jewelry to interest any number of men.
    She started at my words. “Nothing. I simply want a little privacy.”
    I could understand that. I valued my solitude, too—and I hadn’t grown up in a palace where it might be in short supply.
    Giving her a smile, I said in French, “The time is after