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snowing, but the sky looked bleak and she could see great mounds of snow piled haphazardly against the house. Directly below the window, resembling moldy lumps of flour, were some odd clumps that she knew were rhododendron bushes. The line of oaks in the distance looked like a troop of decrepit old men with long gray beards, while the drive to the Lodge was unrecognizable.
    Brie groaned as she viewed the frozen scene. The roads would be impassable and none of the staff would report to work. It also meant that the plans she had made the previous day would have to be altered drastically. She would have to find Patrick at once and decide what to do—but first she had to check on his grandparents.
    Brie made her way upstairs, expecting Mattie and Homer's room to be as cold as hers had been. She was quite surprised, therefore, to find a fire burning cheerily in the grate. Mattie was still asleep but Homer was awake, buried beneath the blankets of the truckle bed. It seemed Mattie hadn't passed an easy night.
    "She had a hard time of it, Miss Brie," Homer said in response to Brie's questions. "Been wheezin ' something fierce. I be right worried about her. The medicine don't seem to be helpin '."
    Although Brie was no expert, she could tell Mattie was getting worse. Her worn cheeks were flushed with fever, while her breathing was shallow and labored. Brie pressed her lips together, angry that Homer hadn't called her. But she realized it wouldn't do any good to scold him now. "I'll get some water to sponge her forehead," she said, disapproval creeping in her tone.
    Homer sniffed and held his handkerchief up to his red nose. "I don't know, Miss Brie. We've already done t'once . His lordship said t'would be better for Mattie to sleep now."
    "His lordship?" For the first time Brie noticed the basin and cloth beside the bed, and they puzzled her. She hadn't forgotten the man who had burst into her bedchamber the previous night, uninvited; she had even dreamed about Stanton. But she found it hard to believe that he would put himself out for an old, sick woman he had never seen before. "Do you mean Lord Stanton?" Brie asked. "He was here?"
    Homer's answer was interrupted by a fit of coughing, but he managed to nod, which caused Brie's blue-green eyes to widen in amazement.
    "And did he stoke the fire?" she asked skeptically.
    "No, t'was Sheldon."
    Brie was incredulous. To say that Sheldon Dawson was lazy would be like calling last night's blizzard a sprinkling of snowflakes. He never did any real work unless he was absolutely forced to. Even Patrick, who had the patience of an ox, had been known to give his brother a cuff on the chin when he grew tired of shouldering Sheldon's load. Surely Homer was mistaken. "Well, perhaps I could bring you some breakfast," she offered.
    Homer shook his head. "Lord Stanton promised to see to it," he said, blowing loudly into his handkerchief.
    Brie was conscious of a surge of resentment. Homer made the man sound like an angel of mercy. "Isn't there anything I can do for you?"
    "Don't think so, Miss Brie. Thank ye , though."
    Trying to hide her pique, she cast a glance at the sleeping Mattie. "Very well, then. Try to get some rest, Homer. I'll be up to check again in a little while—subject to his lordship's approval, of course."
    The house was deserted, Brie discovered after a search of the ground floor rooms. A good fire was going on the kitchen hearth, though, indicating that someone had been busy, and a large caldron of water was slowly heating over the coals. The oven, too, was already warm.
    Since Patrick was nowhere in sight, Brie went to fetch her cloak from the hall closet, determined to brave the cold in order to find him. She was tying the strings of her cloak when she heard a door slam. Glancing down the hall, she saw Stanton beside the door. He had obviously just entered the house for the collar of his greatcoat was turned up and he was stamping snow from his boots. She noticed at once that