Discouraged but hardly defeated, Penelope felt she
had no choice but to plead with Lady Constance in
person. Mrs. Clarke looked ready to object, but Penel-
ope laid a hand on her shoulder. “Remember Silky!”
she said with feeling, and after that Mrs. Clarke could
only nod and wish her Godspeed.
Penelope marched straight to Lady Constance’s
chambers. Her knock received no answer. She knocked
again and called through the door.
“Lady Constance, it is Miss Lumley, the govern-
ess! I must have your ear for a moment regarding the
children. Their current accommodations are quite
unacceptable.”
There was a thud and a small crash from inside.
After a moment, Lady Constance opened the door a
crack and immediately began to wail. “You gave me
your word,” she cried. “You signed a contract! Oh,
please, Miss Lumley! Do not leave us before you begin!
I am beside myself. It is only six months since Lord
Fredrick and I were married. I am not fond of children
in general, and to suddenly become the foster mother
to three—and to three such wild, dirty, incorrigible
creatures—well, I am quite over my head!”
She popped a small chocolate into her mouth,
clutched at her temples, and swooned. Luckily
Penelope’s reflexes were swift, and she caught her new
mistress before she hit the floor.
“Lady Constance,” Penelope said, putting her back
on her feet, “you must give me leave to settle the chil-
dren in the nursery. After all, they are in your care.”
Wisely, Penelope chose not to offer her opinion of the
care they had received so far.
“You will need to speak to Lord Ashton about that.
I am much too ill to make any decisions,” Lady Con-
stance replied, retreating back inside her private parlor.
“He will be home within the hour.” With that, she
slammed her door shut and could not be persuaded to
converse any further.
Penelope used the hour wisely; she made up the
children’s beds, tidied the nursery, and cleared it of
breakable objects. She also instructed the kitchen to
bake plum cakes, and the scent of fruit and cinna-
mon was already wafting through the house. It had
even permeated Lord Fredrick’s study, where she now
sat across from the man himself, waiting for him to
speak.
Sadly, the sweet cake-baking smell could not mask
the far less delicious odor of Lord Fredrick’s cigar. The
current master of Ashton Place had the same long and
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