“I will count on it,” Lord Darlington replied. “Indeed, I will insist upon it. You may dismiss the staff.”

“Thank you, sir,” Perceval said with a sharp nod.

Lord Darlington turned and noticed Maggie on the steps. “The Fitz-whos?” she asked.

“Maggie. Good to see you up and about this fine morning. I take it your travel malaise has lifted?” Lord Darlington held out his hand and helped Maggie up from the stairs. “And what, may I ask, are you wearing?” he asked, taking in her rather eccentric outfit as she stood up.

“It’s the latest thing from Paris. Isn’t it delightful? It’s Aunt Daphne–approved.”

Lord Darlington’s face was less delighted. “Well, I’m not certain I approve. Though I am glad to see you, regardless of your attire. You will not wear that in England—and certainly not while we have houseguests.”

“All right, Father. I will change if you insist. But first you must tell me, who are the Fitzhughs? And why are we hosting them with such fanfare?”

“You may have heard me speak of my days serving in the army during the Second Boer War in South Africa.”

Endlessly, Maggie thought, and hoped she hadn’t inadvertently rolled her eyes, a gesture her father deplored.

“Reginald Fitzhugh was my closest friend and during a particularly violent skirmish, he saved my life. Ever since then we have been closer than brothers.”

“Then why have I never met him?” Maggie asked.

“Reggie went on to make his fortune in diamond trading, which required him to stay close to the diamond mines of South Africa,” Lord Darlington explained. “We have corresponded avidly for the last twenty-five years.”

“And now he’s dead?”

“Sadly, yes. His wife also passed on many years before, and that leaves his children with no one to care for them but us.”

“Us?” Maggie asked, the pitch of her voice rising, aghast at the thought of taking on any responsibility for small children. “How old are the little tykes?”

“You needn’t worry, Maggie; Teddy and Jessica Fitzhugh are almost your age. They will both turn eighteen in a matter of months.”

“They’re twins?”

“Quite so, and given this tragic turn of events, they are dependent on our kindness. I expect you will treat them with the same warmth and hospitality as members of our family receive.”

Members of our family receive about as much warmth as a snowstorm, Maggie considered, but decided not to voice her thoughts. “I’m sorry to hear of their father’s death. But certainly, they must be perfectly capable of living on their own at their age?” she asked instead.

“Their fortune is being held in trust until they turn eighteen,” Lord Darlington answered. “Their father made the contract iron-clad, I’m afraid. No way to get them any money a day before their birthdays.”

“Ahh,” Maggie said, amused that the plot had just thickened. It certainly explained her father’s sudden and uncharacteristic benevolence.

“And what, might I ask, is meant by ahh?” Lord Darlington asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Maggie replied with a cagey smile. He knew what she meant. The Darlington fortune was not what it once had been. The trappings were still there: the immense grandeur of Wentworth Hall, the staff of servants, the expensive clothing. But Maggie wasn’t blind… or deaf… or dumb… and you would have to be all three to live in Wentworth Hall and not see that the family funds had been overspent and badly invested. A fresh infusion of a South African diamond fortune would be just the boost they needed. She wondered how her father planned to get his hands on the Fitzhugh fortune. Perhaps Wesley would have to return from Oxford and wed Miss Diamond Mines? She only hoped Jessica Fitzhugh was passably attractive, for her elder brother’s sake.

The clatter of dishes being laid out could be heard from the dining room, and Maggie’s stomach rumbled with hunger. She headed in the direction of the sound, but Lord Darlington clasped her at the elbow, halting her progress. “Upstairs, young lady, and change out of that Parisian getup.”

Casting a longing eye toward the dining room, Maggie turned back and said, “Yes, Father.” She started toward the staircase and began to climb.

“Maggie,” Lord Darlington said, walking toward her, his expression turning thoughtful. “You have indeed become a most lovely young woman. There was a time, not long ago, when I worried about your… impulsive nature.”

Stopping on the staircase, Maggie turned warily.

“It seems to me that your sojourn on the continent has lent you a new maturity that becomes you,” he observed.

Maggie descended two steps, her heart sinking with this observation. By all accounts, her father’s words were meant as a compliment. So why did it feel so insulting? Especially given the fact that he was right. Any spark of the girl she once was had been extinguished. She’d put it out herself.

“We should think about getting you out into society more. It’s time we turned our attention to providing you with a suitable husband.”

“Of course,” Maggie snapped. “And I suppose you think Teddy Fitzhugh would be suitable?” she said, tossing off the words with worldly knowingness, making it clear that he was right to think her changed. She was no longer the wild unruly colt who had departed for the continent last year. She knew now how these games were played, and she was willing to play them.

“Perhaps,” Lord Darlington replied in a level tone, “if he will have you. We also have more local suitors. Your mother would like to keep you close by, if possible. And the Duke of Cotswall has expressed interest.” With that shocking revelation, he nodded his dismissal, turning his back and walking into his study.

Maggie gripped the curved banister to steady herself. Stunned by his words, she sank onto the step. This announcement had taken her utterly by surprise. It was the last thing she would have expected—or welcomed. 

“Exactly what this family does not need,” Nora complained. She trudged into the kitchen, arms piled high with dresses requiring laundering and pressing. Once more, Nora thought to herself how odd it was to come from upstairs where the Darlington family was slowly waking to face the day. Downstairs, the staff had been awake already for hours, preparing the morning meal and beginning their daily duties. They cleaned out the ashes from the fireplaces and lit new fires so the house would be warm when the family woke. Breakfast was already working. There were pots bubbling over with fragrant meals, breads baking in the oven, the sizzle of bacon in a fry pan. The dishes from the staff’s breakfast earlier that morning were stacked in the sink. The cook’s assistant would see to those once the Darlingtons had been fed. And all this for a highborn family of six! Well, five, with Lord Wesley away at Oxford. Nora shook her head again, muttering, “The Darlingtons have enough expenses without taking in orphans.”

“And penniless orphans at that,” replied Mrs. Howard. As the head housekeeper, Mrs. Howard was put in charge of keeping Wentworth Hall running. A difficult task, by any measure, and Mrs. Howard often looked pinched about the face, as if constantly in pain. It was hardly a secret that the family’s ledgers were stretched to the limit. Not a day passed when Lord Darlington wasn’t chastising his wife over some little luxury she’d bought the girls or a new piece of furniture she’d purchased for the baby’s nursery. He’d always been an old cheapskate but these days more so than Nora could ever recall before.

Rose the cook looked up from pie dough she was patting into a dish. Something scrumptious she would serve the Darlingtons for lunch. “Oh, the Fitzhugh twins are far from penniless, I can assure you.”

Mrs. Howard took a seat at the large round table in the center of the room, pencil and pad in hand to begin creating a shopping list to stock the pantry in preparation for their guests. Nora stood beside her, sorting the clothes into piles on a chair.

“How do you know?” Mrs. Howard asked Rose. Nora was interested herself. It was rare for old Rose to have any gossip, confined to the kitchen as she was.

“The Fitzhughs have a summer estate in Kent and my sister’s best friend is head housekeeper there. The staff dreads the months of June through August when the family returns from Johannesburg. Those twins are holy terrors and spoiled brats, to hear tell of it,” Rose informed them. “Their summer estate can’t keep a staff in place. They end up leaving the service after one season! That’s why they aren’t coming with their own valet and maid.”

Helen, a young, plump housemaid with strawberry blond hair, emptied a bucket of gray water into the work sink. “I’m sure the poor things won’t be as terrible as all that,” she said as she wiped the bucket clean. “They are orphans now and have lost everything.”

“It’s true that they’ve lost their father and their mother before that, but they haven’t lost everything,” Rose insisted. “In fact they stand to gain a great deal very soon, so I can’t believe they will be with us for long.”

“Mark my words, Lord Darlington will let them stay for as many months or years as they like,” Mrs. Howard said. “As long as these two are heirs to a fortune, he’ll treat them like gold. If only they would contribute to the household budget while they are here. Stretching the expenses to feed two more mouths is going to take a miracle, at this rate.”

Nora handed the dresses over to Helen, with instructions from Lady Darlington to be more careful when ironing the lace this time. “Do you think they’ll expect me to attend to Jessica Fitzhugh?” Nora asked, tucking her hair back into her white bonnet. “I certainly hope not,” she added before anyone had a chance to answer. “My hands are completely full as it is, seeing to both Miss Maggie and Miss Lila. If this were a proper estate as it once was when my mother worked here, we would have twice the staff and be getting at least half again the twenty pounds a year we’re earning.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Mrs. Howard disagreed.

“I have it for a fact that at the Duke’s residence, Cotswall Manor, that’s the case,” Nora replied.

“Oh, Nora, you hear everything,” Helen said with amusement, shaking her head as she sorted through the dresses Nora had presented to her.

“I do,” Nora agreed. “It doesn’t hurt to be informed.” Nora made it a point to speak to others in service when she went into the town for the afternoon. And one of the great advantages of being a ladies maid was overhearing all sorts of information. Sometimes Lady Darlington acted as if Nora wasn’t even there when she was talking to the girls.

“Oh, it’s one thing to be informed, and another to be riling people up by spreading gossip,” Grace, one of the upstairs maids, chided sourly as she wrung out a rag in the sink.

Nora glared at Grace for the implication. Grace loved to act like a know-it-all, which was rich, given the fact that she really knew nothing!

A tall, broad-shouldered young man with wavy black hair walked in the side entrance from the stables. Clear green eyes were the most striking feature of his square-jawed face. “Yes, tell us, Nora. What’s the latest scandalous gossip?” He winked, a smile dancing on his lips.

Nora’s hands went to her hips and she scowled at the handsome nineteen-year-old groom. Like her, Michael’s father had worked at Wentworth Hall before him and he had grown up playing in the estate’s immaculate many-stalled stable. While Nora had been orphaned at a young age, Michael still had his father, who tended Wentworth Hall’s gardens. Knowing she was alone, Michael took special care of Nora. He was practically an older brother to her. Including the playful teasing.