“Fine, then. I won’t ever ask you to do something that makes you uncomfortable. Countess will work for me if it works for you.”

“Yes, mum. Countess, mum.”

“Then we’re all set. Please, bring on the goodies.”

Mary stumbled through the room into the dressing area, set everything down just so, then turned with her empty tray. “Shall I order water for a bath, m’lady?”

“That sounds heavenly.”

Finally Mary raised her eyes to meet Isabel’s. They were the exact sapphire color of the necklace of tears.

Isabel grinned. It was an omen. “I think you and I are going to get along just fine, Mary.”

“I believe so as well, m’la—Countess.”

“I would love a bath. But before that, could you please help me find the pink gown among this mess?”

“Pink?”

“Pale red?” Isabel tried.

Mary gnawed at her bottom lip, obviously still not understanding.

“You know the color that your cheeks turn, when you’re flattered by a boy? Or embarrassed by something you think you’ve done?”

“Oh! Oh, yes. Although, mum, in my instances, that would be a deep red.” She glanced down and then up again, a twinkle in her eyes. “I must admit it does not go well with my hair.”

“I doubt that, Mary. My guess is that your blush turns many young men’s heads.”

Mary blushed.

And boy, was she right. Almost fire-engine red on those cheeks.

“That’s so kind of you to say, Countess.” Mary headed straight for the third trunk and pulled out a beautiful gown. “That’s more rose than pink, Mary.”

“This is not your . . . pink?”

Is this your idea of pink, Viviane?

So a shade here and there. Stop quibbling.

“I think this will compliment your fair skin, Lady. Any shade lighter and ’twould not do your beauty justice.”