"Thank you, madame, but I do have work to be completed today. I will, however, join you at supper. When the young ladies are ready they may go upstairs where Mademoiselle Francine is awaiting them in the Primrose chamber." He bowed politely, and hurried off.

"Such a lovely man," Lady Abbott said. "What a pity he is the fourth son. His parents are the Earl and Countess of Chamberlain, y'know. The eldest son, Francis Trent, will inherit, of course." She allowed Pearson to seat her, and then lowering her voice said, "He gambles, I'm sorry to say. The Earl of Chamberlain is constantly paying off his debts. The second son is out in India with the army, a colonel, I believe I heard. The third has an excellent pulpit in Nottingham. Both of them have married heiresses as they should have and consequently give their parents no trouble. The eldest has such an unsavory reputation that they cannot even find a wife for him. Imagine!

"And then there is Charles Trent. Beautifully educated at Harrow, and at Cambridge; a man with exquisite manners, and an instinctive sense of what is correct. Fortunately your father found him twelve years ago, and employed him. Being steward to Septimius Morgan is an honorable profession for a man of Charles Trent's superior breeding. I do not know what Septimius would do without him. He manages both the London house and this one. He handles the household accounts, engages any new staff, pays the wages, is responsible in fact for the entire staff. And he is your father's personal secretary as well. How he does it, I do not know. A lovely man," she repeated. Then Lady Abbott dipped her spoon into the turtle soup that had just been ladled into her plate, and began to eat.

Allegra looked archly at her cousin, and Sirena had to stifle her giggle. The two girls ate scantily and quickly, in order to be swiftly excused from the table that they might go to Mademoiselle Fran-cine.