Anna stood near the sideboard with an armful of table linens and knew it was wisest not to agree aloud.
Mrs. Fenwick, sporting flour on one cheek and murder in her eyes, planted both hands on her hips. “The man said a supper. Not a ball!”
“Captain Whitby says many things,” Mrs. Pembroke replied with a heavy sigh. “He said he would require only two rooms. He also said his officers were men of discipline.” She frowned. “Tell that to my petunias.”
Mercy, who was polishing spoons at the far end of the table, winced. “Perhaps he admired them before he trampled them.”
Mrs. Pembroke pointed a finger at her. “I am in no mood for accuracy. Besides, he plucked them, not trampled them. That is far worse.”
Mercy bent over the spoons, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “Yes, ma’am.”
Anna lowered the linens onto the table and smoothed the top cloth to hide a smile. She’d thought the house was busy before, but with Captain Whitby and his officers forever coming and going, and now a ball in the planning, the place was going to be nothing but chaos.
The captain informed Mrs. Pembroke he intended to host a small gathering in her home, “something cheerful,” he’d said. “To encourage loyalty and raise spirits. And of course, remind the local families that His Majesty’s officers brought order and civility wherever they went.”
Mrs. Pembroke had nodded and smiled until he left the room. Then she’d called him a plague in polished boots.
Now half the household was in motion. The dining room table had been stripped and reset twice. The good candlesticks had been brought down. Elias was sent to fetch additional candles from the storeroom, then sent back because he’d fetched the wrong ones. Though Anna suspected all candles looked much the same when they were unlit.
Through it all, one thing stood out to her. The brown cloak was gone.
Anna noticed before breakfast. She’d gone to the sewing room, her stomach in knots, but the cloak was no longer where she’d folded it over the chair. Mrs. Pembroke hadn’t said a word. In fact, she’d not so much as raised an eyebrow to suggest whether the hidden pocket had done its work.
Anna spent the entire morning wondering whether Martha Washington’s locket was still inside it, if it had been carried elsewhere, and of course, if she’d be hanged before supper. Withany luck, it would be after supper. The servants were having roast chicken tonight.
Currently Mrs. Pembroke was worried about which dishes to use for the ball. “Anna,” she said.
Anna straightened. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Count the blue-edged plates again.”
“I counted them already, ma’am.”
“Then you should be able to count them more quickly this time,” Mrs. Pembroke snapped.
Anna nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” She moved to the sideboard and began counting plates stacked in piles.
The dining room door opened, and Captain Whitby strode in with Lieutenant Rothborne at his side. Nathaniel Reed followed a step behind; a leather folder tucked beneath one arm.
Anna nearly dropped the plate in her hand. Merciful heavens, did the man have to appear every time she was trying hard not to think about him? She set the plate down and lowered her gaze.
“Mrs. Pembroke,” Captain Whitby said, sounding pleased with himself, “I trust preparations are proceeding.”
Mrs. Pembroke turned toward him with a neutral expression. “Proceeding,” she drawled. “Yes. Peacefully? No. Efficiently? Debatable.”
Whitby chuckled. “You are a marvel, madam.”
“I know,” Mrs. Pembroke replied, “which is why men keep borrowing my house.”
Lieutenant Rothborne’s jaw tightened, and he pressed his lips together. Captain Whitby simply laughed. He seemed the sort of man who believed every insult was a compliment if delivered by a woman with good silver, of which Mrs. Pembroke had plenty.
Nathaniel’s gaze flicked toward Anna just once. She stared very hard at the plates and realized she was thinking of him by his Christian name in her head. When had that started?
“I have the list of expected guests,” Captain Whitby said. He took the leather folder from Nathaniel and opened it. “I’ve made a few additions.”
Mrs. Pembroke froze. Her face contorted into something resembling a gargoyle before quickly smoothing again. “Additions,” she said.
“Only a few.” The captain waved a paper in the air.
