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Cordelia steered her sister toward the door. “Yes, thank you, Mir. You may mend my lapels after we have lemonade.”

*

Viola’s voice reached them through the drawing room door, and Miranda stopped. Cordelia reached around her sister to open the door and gave Miranda a gentle nudge, whispering, “Mr. Winter needs us.”

They entered, and Winter stood, his gaze going immediately to Miranda. “Miss Staveley, you’ve taken no serious hurt?”

Miranda advanced a little way into the room. “You must think me very foolish, Mr. Winter, to let our dog knock me over.” Her face was crimson; her gaze was on his boots.

“Not at all, Miss Staveley. You were engaged in your figwort gathering, and the dog … doesn’t seem to know his own strength.”

Miranda looked up. “Oh, you know figwort?”

Winter swallowed. “My father is keen on his sons knowing plants.”

The declaration of botanical common ground froze the two of them in a mutual, wondering gaze.

Miranda recovered first. “I do thank you, Mr. Winter. In the moment, your assistance was most welcome.”

“I hope …” he said. “I hope my assistance will always be welcome whenever you need it.”

“Sit here, Miranda,” Viola said. “We have explained our plan to Mr. Winter. We want nothing shabby, but everything economical for the ball.”

Cordelia almost laughed. Mr. Winter looked utterly baffled. “Mr. Winter,” she said, snapping him out of the Miranda trance into which he’d fallen. “Do you have questions for us?”

“I … Yes … I wondered what you want to do about the pallets of the stones.”

“Pallets?” Miranda took the seat Viola indicated.

Winter nodded. “There are six of them, and unfortunately, they cannot be moved until Lord Graymont decides what to do with the southeast tower.”

“Can they be covered somehow?” Cordelia asked. “We could put Lady Frome’s potted palms in front of them.”

Viola bounced in her seat. “Oh yes, and we have artificial trees in the castle costume room. We could use those.”

“Costume room?” Winter wore the dazed look Viola often inspired when she was pursuing one of her ideas.

Viola answered. “In the basement. Near the dungeon. Miranda can show you where it is.”

“The dungeon?”

“No, the costume room. Shall we go now?” Viola asked, popping up out of her chair.

“Tomorrow,” Miranda said.

“Afternoon,” added Cordelia.

At that moment, the door opened, and Henry entered. “What’s happened to Hector? Why is he wet and muddy?” he demanded. He stopped when he saw their guest. “Oh, Winter, hello. What brings you here?”

“Mr. Winter rescued Miranda, Henry, and he’s helping us plan our ball,” Cordelia said.

Henry looked from Cordelia to Winter. “Then Mr. Winter probably needs rescuing himself. Going up to Delamere, Winter?” Henry asked. “I’ll walk with you.”

*

With Winter off to help the Staveleys, Gray returned to his sketching and consulted with Higson, who was unhappy about the proposed delay in the work and fearful of losing his men to other jobs. The afternoon stretched on, and Gray found himself avoiding the upper wall with its view of the sea. Instead, he went to Winter’s office and took up the correspondence Winter had set aside for him. There were the usual letters from his man of business and his fellow lords, still airing their grievances over the chamber assigned to them in the wake of the great fire. From Finch, he heard that Finch was investigating one of the men Higson had hired. Finally, there was a letter from Gray’s sister. On any other day, he would ignore a missive from Sydling House, but today he needed to keep his mind occupied with anything other than his swimming companion.

Sydling House