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“Quite,” said Roz. “You’d never know the idiot dog had knocked her down.”

Viola made a face at Roz. “But who knows what would have happened to her if you had not come to her rescue. Perhaps, you will want to call to see for yourself how she is doing.”

Mr. Winter glanced at Cordelia.

She smiled. “You are welcome to call whenever your duties to Lord Graymont permit, and of course, do call if you have questions about the plan for the ball. Now, we must leave you to get on with your work.” She nudged Viola into motion.

“Thank you, Miss Staveley. If I do not make a call soon, please know that it is business that keeps me here, not a lack of concern for your sister. Indeed, there’s much to do, as Lord Graymont’s sister, Lady Sydling, and his brother, the Honorable Lord Lionel Rayne, arrive within days.”

“Oh, the managing sister!” Viola exclaimed.

Cordelia shot her a sharp glance. “Viola, hush!”

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Winter,” Viola said.

With a few awkward smiles, they managed to make their way from the castle to the road.

“You are the most humiliating sister a person could have,” said Roz, when they were beyond the castle entrance. “Will you never hold your tongue?”

“I am truthful,” said Viola. “We are in such a good position, don’t you see?”

“Really?”

“You see, don’t you, Cordelia? Everyone has accepted our invitation to the ball. Naturally they would because they are curious about the viscount and about seeing what’s become of the castle. Now that the managing sister is coming, I wonder, if Graymont were kidnapped, how much ransom she would pay to get him back?”

Cordelia halted and took Viola by the shoulders, holding her until the girl met her gaze. “No one is kidnapping Lord Graymont. We are giving our summer ball. We live in a modern, not a medieval, age. We will call on and invite Graymont’s sister and brother to our ball, and we will all behave like civilized human beings. That’s our best chance for restoring our credit in the world.”

Cordelia continued to look at Viola until the girl nodded.

“Thank you, Viola.”

They began to walk again, Viola and Roz blessedly quiet, at least until they reached the turning to the lodge.

“I still like the idea of the dungeon,” Viola said. “We should find a use for it.”

Roz groaned. “Yes, to lock you up and throw away the key.”

Chapter Twenty

In the dining room, Cordelia tucked the last fabric remnants into a basket to carry upstairs. Later she would think of how to use those remnants. Their gowns for the Midsummer ball were ready and hanging in her room. Mr. Winter understood their plan. They were, perhaps, relying rather heavily on him, and she would have to thank Graymont, whenever she chanced to see him, for lending Winter to their efforts. Apparently, Graymont no longer wanted to deal with Cordelia directly, as he’d once claimed the terms of their wager required. He had lost interest in his winnings. Their swimming partnership was over.

She and her sisters had, of course, invited him to the ball, and Roz had written out another lovely invitation for his sister and brother. Cordelia and her sisters would call and deliver the invitation whenever Graymont’s family arrived at Delamere. She should be pleased. Everything was going as well as could be expected.

A knock on the dining room door interrupted these thoughts.

“Come in,” she said, putting the last scraps of pale-green velvet ribbon into her basket.

The door opened, and Henry entered with Hector at his heels. “May I speak with you, Cordelia?”

“Of course.” She finished filling the basket and glanced at Henry. He looked unexpectedly serious, but she could think of nothing in particular that might be weighing on him. She wanted to tease him for bringing the dog, as if he needed some sort of protection, but she refrained. “Shall we sit?” she asked.

He nodded. They settled on opposite sides of the big table. A small fire glowed in the grate, dispelling the lodge’s eternal chill. The old lodge windows were pale squares of late evening light. She waited while he examined his hands, folded together in front of him. He had come home after nearly two years at sea, taller and stronger, but to Cordelia, still her younger brother. His wrists stuck out of the sleeves of an old jacket he’d taken to wearing for going about the estate.

“I know you hate him,” Henry began. “Graymont.”

Cordelia stiffened. I don’t hate him. She held back from speaking, wondering why Henry wished to talk about Graymont.

“You’ve done your best, Cordelia.”