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If Silvester’s lawn screamed prestige and money, this one was far more comfortable, a place to play.

“You have a lovely garden,” Stella said, feeling wistful. She had never been allowed outside as a child, and she had never even tossed a ball. Mrs. Thyme would consider that extraordinarily unladylike.

“You must visit us in the country,” Merry said. “I fancy myself a gardener. I even have a pineapple stove, though more recently it has been in use to hatch ducklings. Peter, my eight-year-old, plans to care for animals when he grows up, so we regularly gather eggs from around the estate, and he raises the fowl to adulthood.”

“That reminds me,” Stella said. “I hope you don’t mind that I am accompanied by Specs.”

Merry clapped her hands. “Of course I don’t! I hoped you would bring your kitten. Is she in your pocket?”

“She has grown too large for my pocket, so I turned my sewing box into a traveling home.” She took the strap of Specs’s box from her shoulder. “I’m so glad to see your walls, because she will be happy to run about.”

“I had a good two feet of stone added to the walls when the boys began to climb, so Specs will not escape. Children!” Merry hollered, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Come meet Lady Stella’s kitten!”

Stella pulled off her bonnet and gloves and tossed them on the table before she crouched down and opened Specs’s box. This wasn’t a world where freckles mattered, any more than a velvety green lawn.

Three children shot across the lawn, togas billowing behind them as they ran.

Merry held out her hand, palm forward, as they skidded to a halt. “Greetings first.”

Stella rose to her feet with Specs in her arms, smiling at the children’s exclamations.

“Lady Stella, may I introduce Thomas, Peter, and Fanny?” Merry asked. Thomas, the future seventh Duke of Trent, bowed with confident grace, Peter plunged forward from the waist and sprang back up, and Fanny, who seemed to be around eleven or twelve, bobbed a curtsy.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Stella said, curtsying in her turn. “May I introduce you to Specs?”

“She’s adorable,” Fanny breathed. “I’ve never seen a white cat with black stripes.”

“May I hold her?” Peter asked. “I never imagined a pet cat. Does she scratch you? The cats in our stables are wild and don’t like us very much.”

“That’s because you used to pull their tails,” Fanny said. She was cooing at Specs and stroking her ears.

“Specs is very friendly,” Stella explained, “perhaps because I found her when she was a kitten. She’s half-grown now.”

“Please, may I hold her?” Peter asked again.

“Of course,” Stella said, handing Specs over. The cat promptly climbed up to his shoulder and wrapped her tail around his neck.

Peter’s face lit with pure joy.

“Perhaps you would care for her this afternoon?” Stella asked. “Someone must make certain that she doesn’t get trampled during the battle.”

“She’ll be safe in the gazebo,” Peter said. “George is there. I don’t like battles, so I’m going to read. Specs can come with me.” He pulled a book from under his toga and showed it to Stella.

“A Narrative of an Expedition to Explore the River Zaire,” she read aloud.

“They saw any number of interesting animals,” Peter reported. “But they were rather foolish. They had three baby lions, but after they fed them soaked bread, the cubs died. You don’t give Specs bread, do you?”

“No. Specs is fond of giblets,” Stella said.

Peter nodded. “Mice have giblets inside them.”

“No, they don’t,” Fanny retorted. “Giblets come from birds.”

“We need to begin the battle,” Thomas cried. He was hopping from foot to foot, slashing his sword in the air.

“Specs will like George,” Peter said, heading across the lawn, a careful hand steadying the kitten.

“Who is George?” Stella asked.