“That will not be a problem,” Sebastian said automatically.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Bärwald murmured.

“How so?”

“Because the Fräulein objects to the order, Your Grace.”

Sebastian felt the unfamiliar urge to roll his eyes. “Yes. The Fräulein would do that.”

“Modern women,” Bärwald said, shaking his head. “Give them a grand education, and next, they think they know better than the doctor ordered.”

“Oh, she will follow the orders,” Sebastian said, staring at the door to her chamber. Malnourished?

A sour feeling unfurled in his gut. Not on his watch. Until Christmas, she would eat, and whatever her troubles, they would stay outside the gates of Claremont.

“A week!” Annabelle’s indignation flared afresh the moment Catriona and Hattie walked into her chamber after their morning ride. “I’ll be here until Christmas.”

Hattie settled at the vanity table, examining the wind burn on her cheeks. “I do like the sound of that,” she said. “Just think! The duke might invite you to the New Year’s party. We could all go to the ball together.”

Annabelle was briefly stunned into silence. As she lay propped up against the pillows in the vast bed, her head aching, an upper-class ball was the very last thing on her mind.

“I shall leave when you leave, it’s simple,” she said.

“No,” came the unison reply.

Annabelle glowered at her friends. “Et tu, Brutus?”

“Surely Dr. Bärwald only has your best interest in mind,” Hattie said gently.

Dr. Bärwald also had no idea about her assignments for Jenkins, her pupils, or that she was expected in Chorleywood. As soon as she could leave the bed, she’d ask Montgomery to get a coach ready for her.

“I’ve asked Aunty to stay here as a chaperone,” Hattie said. “She’s glad to do so.”

Grand. Annabelle stared up at the velvety bed canopy. She couldn’t remember ever having been so dependent on other people’s help, and she resented all of it.

Well, perhaps not all of it.

There were the books.

And the food. The kitchen was sending up almost more than she could eat. The stew yesterday had been flavorful, with big chunks of chicken in the broth and hot rolls as a side. She had eaten all of those. And there was an exotic selection of fresh fruits on her breakfast tray, oranges and grapes and pears, and she had eaten all of those, too, smothered in thick, golden custard.

Catriona pulled a chair closer to the bed. “Do you want me to read some more from Crime and Punishment?”

There was an unwilling sound from the direction of the vanity table. “Can’t we ask for something nicer, like Jane Austen?” Hattie said. “I vow, I shall have to draw up a family tree in order to follow this novel. And why does the same character have to be called three completely different names?”

“I doubt the duke stocks women’s novels, Hattie,” Annabelle said mildly.

“How about Tomlinson’s lovely sonnet, then? Could we hear that again?”

Annabelle eyed the pile of well-wishes on her nightstand. In lieu of flowers, the dozen young gentlemen at Claremont had tried to outdo each other with various attempts at poetry in her honor. Peregrin had also sent up a deck of cards one could apparently play alone. She reached for James Tomlinson’s sonnet. His iambic pentameters were shaky, but Hattie found that made it all the more charming. Tomlinson would be on her list of eligible bachelors, if only he had a title.

Montgomery hadn’t even replied to her thank-you note. Of course, there was no reason for him to reply at all; still, she kept catching herself listening for the footfall of a servant bearing a silver tray. Indeed, she would leave this bed, and Claremont, as soon as her legs could carry her.

That night, she slept fretfully, afraid of dreaming about tumbling into a black hole. When she woke, the dark had the soundless, heavy quality of the hours past midnight. And someone had been in her room.

Annabelle turned up the lamp next to the bed with sleepy fingers.

There was a new book on her nightstand, and another fancy card lay on top of it.

She opened the envelope in a deliberate, civilized manner.

The handwriting was different, scratched onto the paper with bold precision.

She rushed through the words.

Miss Archer,

I have been informed that you enjoy Jane Austen’s work—

Her head jerked up. Blast you, Hattie. What would Montgomery think about such an insatiable and random appetite for reading material?

—and we have several of her novels in the library. I—incidentally—selected a copy of Pride and Prejudice. Do not hesitate to send for more.

M.

She gave a bemused laugh. Pride and Prejudice. There was no doubt now that they were playing a game. With book titles.

Her fingertip touched the M., scrawled so confidently in black ink.

He’s very arrogant, and you don’t like his type.

Something to remember as long as she was trapped in this splendid bubble where food came at the ring of a bell and the libraries had starlit skies.

Still, a restlessness that had been roiling inside her all day seemed to dissipate. Her body stretched out long as soon as she had extinguished the lamp, and she plummeted into sleep like a small child.

Sebastian’s day had been ruthlessly productive since morning. That happened when there were no guests in need of entertaining. He had read the reports on all estates, had decided on a new irrigation method for the northern landholdings, and had finalized the draft for the last leg of the Tory campaign. He would need the queen on his side to push the approach through, because Disraeli would object, but since he had just signed off the bill for the biggest bloody firework show in England, he figured Her Majesty would indulge him.

A scratch at the door, and Ramsey slunk in.

“Your Grace, the organizers for the ball had another suggestion for the décor.”

He shot the valet an incredulous look. “I don’t have time to approve decorative details.”

“Indeed, it is just, with this particular detail—”

“What is it?”

“Reindeer.”

“Live reindeer?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Said with a perfectly straight face.

“In the ballroom?”

“Yes. Apparently, they are highly popular with the guests.”

He rubbed his temples. “Ramsey, did you think I would approve of a herd of ungulate animals on the parquet to please the masses?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“Then feel free to not bother me with it.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Sebastian scanned the neat stacks of paper on his desk. “Has there been any correspondence for me?”

“I delivered all to your desk this morning, as usual,” Ramsey replied.

He knew that. There had been a note from Caroline, Lady Lingham, asking him to bring Miss Archer along to her annual Christmas dinner on the twenty-fourth. News of his guest had traveled fast and wide, and naturally, Caroline would take note.

“Are you certain there was nothing else in the meantime?”

Ramsey knew better than to look nonplussed at his master’s insistence that there be mail. “No, but if you have a specific sender in mind I can make inquiries—”

He shook his head. “No. Tell the groom to get my horse ready.”

Annabelle had had the armchair moved to the window. The sun was dissolving into a pink hue on the horizon but it was still light enough to read a letter from Lucie that had arrived during her afternoon nap.