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her trunks in an understandably hasty manner. She therefore set about to rearrange the wardrobe and the highboy more to her liking but with the stronger purpose of letting her hands be busy while she engaged her heart and her mind in trying to determine just what, if anything, she could do about the disaster that was Aldershaw.
    More than once she moved to the window of her bedchamber and looked out over the sad garden, thinking how difficult and long was the climb to create something of beauty but how swiftly any endeavor could be destroyed. Plants themselves were a mystery that they did not seem to know proper boundaries all by themselves, so that left to grow wild many trees and shrubs would be positively mangled by late season winds and storms.
    The garden appeared as though each plant had been at war with its neighbor from the time of taking root in the soil.
    With such thoughts she moved from wardrobe to window to chest of drawers and back, her mind trying to find its way through the tangle of feelings, conduct, and relationships that existed beneath Aldershaw’s ancient roof. She glanced about her chamber and chuckled, wondering just how many people had lived, laughed, perhaps even died in this very room over the two centuries the house had been in existence. Were there any ghosts present to laugh or scorn her current thoughts and even intentions?
    Only what were her intentions, she wondered as she rolled up a pair of silk stockings and placed them in a drawer with a dozen other such mates. She had an equal number of garters. She particularly enjoyed embroidering small strips of fabric to create her garters. For the barest moment she wished that the embroidering of garters was her only concern.
    Only what to do about Aldershaw? Poor Anne and Alice and their dreams, and what of Rosamunde and her need to return to her home, and what of George’s pricklish, even moody, conduct? And above all, what was to be done about Lady Sandifort? What could be done about her? That was the true conundrum. Lady Sandifort held sway, but how could one dethrone her without injuring Anne and Alice further? Given all the circumstances of the house, she understood now that hurting the young ladies was her primary weapon in any given situation. She wondered what had occurred that might have caused Lady Sandifort to refuse the come-out ball. Now there was the real question, for she doubted her ladyship did anything without either believing herself provoked or without a purpose in mind. She recalled the manner in which Lady Sandifort had given Robert a rather profound look, the haughty lifting of her brow. There had been a message in that glance, but what had it meant? She could not imagine.
     
     
    Later that evening she sought out Robert in the library, where she found him alone reading a book. She wanted to ask him if what she suspected about Lady Sandifort was true, that something had happened to prompt her refusal. “I know the day has been long and full of trials, but there is something I would ask you.”
    He seemed very tired. She knew he had been on horseback for most of the afternoon. “What would that be?”
    “Only this. Did Lady Sandifort’s sudden cancellation of the come-out ball have its root in some injury she believed she had received, I mean other than spiders and anonymous letters?”
    He sighed heavily and impatiently. “I told you not to concern yourself.”
    “Very well.” She was unwilling to overset him further. Besides, she knew that time would bring an answer even if Robert would not. “I shall bid you good night. I do not mean to trouble you.”
    She moved as if to go, but he called after her. “And yet you do trouble me, exceedingly.”
    She turned back to him. “I beg your pardon?”
    “You trouble me, Lucy. I fear you mean to involve yourself and I wish you would not.”
    She stared at him for a long moment. So many things came to mind that she wanted to say, most of which for the purpose of defending