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of what you say are Lady Eddington’s wishes. When I leave Berwicke, it will be when I wish it or at my brother’s express request. I hope that I have made myself understood.”
    “Perfectly,” Mrs. Burlington said through stiffened lips. “However, I think you should know that the matter does not end here, with you and me.”
    “No, I should rather think not,” Lady Caroline said. Before she went through the door, she glanced once more back at her aunt. Cold anger shone out of her eyes. She was past caring that servants had begun to linger curiously in the entry hall.
    “I do not think I have ever told you before, out of respect for my mother’s memory, Amaris, what I have always thought of you. But now I feel compelled to do so. I have always found you to be ill-bred, patronizing, and quite mean-spirited, to boot.’’ With that, she flung shut the door behind her and walked swiftly away.
     

Chapter Nine
     
    The sky was lowering and sullen, threatening snow.
    Lord Trilby cast a calculating look up at the heavy gray clouds overhead. His breath frosted the air as he said, “Ugly weather shaping up, John.”
    The bag bearer knowledgeably eyed the sky in his turn. He sniffed the air experimentally, much like the tired spaniel at his feet was doing. “Aye, m’lord. I can scent the new snow. A right nasty spell we’re in for, I’ll warrant.”
    “Yes,” Lord Trilby agreed thoughtfully. He had left the manor house early, with his hunting gun over his shoulder, dressed warmly in hunting togs, a spaniel cavorting at his heels, and accompanied by his bag carrier.
    The sport had been indifferent and resulted in a disappointing brace of hares and a pheasant or two, when what Lord Trilby had hoped for was a haunch of fresh venison for his dinner that evening.
    The weather and the cold seemed somewhat ominous to him. He decided suddenly that he had had enough tramping about the fields and woods. “Let’s go in, John.”
    “Aye, m’lord.” The bag bearer threw a sympathetic glance at his master as they started back the few miles to the manor house. The earl had started out in good spirits, but the exercise and the disappointment of not even catching sight of a likely stag had brought a deep frown to his lordship’s face. The bag bearer shrugged philosophically, reflecting that the next time his lordship took his gun out, the sport would likely be more to his taste.
    Lord Trilby would have been amused at the construction that his servant had put upon his frowning expression. Actually he had a prescience of something impending. Perhaps his restlessness was brought on by the threatening weather, but more likely it was owing in large part to the lack of word from his secretary.
    Lord Trilby had sent to Mr. Weston by messenger word that his meeting with Lady Caroline Eddington had been unsuccessful, along with a query whether the Grandduchess of Schaffenzeits had arrived. The messenger had returned with only a short acknowledgment of the earl’s message, which had left Lord Trilby dangling in mild suspense. He still had no notion when, or even if, the grandduchess had yet arrived in London. It was very unlike Weston not to think of including some indication of the situation, Lord Trilby thought, and not for the first time.
    When Lord Trilby got back to the manor house, he was greeted by the intelligence that a personage had arrived. The young manservant, who had not been with the household more than two years, appeared uncharacteristically flustered as he led the earl to understand that the personage was demanding his lordship’s immediate attendance.
    Lord Trilby raised his brows as he continued to give over into the trust of the footman his gun, his hat, and his gloves. “Indeed!”
    As he walked rapidly in the direction of the drawing room, his keen ears picked up an unmistakable voice raised in imperious query. Servants bearing unfamiliar and innumerable pieces of baggage scurried past him with scarcely a