On the whole she was quite content to spend her day writing a pile of invitations to next week’s grand ball and delivering some of them herself in the village, walking all the way there and back since the gig had not been offered her, and then cutting flowers from the kitchen garden and arranging them in fresh bouquets for each of the day rooms. She spent an hour in the drawing room, sorting through a bag of her aunt’s embroidery threads, which had become horribly tangled together, patiently separating them and winding them into soft silken skeins. Twice she had to interrupt the task, once to run upstairs for her grandmother’s handkerchief and again to bring down the dish of bonbons Grandmama particularly liked.

But her grandmother was at least good company. For as long as Aunt Effingham was not with them, they chattered brightly on an endless number of topics. Grandmama loved to tell stories about Judith’s grandfather, whom Judith had never known, though she was seven years old when he died. They both chuckled over anecdotes from home Judith told purely for her amusement, like the one of the whole village chasing madly after an escaped piglet through the churchyard and rectory garden until Papa had stepped outside from his study, fixed the poor, terrified animal with his most severe clerical look, and stopped it in its tracks.

And then the butler interrupted them.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” he said, looking from one to the other of them, apparently not knowing quite which of them to address, “but there is a, ah, person in the hall insisting upon speaking with Mr.

Law. He refuses to believe that the young gentleman is not here.”

“He wishes to speak with Branwell?” Judith asked. “But who is he?”

“You had better show him in here, Gibbs,” her grandmother said. “Though why he would not believe you I do not know.”

“No.” Judith got to her feet. “I’ll go see what he wants.”

The man standing in the hall was turning his hat around and around in his hand and looking uncomfortable. His age and his manner of dress immediately disabused Judith of any notion that he might be a friend of Bran’s who was in the same part of the country and had decided to pay him a surprise call.

“May I help you?” she asked him. “Mr. Law is my brother.”

“Is he, miss?” The man bowed to her. “But I need to see the gentleman in person. I have something to deliver into his own hands. His sister’s will not do. Send him to me if you will.”

“He is not here,” Judith said. “He is gone for the day. But Mr. Gibbs has already told you that, I believe.”

“They always say that, though,” the man said. “But it usually isn’t true. I’ll not be avoided, miss. I’ll see him sooner or later. You tell him that. I’ll wait till he comes.”

Whatever for? she wondered. And why the persistence almost to the point of rudeness? However had he found Bran here? But she was not entirely foolish. She felt a prickle of apprehension.

“Then you must wait in the kitchen,” she said. “If Mr. Gibbs will allow you there, that is.”

“Follow me,” the butler said, looking along his nose at the visitor as if he were a particularly nasty worm.

Judith looked after them, frowning, and then returned to the drawing room. But she could hear the sound of horses and carriages even before she had a chance to sit down again, and crossed to the window to look out. Yes, they had returned, far earlier than she had expected.

“They are back already?” Her grandmother’s surprise echoed her own.

“Yes,” Judith said. “They have made good time.” They would not have had to make the detour to Grandmaison on the return journey, of course. They would have brought Lord Rannulf with them.

Despite herself she found that she was leaning closer to the window to catch a glimpse of him as he descended from the carriage. But it was Lord Braithwaite who handed Julianne out, and they were followed by Miss Warren and Sir Dudley Roy-Hill. Aunt Effingham had gone outside to greet them.

“What did that man want with Branwell?” her grandmother asked.

“I have no idea,” Judith said. “He is waiting to see him personally.”

“I daresay he is a friend,” her grandmother said.

Judith did not disabuse her. A moment later the drawing room door was flung open and Julianne hurried inside, looking cross and tight-lipped, her mother on her heels. Aunt Effingham closed the door behind her. Presumably, all the guests had gone straight to their rooms to freshen up after the day out.

“He could not come,” Julianne said, her voice brittle and overloud. “He had promised to stay with Lady Beamish. But he would not let me persuade her to release him from his promise. He would not come. He does not like me. He is not going to offer for me. Oh, Mama, whatever will I do! I must have him. I will simply die if I have to settle for anyone inferior.”

“You are home very early, Julianne,” Grandmama commented. “Whatever is wrong?”

“There were no shops worth looking in,” Julianne said petulantly. “All their wares look shabby after those on display in even the least fashionable shops in London. Yet everyone dragged about wanting to linger everywhere and exclaim in wonder at everything. I was fatigued to death within an hour. And whoever said the White Hart is elegant has clearly seen nothing that is . We had to wait ten whole minutes for warm tea and stale cakes. And if Hannah and Theresa tell you that theirs were hot and fresh, Mama, then they are lying. It was such a stupid idea to go there today. I am sure you had a divine day in comparison to mine, Judith.”

Judith understood that it was Lord Rannulf’s refusal to join the expedition that had doomed it to certain failure. Why had he refused to go?

“Of course he likes you, dearest,” Aunt Effingham said soothingly. “Lady Beamish has been quite particular in promoting a match between the two of you, and Lord Rannulf has been most attentive. If he could not go with you today, you can be sure there was a good reason. You must not show that you are upset with him. Tomorrow is the day of the garden party at Grandmaison, and you know that we have been invited to stay for dinner too. All will be well tomorrow, as you will see. You must be your natural pretty, charming self, my love. No man is ever caught with a lady’s anger.”

“I bought two bonnets, though I do not like one of them above half,” Julianne said, somewhat mollified, it seemed. “And the other is not a style that becomes me well, I fear. I bought some lengths of ribbon too. I could not decide which color I liked best so bought a length of each. Though really there was no color there that I really liked at all.” She sighed deeply. “What an insipid day!”

Her grandmother decided at that point to withdraw to her own rooms, and Judith helped her to her feet and accompanied her there.

“These earrings pinch me,” her grandmother said, pulling one off as they approached her room and wincing. “I always forget which ones do. But everything in my jewelry box is in such a jumble that I put my hand in and pull out whatever is closest to the top. I must push these to the bottom.”

“I’ll do it for you, Grandmama,” Judith offered.

But when she saw the inside of the large, ornate wooden box in which all her grandmother’s considerable collection of jewelry was piled, she could see that something drastic needed to be done about it.

“Would you like me to sort it all out?” she offered. “You see, Grandmama, the box is divided into compartments. If you used one for your rings, another for your earrings, and others for your brooches, necklaces, and bracelets, then everything would be much easier to find.”

Her grandmother sighed. “Your grandfather was forever buying me jewels,” she said, “because he knew that I liked them so much. I do keep the most precious pieces separate, as you can see.” She pointed at a wine-colored velvet drawstring bag that was almost submerged under the clutter of everything else. “Will you sort everything out for me? How very good of you, Judith, my love. I have never been good at keeping things tidy.”

“I’ll take the box to my room,” Judith suggested, “so that I will not disturb you as you rest.”

“I do need to rest,” her grandmother admitted. “I believe I must have taken a chill to the stomach while sitting outside with Sarah yesterday. I thought that perhaps my tea would settle it, but it did not. Tillie will give me a dose of something, I daresay.”

Judith took the heavy box with her to her room and tipped everything out onto her bed. Grandpapa must indeed have been besotted with Grandmama, she thought, smiling, to have given her so many and such ostentatious jewels, many of the glittering pieces almost indistinguishable from one another.

She was sorting through the necklaces, the last pile to be dealt with, when there was a hasty tap on her door and Branwell opened it and came hurrying inside even as she was calling for whoever it was to come. He was looking as pale as a ghost.

“Jude,” he said. “I need your help.”

“What is wrong?” She suddenly remembered the persistent visitor. It must be he who had upset her brother. “What did that man want?”

“Oh.” He tried to smile. “He was just a messenger. Damned impudence really. A fellow owes his tailor and his bootmaker and has to be pursued halfway across the country, as if his gentleman’s word to pay up eventually is not sufficient.”

“He was a tailor come to demand payment?” she asked him, a heavy sapphire necklace suspended from one hand.

“Not the tailor himself,” he said. “They have fellows hired for just this sort of thing, Jude. I have two weeks to pay up, he told me.”