“Thank you, my lady,” Natalie replied demurely. “I have no doubt it will be splendid.” She smiled at Lillian. “My companion told me there will be a Christmas tree.”

“Fourteen feet high,” Lillian said enthusiastically. “We’re having a devil of a…that is, a most difficult time decorating it, as the top branches are impossible to reach. But we have extending ladders and many tall footmen, so we will prevail.” She turned to Hannah. “Miss Appleton. A pleasure to see you again.”

“Thank you, my” Hannah paused as she realized that Lillian had extended her hand. Bemusedly Hannah reached out to take it, and gave her a quizzical glance.

The countess winked at her, and Hannah realized she was being teased. She burst out laughing at the private joke, and returned the warm pressure of Lillian’s fingers.

“In light of your remarkable tolerance for the Bowmans,” Lillian told her, “you must come to the parlor too.”

“Yes, my lady.”

The housekeeper came to show them to their rooms, leading them across what seemed to be miles of flooring.

“Hannah, why did Lady Westcliff shake your hand?” Natalie whispered. “And why did you both seem to find it so amusing?”

NATALIE AND HANNAH WERE TO SHARE A ROOM, WITH NATALIE occupying the main bed and Hannah sleeping in a cozy antechamber. The room was beautifully appointed with flowered paper on the walls and mahogany furniture, and a bed with a lace canopy.

While Natalie washed her hands and face, Hannah found a clean day dress for her and shook it out. The dress was a becoming shade of blue, with a dropped shoulder line filled in with lace, and long slim-fitting sleeves. Smiling in anticipation of meeting the Bowmans, Natalie sat before the vanity mirror while Hannah brushed and repinned her coiffure. After making certain that Natalie’s appearance was perfect, her nose lightly dusted with powder, her lips smoothed with rosewater salve, Hannah went to her own valise and began to rummage through it.

Lady Blandford appeared in the doorway, looking refreshed and poised. “Come, girls,” she said serenely. “It is time for us to join the company downstairs.”

“A few more minutes, Mama,” Natalie said. “Hannah hasn’t yet changed her dress or tidied her hair.”

“We mustn’t keep everyone waiting,” Lady Blandford insisted. “Come as you are, Hannah. No one will notice.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hannah said obediently, concealing a pang of dismay. Her traveling clothes were dusty, and her hair was threatening to fall from its pins. She did not want to face the Bowmans and the Westcliffs in this condition. “I would prefer to stay up here and help the maids to unpack the trunks”

“No,” Lady Blandford said with an impatient sigh. “Ordinarily I would agree, but the countess requested your presence. You must come as you are, Hannah, and try to be unassuming.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Hannah pushed the straggles of loose hair back from her face and dashed to the washstand to splash her face. Water spots made little dark patches on her traveling gown. Groaning inwardly, she followed Natalie and Lady Blandford from the room.

“I’m sorry,” Natalie whispered to her, frowning. “We shouldn’t have taken so much time getting me ready.”

“Nonsense,” Hannah murmured, reaching out to pat her arm. “You’re the one everyone wants to see. Lady Blandford is rightno one will notice me.”

The house was beautifully ornamented, the windows swathed in gold silk edged with dangling gold tinsel balls, the doorways surmounted by swags of beribboned evergreens and holly and ivy. Tables were loaded with candles and arrangements of everlasting flowers such as chrysanthemums and Christmas roses and camellias. And someone, slyly, had adorned several doorways with kissing balls hung with evergreen ropes.

Glancing at the bunches of mistletoe, Hannah felt a stab of nervousness as she thought of Rafe Bowman. Calm yourself, she thought with a self-deprecating grin, glancing down at her disheveled dress. He certainly won’t try to kiss you now, not even beneath a cartload of mistletoe.

They entered the main parlor, a large and comfortably furnished room with a game table, and piles of books and periodicals, a pianoforte, a standing sewing hoop, and a small secretary desk.

The first person Hannah noticed was Marcus, Lord West-cliff, a man with an imposing and powerful presence that was unusual for a man still only in his thirties. As he stood to meet them, Hannah saw that the earl was only of medium height, but he was superbly fit and self-assured. Westcliff carried himself with the ease of a man who was entirely comfortable with his own authority.

While Lillian made the introductions, Hannah shrank back into the corner of the room, observing the scene. She stared discreetly at the Bowmans as they met the Blandfords.

Thomas Bowman was stout, short, and ruddy, his mouth overhung with a large walruslike mustache. And his shining head was adorned with a toupee that seemed ready to jump off his scalp and flee the room.

His wife Mercedes, on the other hand, was whippet-thin and brittle, with hard eyes and a smile that fractured her face like cracks in a frozen pond. The only thing the pair seemed to have in common was a sense of dissatisfaction with life and each other, as if it were a blanket they both huddled under.

The Bowman children resembled each other far more than either parent, both of them tall and irreverent and relaxed. It seemed they had been formed by some magical combination of just the right features from both parents.