A Lady in Disguise by Cynthia Bailey Pratt

own.”
    At that, Lillian half rose from her seat. “Mr. Everard, I would remind you that I have only arrived in your house today. I hardly think a conversation about my future is proper at this early juncture. I’m grateful for your concern, but—”
    “But,” he said, “you’ll thank me not to interfere. Sit down again, Miss Cole. I shall not embarrass you further.” He lifted his shoulders and smiled. “I do interfere, I know. If I were a woman, they’d call me a bothersome old busybody, and I suppose they’d be right. But I can’t bear to see anyone unhappy. I know too much about it.” The last words were almost inaudible.
    The gamekeeper’s boy sat up, his face alert. “The dad’s here, Gina. Time to go.”
    The door to the library opened. “Jack Price to see you, sir,” Becksnaff said.
    “Send him in.” Thorpe stood up and walked toward the door. “Jack, have you come to find your wandering chicks?”
    “Just to send ‘em home, sir. The missus’s awaiting.” The big man in the moleskin coat stopped short at the sight of his children. “Fine as five pence. What happen to them other clothes?”
    “Well,” Thorpe said, passing his hand through his hair, “there was a bit of an accident. They can go as they are; I’ll send someone over tomorrow with the others.”
    “All ri’. You better get along, then, younglings. Say thank ‘ee to Miss Everard.”
    Addy inclined her head to her friends’ thanks like the lady of the manor accepting prayers from her minions. She seemed to have forgotten completely that, five minutes before, they’d been playing together, though not as equals. Addy had been much the underling.
    The two children ran off, yelping as their father feigned swipes at them. “An’ don’t be dawdlin’ on the way!”
    Thorpe said, “Where are you off to this evening, Price?”
    “Well, sir, I wasn’t goin’ to say nothin’, seein’ what yer views is, but I’ve got a poacher t’ take down to the magistrate.”
    “Oh, no. Who?”
    “That there Tom Maxwell, as was born to be hanged.”
    “I’ll talk to him.”
    “Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but what’s the good of my catchin’ these fellers if yer only goin’ t’ let ‘em go again?”
    “Nevertheless, it’s my rabbit. Was it a rabbit?”
    “No, sir. Fish.”
    “Well, then, it’s my fish. If I choose not to prosecute, no harm’s done.”
    “ ‘Cept you’ll have every ruffian with wire or snare here inside the week.”
    “Then you’ve never to fear you’ll lose your position, eh, Jack? Where is the rascal?”
    “Tied to one o’ them horse holders out front.” The big gamekeeper rolled his eyes heavenward as he turned to follow Thorpe out of the room.
    Thorpe was kind. Kind to children, kind to poachers, kind even to frogs. Had he not gently suggested that Frank let his bagged catch go upon emerging from the lake? Lillian knew that she would be foolish beyond belief to misinterpret his attentions to her. He simply listed governesses among those people deserving his kindness.
    Looking up, she met Addy’s eyes. The girl’s lower lip was slung forward, perhaps insubordinately, perhaps thoughtfully. Lillian had not spent enough time about small children to be certain, young Sir Lewis Pritchard not withstanding. Feeling as though she were being observed by a stray dog, Lillian spoke in a low and soothing tone. “What time do you usually retire, Addy?”
    “Whenever I want.”
    “Oh.” There didn’t seem to be an answer to such a statement that would not sound critical of the girl’s upbringing. Lillian rose to her feet. “What a lot of books your father has,” she said, wandering over to the shelves.
    The firelight flickered over the spines of the tall volumes on the shelves. They were not covered by matching morocco leather with golden crests; rather, they seemed to have been bought over a long period of time by many hands. There was an entire section devoted to the science of the air, and another