Eleanor Wycombe. She mouthed her new name a few times and decided that she could get used to it. It was the Countess of Billington part that might take some time.

She reached the bottom floor and made her way to the great hall, then poked into various rooms. She stumbled into the library, letting out a loud sigh of approval. Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling, their leather spines glistening in the early morning light. She could live until she was ninety and not finish reading all of these books.

She peered more closely at some of the titles. The first she came across was called Christian Hellfire, the Devil, Earth, and Flesh. Ellie smiled, deciding that her husband must not have been responsible for the purchase of that particular book.

She saw an open door in the west wall of the library, and she moved forward to explore. Poking her head in, she realized that she must have discovered Charles's study. It was neat and tidy, with the exception of his desk, which was covered with just enough clutter to show that he used the room frequently.

Feeling as if she were somehow intruding, Ellie backed out of the room and made her way to the front hall. Eventually, she found the informal dining room. Helen Pallister was there, sipping a cup of tea and munching on a marmalade-coated piece of toast. Ellie couldn't help but notice that the toast was burnt.

"Good morning!" Helen called out, rising to her feet. "You're up and about early. I have never had the pleasure of anyone's company at breakfast before. No one in this household rises as early as I do."

"Not even Judith?"

That gave Helen cause to laugh. "Judith rises early only on days when she doesn't have lessons. On days like today her governess practically has to dump a bucket of water over her head to get her out of bed."

Ellie smiled. "A most intelligent young girl. I myself have tried to sleep past the sunrise, but I never quite manage it."

"I am the same way. Claire calls me barbaric."

"As did my sister."

"Is Charles awake?" Helen asked, reaching for another teacup. "Would you like a spot?"

"Please. Milk, no sugar, thank you." Ellie watched while Helen poured, then said. "Charles is still abed." She wasn't sure whether her new husband had revealed the true nature of their marriage to his cousin, and she certainly wasn't comfortable enough to do so. Nor did she think it was her place.

"Would you care for some toast?" Helen inquired. "We have two different kinds of marmalade and three jams."

Ellie eyed the black crumbs littering Helen's plate. "No, but thank you."

Helen held her toast in the air and regarded it. "Not very appetizing, is it?"

"Couldn't we possibly teach the cook to make a proper piece of toast?"

Helen sighed. "The housekeeper prepares breakfast. Our French chef insists that the morning meal is beneath his notice. And as for Mrs. Stubbs, I'm afraid she is too old and stubborn to change her ways. She insists that she prepares the toast correctly."

"Perhaps it is the fault of the oven," Ellie suggested. "Has anyone taken a look at it?"

"I haven't the faintest idea."

Feeling a rush of determination, Ellie pushed her chair back and rose to her feet. "Let us go and investigate, then."

Helen blinked several times before asking, "You want to inspect the oven? Yourself?"

"I have been cooking all my life for my father," Ellie explained. "I know a thing or two about ovens and stoves."

Helen rose to her feet, but her expression was hesitant. "Are you certain you want to venture into the kitchens? Mrs. Stubbs won't like it—she's always saying it's unnatural for gentlefolk to be belowstairs. And Monsieur Belmont throws fits if he thinks anyone has touched anything in his kitchen."

Ellie eyed her thoughtfully. "Helen, I think we have to remember that this is our kitchen, correct?"

"I don't think Monsieur Belmont will see it that way," Helen replied, but she followed Ellie through the doorway back into the great hall. "He's very temperamental. As is Mrs. Stubbs."

Ellie took a few more steps before she realized she had no idea where she was going. She turned to Helen and said, "Perhaps you should show me the way. It is difficult to play the crusading avenger when one doesn't know the way to the holy land."

Helen giggled and said, "Follow me."

The two women wound through a labyrinth of hallways and staircases until Ellie could hear the unmistakable sounds of a kitchen through the door in front of her. She turned to Helen with a smile on her face.

"Do you know, but at my house, our kitchen was right next to our dining room. Exceedingly convenient, if you ask me."

"The kitchen is much too loud and hot," Helen explained. "Charles has done what he can to improve ventilation, but it is still quite stifling. It must have been unbearable when Wycombe Abbey was built five hundred years ago. I cannot blame the first earl for not wanting to entertain his guests so close to the kitchens."

"I suppose," Ellie murmured, and then she opened the door and immediately realized that the first earl had been very smart indeed. The Wycombe Abbey kitchens were nothing like the homey little room she'd once shared with her father and sister. Pots and pans hung from the ceiling, large worktables took up space in the center of the room, and Ellie counted no less than four stoves and three ovens, including a beehive oven set into a large hearth with an open fire. There wasn't much activity at such an early hour, and Ellie could only wonder what the scene would be like before a large dinner party. Utter chaos, she imagined, with every pot, pan, and utensil in use.