"This is your home." Ellie's tone was firm, but she smiled as she spoke. "And if I ever again hear you say otherwise, I shall have to strangle you."

Helen looked as if she were about to say something, then she closed her mouth. A moment later, however, she said, "Claire hasn't told me why she behaved as such, although I have a good idea."

"I suspect you do," Ellie said quietly.

"Thank you for not embarrassing her before Charles."

"She didn't need her heart broken twice."

Helen was saved from further reply by Judith, who crawled out from under the table. "I squashed the bug!" she chirped. "He was huge. And very fierce."

"There was no bug, poppet, and you know it," Ellie said.

"Did you know that bugs like butter-cream frosting?"

"So do little girls, I understand."

Judith pursed her lips, clearly not happy with the direction of the conversation.

"I think I hear them!" Helen whispered furiously. "Be quiet, everyone."

The threesome stood to the side of the doorway, watching and listening with anticipation. Within moments Claire's voice became clear.

"You will see that I have made great progress in the orangery," she was saying.

"Yes," came Charles's voice, growing louder, "but wouldn't it be faster to have gone through the east hall?"

"There was a maid waxing the floor," Claire replied, very quickly. "I'm sure it's slippery."

"Bright girl," Ellie whispered to Helen.

"We can just cut through the informal dining room," Claire continued. "It's almost as fast, and ..."

The door began to open.

"Surprise!" yelled the four female residents of Wycombe Abbey.

Charles did indeed look surprised—for about one moment. Then he looked rather vexed as he turned to Ellie and demanded, "What the devil are you doing out of bed?"

"And a happy birthday to you, too," she said acerbically.

"Your hands—"

"—do not seem to be hindering my ability to walk in the least." She smiled wryly. "Rather remarkable, that."

"But—"

Helen, in an uncharacteristically impatient gesture, swatted Charles lightly on the back of his head. "Hush up, cousin, and enjoy your party."

Charles looked at the gaggle of females looking at him with expectant faces and realized that he'd been the worst kind of boor. "Thank you, all of you," he said. "I am honored that you have gone to such lengths to celebrate my birthday."

"We couldn't let it pass without at least a cake," Ellie said. "Judith and I chose the frosting. Butter-cream."

"Did you?" he said approvingly. "Smart girls."

"I painted you a picture!" Judith exclaimed. "With my watercolors."

"Did you, poppet?" He kneeled down by her side. "It's lovely. Why, it looks just like ... just like ..." He looked to Helen, Claire, and Ellie for help, but they all just shrugged.

"Like the stables!" Judith said excitedly.

"Exactly!"

"I spent an entire hour staring at it while I painted."

"An entire hour? How very industrious. I will have to find a position of honor for it in my study."

"You must frame it," she instructed him. "In gold."

Ellie bit back a laugh and whispered to Helen, "I predict a great future for this girl. Perhaps as queen of the universe."

Helen sighed. "My daughter certainly does not suffer from an inability to know what she wants."

"But that is a good thing," Ellie said. "It is good to know what one wants. I have only figured that out for myself very recently."

Charles cut the cake—under the direction of Judith, of course, who had very firm ideas as to how it should be done—and soon he was busy unwrapping his gifts.

There was the watercolor from Judith, an embroidered pillow from Claire, and a small clock from Helen. "For your desk," she explained. "I noticed that it's difficult to see the face of the grandfather clock across the room at night."

Ellie elbowed her husband gently in the side to get his attention. "I haven't a present for you just yet," she said quietly, "but I do have something planned."

"Really?"

"I shall tell you all about it next week."

"I must wait an entire week?"

"I'm going to need full use of my hands," she said, giving him a flirtatious look.

His grin grew positively wolfish. "I can hardly wait."

* * *

True to his word, Charles had a dressmaker come to Wycombe Abbey to go over fabric samples and patterns. Ellie would have to get the bulk of her new wardrobe in London, but Smithson's of Canterbury was a quality dressmaker, and Mrs. Smithson would be able to make a few frocks to last until Ellie could travel to town.

Ellie was quite excited to meet the dressmaker; she'd always had to sew her own dresses, and a private consultation was a luxury, indeed.

Well, not quite private.

"Charles," Ellie said for the fifth time, "I am perfectly able to choose my dresses."

"Of course, darling, but you haven't been to London and—" He caught sight of the patterns in Mrs. Smithson's hand. "Oh, no not that one. The neckline is much too low."

"But these aren't for London. These are for the country. And I've been to the country," she added, her voice growing a touch sarcastic. "As a matter of fact, I'm in the country right now."

If Charles heard her, he made no indication. "Green," he said, apparently to Mrs. Smithson. "She's lovely in green."