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the first plate of her excellent ham with leeks, which he would praise as it deserved. Next a younger Hollins child would be brought and pushed toward him to sing a warbly song in his manner, which Rivers would also praise, and which it usually did not deserve. Only then would he be left alone with his dinner and his book in the little private parlor.
    But today when he was left alone, he abruptly realized that he shouldn’t be, and called again for Hollins to join him.
    “There was a young woman accompanying me today,” he said, feeling both mystified that Lucia was missing and a little careless that he’d only now noticed her absence. “She was to dine with me.”
    “Yes, my lord,” Hollins said. “The small dark lass with the straw hat?”
    “That’s the one,” Rivers said, relieved. “If she’s out there in the hall, pray show her in here.”
    Hollins screwed up his mouth, clearly unhappy to be unable to oblige. “She’s not in the hall, my lord. She’s dining with your other servants, in the long room off the kitchen.”
    “She is?” Rivers paused, his fork in the air with surprise. He thought he’d made it clear that he wished her to dine with him, both here and during her stay at the Lodge. “With the servants?”
    “Yes, my lord,” Hollins said. “Shall I fetch her here?”
    Rivers considered, his fork still poised in the air with the ham steaming faintly before him. Although Lucia had said she’d memorized the passage as he’d asked, he’d seen her sleep so long that he suspected her claim wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. No doubt she’d chosen to eat with his footmen to avoid having to confess the truth about the passage.
    He was sorry she’d made that choice, and sorry that she’d felt it necessary to avoid him, but in a way he didn’t blame her. She’d clearly been exhausted when she’d joined him, and then he’d expected too much of her so soon. Besides, if the other Di Rossis he knew were any indication, swearing to untruths to save their skins was as natural as breathing. Of course he must deal with that, but not now.
    “No, Hollins, that will not be necessary,” he said. “Let her dine where she pleases.”
    At last he brought the forkful of stew to his mouth, striving to show that Lucia’s choice was inconsequential to him. With great deliberation, he once again opened the French philosopher’s book that he’d brought with him from the carriage. He smoothed the pages open with the heel of his hand and rested a clean pewter spoon across the top to hold them open while he ate. As a bachelor, this was often how he dined at home, alone with a book, and perfectly happy that way, too.
    But this evening he wasn’t happy, and the book that should have provided ideal company failed again to hold his interest. Instead his thoughts kept wandering to the Red Hart’s long room off the kitchen, a place where he’d never been, nor had ever considered.
    He imagined long tables with benches, with the diners sitting close-packed together. There would be much laughter and jesting and shouting over one another, the way it always was among servants, and not a word about any French philosophers. He pictured Lucia sitting squeezed between his two tallest footmen, Walker and Johnston, with her looking almost dainty between them in their elegant livery coats. Or maybe they’d shed their coats to preserve them while they ate, so she’d look even smaller, a tiny figure in dark blue against the white linen of their shirtsleeves. He wondered if they’d made her laugh, and then she’d laugh, too, her cheeks rosy and her eyes bright and—
    “Mrs. Hollins has just taken an apple pie from the oven, my lord,” Hollins said, his round face appearing at the door. “With a wedge of fine cheddar, there’s few things more tasty.”
    “Thank you, no, Hollins, I believe I am done.” Rivers rose abruptly and stuffed the book into the pocket of his greatcoat. “Pray send word to my driver that I