Abby Grahame - Wentworth Hall

“I’ll put some hard bread on ice for the little dear,” Rose said. “It will soothe him.”

It took only minutes to warm the formula and deposit it in a baby bottle, also imported from the continent. “Merci,” Therese said, before turning to hurry back up the stairs.

“Now there’s the girl Michael should set his sights on,” Rose commented. “So pretty and sweet.”

“That she is,” Mrs. Howard remarked pensively. “And familiar, somehow. Her smile… I feel like I’ve seen it before.”

“I don’t see how you could have,” Rose said. “Unless you took a holiday to France on your afternoon off?”

“Very funny,” Mrs. Howard replied. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Her smile just reminds me of someone and I can’t recall who.”

“Déjà vu!” explained Grace.

“Excuse me?” Mrs. Howard asked, arching one eyebrow as though Helen had said something a bit racy.

“The French have a word for it,” Grace explained. “It means you’ve seen something before in some other time and place; maybe even another lifetime.”

“Oh, rubbish!” Mrs. Howard scoffed.

“Well, I say she’s a lovely girl,” Rose insisted.

“Do you think so?” Nora questioned skeptically.

“Don’t you like her?” Rose asked.

“I’m not sure,” Nora admitted. “There’s something about her. We’ve been sharing quarters for weeks, and I barely know the first thing about her. She certainly keeps to herself.”

“You’re just annoyed you haven’t gotten any gossip from her!” Grace taunted.

“The French are very different from us,” Rose allowed. “More worldly, I think. It’s a certain sophistication they seem to come by naturally.”

“Maybe,” Nora considered as she sat at the table. She couldn’t imagine Michael with Therese, that much she knew. Although it did surprise her that Therese showed no interest in her handsome friend. Nora could practically hear the girls in town sigh whenever Michael walked by. In fact, Therese seemed preoccupied most of the time. Maybe she’d left behind a beau in France. Perhaps Nora could coax the story out of Therese one day. The local newspaper, The Sussex Courier , lay in front of Nora and she began turning the pages, knowing she’d find juicy tidbits of local news in the society pages.

“Nora!” Mrs. Howard said sharply. “Why are you sitting there? Don’t you have work to do?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Her ladyship wouldn’t want to dress for lunch for another half hour, so she actually did have some time to spare, but it never paid to appear idle in front of Mrs. Howard. If Nora had nothing to do, Mrs. Howard would find something. There was always a floor to be mopped or priceless heirloom to be dusted somewhere in the many, many hallways of the immense estate. “I’m going,” Nora confirmed, tucking the newspaper into her apron pocket to be read in a less conspicuous spot.

As she climbed the servants’ stairs, Nora heard Mrs. Howard speak to Rose. “I wish that girl were as committed to her work as she is to knowing everything that goes on around here,” Mrs. Howard remarked.

“The girl is obsessed with snooping,” Grace added.

Rose laughed warmly in agreement. “She is a regular busybody, isn’t she?”

Turning, Nora wrinkled her nose at them disagreeably.

The well-heeled denizens of the local mansions, estates, halls, and other of the area’s palatial dwellings are all atwitter. What has set these regal folks talking? It is nothing less unexpected that the sudden appearance of that most maligned yet coveted phenomenon known as “New Money.” How dreadful… yet thrilling. How they disdain it! How they want it!

These youthful visitors with dizzying wealth may have come from a land overseas where jungle animals hunt their prey… but they will be surprised to find that in the land of impoverished gentry, they are the prey! Hunted by Lords and Ladies wielding their poor but titled unmarried sons and daughters, trying to ensnare the moneyed youth in the marriage trap.

Not even England’s oldest and most well-respected family is beyond this behavior. In fact, they might be the most desperate of all.…

Stay tuned, dear readers, for the first thrilling installment of MISFORTUNE MANOR… coming next week!

“No!” Lila cried as Nora began to pull Lila’s dark blond hair back into its usual French braid. “I don’t want my hair like this today, Nora.” She gazed imploringly at Nora’s reflection in the mirror. “Can’t we do it differently?”

Nora scowled, confused. “Did you have something special in mind?” she asked.

Lila sighed, feeling just slightly foolish. This morning the Fitzhugh twins would arrive and she wanted to make the right first impression. It was bad enough that Maggie treated her as though she were a child, even though there was a mere two years’ difference in their ages. Lila didn’t want Jessica and Teddy Fitzhugh also thinking she was a little girl to be ignored. She had missed the excitement of Paris, and Lila was determined not to be shut out of this new excitement.

“You could try a twist in back,” Lila suggested to Nora.

“A French twist!” Nora cried, aghast at the idea. “Your mother would never allow it. Girls of sixteen don’t wear their hair like that.”

“Seventeen in two months,” Lila objected with a pout.

“What if I tie it at the nape of your neck with a blue ribbon?” Nora said. “It’s not quite as girlish as a braid.”

Lila considered this alternative before nodding her consent. “That would be better, I suppose,” she allowed.

When Nora had finished brushing and tying the ponytail in place, Lila stood in front of her dressing room mirror. The white linen dropped waist frock she wore completely obliterated any sign of her developing curves. She tugged at the collar so at least a bit of collarbone was revealed. “Hopeless,” she murmured.

“Oh, I wouldn’t fret,” Nora said consolingly. “I’m sure the Fitzhugh twins will like you as much as we all do.”

“And pay about as much attention to me as everyone around here does, also,” Lila sulked. “It’s as though I’m neither fish nor foul—not a child and not an adult. Sometimes I feel like a ghost—invisible and completely—”

Lila cut herself short as the sound of a motorcar approached, its engine growing ever noisier on the road in front of the manor. “It’s them!” Lila shouted, rushing to the window. Pushing aside the curtain, she peered down at the gleaming red vehicle. Its open top revealed a young man and woman in the front seat. The woman in the front passenger seat wore a fur-trimmed knit sweater. Her sleek finger-curls were swept back in a twisting chignon that elegantly spanned the nape of her neck. Jeweled bracelets were piled up both arms.

But Lila’s eyes were glued on the driver.

Auburn-haired and athletically built, he reeked confidence. It was in his squared shoulders and the regal upward tilt of his chiseled jaw. He wore a white cable-knit sweater under a blue blazer. “Oh, look at him, Nora!” Lila gushed. “Isn’t Teddy Fitzhugh gorgeous?!”

“Quite the modern man,” Nora agreed with a sour note in her voice that caught Lila by surprise.

She turned to face her maid. “What does that mean?”