“I can make it to the stables on my own. You'd do better to make certain that Penelope is occupied on the other side of the house.”
He nodded. “You're right. I will tell the groom to expect you on the hour.”
“Is everyone aware of our deception, then?”
“I thought I might be able to limit it to the three house servants, but now it appears as if the stable staff will have to be in on the secret, as well.” He took a step to leave, then turned around and told her, “Remember, be on time.”
She glanced around with a dubious expression. “I don't suppose you've any clocks here.”
He handed her his pocket watch. “Use this. It will need to be wound in a few hours, though.”
“You'll bring those books?”
He nodded. “Never let it be said that I'm not the most gracious of hosts.”
“Even when you relegate the occasional guest to the washing room?”
“Even then.”
At precisely four o'clock that afternoon, Caroline knocked on the front door of Seacrest Manor. Her journey to that spot had been rather bizarre, to say the least. She'd sneaked out of the washing room, down the servants' stairs, dashed across the lawn at precisely three o'clock, hopped up into the carriage, and proceeded to ride about aimlessly until the groom returned to the house at four.
It certainly would have been more direct to have exited through Blake's bedroom and gone down the main stairs, but after spending all day with no company save for a washbasin and a tub, Caroline didn't mind a bit of excitement and scenery.
Perriwick answered the door in record time, winked at her, and said, “It's a delight to see you again, Miss Trent.”
“Miss Dent,” she hissed.
“Right,” he said, saluting her.
“Perriwick! Someone might see.”
He looked furtively about. “Right.”
Caroline groaned. Perriwick had developed a bit too much of a taste for subterfuge.
The butler cleared his throat and said very loudly, “Allow me to show you to the drawing room, Miss Dent.”
“Thank you…er…what did you say your name was?”
He grinned at her approvingly. “It's Perristick, Miss Dent.”
This time Caroline couldn't help herself. She smacked him in the shoulder. “This isn't a game,” she whispered.
“Of course not.” He opened the door to the drawing room, the same one where he'd plied her with feasts while her ankle was mending. “I'll tell Lady Fairwich that you're here.”
She shook her head at his enthusiasm and walked over to the window. It looked as if it might rain later that evening, which was just as well to Caroline, seeing as how she'd most likely be stuck in Blake's washing room all night.
“Miss Dent—Caroline! How lovely to see you again.”
Caroline turned to see Blake's sister gliding into the room. “Lady Fairwich, you have been too kind to invite me.”
“Nonsense, and I believe that yesterday I insisted you call me Penelope.”
“Very well…Penelope,” Caroline said, then motioned to her surroundings with her hand. “This is a lovely room.”
“Yes, isn't the view breathtaking? I am ever jealous of Blake, living out here by the sea. And now I suppose I must be jealous of you as well.” She smiled. “Would you care for some tea?”
If food had been sent up to Caroline's erstwhile room, Blake had somehow managed to intercept it, and her stomach had been screaming at her all day. “Yes,” she said, “I would adore some tea.”
“Excellent.” I would ask for biscuits as well, but”—Penelope leaned in as if to tell a secret—“Blake's cook is really dreadful. I think we had better just stick with tea, to be on the safe side.”
While Caroline was busy trying to think of a polite way to tell the countess that she would perish from hunger if she didn't let Mrs. Mickle send up some biscuits, Blake entered the room.
“Ah, Miss Dent,” he said, “welcome. I trust your drive here was comfortable.”
“Indeed it was, Mr. Ravenscroft. Your carriage is exceptionally well-sprung.”
He nodded at her distractedly and glanced around the room.
“I say, Blake,” Penelope said, “are you looking for something?”
“I was just wondering if perhaps Mrs. Mickle had sent up some tea. And,” he added forcefully, “biscuits.”
“I was just about to ring for some, although I'm not certain about the biscuits. After last night's meal…”
“Mrs. Mickle makes excellent biscuits,” Blake said. “I shall have her send up a double batch.”
Caroline sighed in relief.
“I suppose,” Penelope conceded. “After all, I did have a lovely breakfast this morning.”
“You had breakfast?” Blake and Caroline said in unison.
If Penelope thought it was strange that her guest was questioning her about her eating habits she did not say so, or perhaps she just didn't hear. She shrugged and said, “Yes, it was the oddest thing, actually. I found it on a tray near my room this morning.”
“Really?” Caroline said, trying to sound like she was asking just out of polite interest. She'd bet her life that food had been meant for her.
“Well, to be truthful it wasn't exactly near my room. It was actually closer to your room, Blake, except I knew that you were already up and about. I thought the servants must have not wanted to come so close to my door for fear of waking me up.”
Blake shot her a look of such disbelief that Penelope was forced to lift her hands in an accommodating gesture and say, “I didn't know what else to think.”