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“But what would you have him change?” asked Mathilde. “The ending? Have them live happily ever after?”

“No, you couldn’t do that,” said Hester dismissively. “It is clearly a tragedy. There are conventions and rules at play.”

“Could I ask Mr Entner to make Lady Mawby a widow instead of a divorcee?” suggested Fen.

“Oh, he won’t want to do that,” said Hester sounding shocked. “After all, this is his trump card. This is what he is counting on to give the play its frisson of scandal. The fact he is trading on your history for inspiration.”

Fen rubbed her temples distractedly. “What if I asked him to change the character of Lord Orlando?”

“Make him less of a damp squib?” said Hester sympathetically.

Fen brooded on this. “What if I asked for him to be made the hero?”

“Forgive me, but do you think that Lord Vawdrey would be happy to be the main subject of such a play?” asked Hester gently.

Fen realized she had a point. “Or the villain of the piece then. Then no-one could think it was Oswald.”

Hester and Mathilde both looked dismayed by this idea. “Oh no!” they both exclaimed.

“What if people thought you were saying that Lord Vawdrey truly is a villain?” said Mathilde, hefting Archie over her shoulder.

“There is that,” admitted Fen weakly. “What if Lady Mawby were made into a villainess instead?”

Both ladies seemed to be struck speechless for a moment.

“There are already enough rumors circling about you,” said Hester dryly. “Without you adding more fuel to the fire.”

“I’m afraid I agree,” said Mathilde quietly.

Hester Schaeffer shot a surprised look at her.

Fen groaned. “What can I do then?”

“Simply ride it out,” suggested Hester. “It will be a three-day sensation at court, nothing more.

“Maybe no-one will go to see it,” suggested Mathilde.

“A lot of these folk and morality plays sink without a trace,” agreed Hester. “They spring up in the marketplace one day and are gone the next.”

Fen sat back in her seat with a troubled look on her face. “I hope you are right,” she murmured. “I really do.”

Hester and Mathilde had left by the time Linnet returned with her daughters. Mathilde had wanted to stay longer, but Lady Doverdale had sent her old nurse along to collect her. Archie had received many kisses before she’d left. He’d cried a few tears on the departure of his favorite, but Fen had eventually managed to distract him, with the help of Nan who had now finished with the unpacking. They took turns at pointing to things out of the window to him, singing to him and walking him around the room.

“We’re back,” sang out Linnet as she sailed into the room an hour or so later.

Cuthbert came in behind her, carrying Lily and Meg one on each arm.

“What pretty dresses,” cried Fen, for both little girls were in their very best dresses of daffodil yellow. Meg smiled, but Lily hid her face in Cuthbert’s shoulder.

“They’re tired,” said Linnet, coming up to Fen and peeking at her son’s face. “Thank you so much for taking care of Archie. Has he been asleep long?”

“Not long. Nan has just popped down to the kitchens to fetch some supper for the girls,” explained Fen. “She and Gertie have finished unpacking.”

“That’s a relief,” said Linnet. “Girls, let’s find Gertie and get you changed out of your finery for supper.”

When she had finished setting out the children’s meal, Nan took Archie back and Fen was able to slip away to her room. She wrote a short note to Mr Entner, requesting a meeting with him about his intentions to stage his play. Realizing she did not have the direction of his lodgings, she addressed it to Eden Montmayne in the hopes she could forward it for her. Then she sat in a chair by the fire to read Orla’s letter. After breaking it open she realized there had been some delay with its delivery as it was dated over two weeks ago. Bors strolled in and flopped down at her feet. The logs crackled, and she settled in for a catch up with all things Sitchmarsh. Little had she known, six weeks ago when she’d rashly left for Aphrany, that she would be so long gone from her home county. She hoped Orla’s letter would mention her friends and acquaintances rather than her own grievances, as the last one had. In this, she was not to be disappointed. Orla wrote that Ambrose and his new bride had gone on a visit home to Thurrold Manor and it had not gone well. Orla dismissed Colleen as a vapid little fool and wrote that her mother, Lady Edland was overbearing, arrogant and meant to rule the roost. ‘As you can imagine, my dear Fenella, this did not endear her to myself or our servants.’ Fenella remembered Ambrose’s words in the shrubbery that day when he berated her about turning his sister against his new wife. This must have been what he was writing about, she realized. Their reception on this visit home. ‘You must not imagine that I am the only person to draw this conclusion, for our friends and neighbors have been much perturbed by your usurpation. Indeed, the only person in the neighborhood who has welcomed them with open arms is that bold-faced hussy Sarah Yondy! You may imagine my reaction, when Ambrose informed me they were to dine at her house last Thursday week! I left him in no doubt of my disapproval, of that you may be sure! And great was Ambrose’s perturbation when it dawned on him that the invitations he issued far and wide for folk to meet his upstart ‘wife’ (not that she deserves the title!) were being shunned by the respectable folk of Sitchmarsh. And would you believe, my dear sister, that he then turned to me in the expectation that I should try to sway public opinion in his favor? I need hardly tell you the reply I made! In a show of solidarity, I have ridden out to Sitchmarsh Hall three times in the last week to commiserate with your brother Gilbert. I am sorry to say, that the first time I arrived I found him with a very sore head from carousing. I gave him a very stern lecture on the evils of over-indulgence you may be sure! Such was his malady that he received my strictures most meekly and promised he would not over-imbibe again before Solstice Eve. I have ridden out twice since then to test his resolve and ensure he has kept his promise. Fen lowered the page, as it suddenly dawned on her that ‘the harridan’ Gil had been complaining was plaguing the life out of him, could in fact, be Orla! She gave a snort of laughter, and extricating her foot from her slipper, stroked Bors’ back with her stockinged foot. Bors flipped over onto his back to give her access to his stomach. Nothing loath, Fen wriggled her stockinged toes along his stomach and Bors’ let his tongue loll out of his mouth as he panted in approval.

A knock on the door startled Fen, and Bors gave a short bark, rolling onto his stomach to preserve his dignity. A blond head peered around the door and she realized it was Cuthbert.