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“Adam Pickersgill.”

Mrs. Wellby shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know that name.” Her gaze took in Miranda’s slumping shoulders.

“Please, ma’am,” said Miranda. “We’ve walked ever so far, and we were so sure it was Hartwood where our cousin served.”

“You’ve not been walking our country lanes in those shoes, now have you, miss?”

Miranda nodded. “I wanted to make a good impression when we arrived, you see, but the dust and the wind and...” Her voice trailed off.

“Well, dust and wind we can banish. You’d best come in while we sort out any confusion.” She held the door open for them to pass, and directed Nate to leave their cases at the door.

He hid a smile. They’d made it inside. They might still be sleeping rough, but they’d get a hearing and maybe tea. If he got the chance, he’d see to Miranda’s feet.

Mrs. Wellby led them along the passage to a wide door. They stepped down into a grand kitchen with stone floors and high ceilings and two large black ranges where pots boiled and roasts turned. A sugar cone as tall as a man’s shin stood on the large pine table in the center of the room where three girls, including pimply Avis, worked. Nate’s stomach rumbled. He’d choose a warm kitchen, smelling of soup and sugar, over any grand hall in the kingdom.

Mrs. Wellby directed Miranda to a table in an alcove under some high windows. “You, young man, help her with her cloak, and let’s get you some tea before you tell me about this relation of yours.”

In a few minutes, under Mrs. Wellby’s careful eye, a light tea of biscuits and jam appeared before Nate and Miranda. Miranda sipping tea with her ladylike ways made a pretty sight. Nate broke a warm scone in two and reached for the jam spoon.

“Now then,” Mrs. Wellby said, watching them, “can you tell me why you need to find this relation?”

Miranda set down her teacup and turned a blushing face to their hostess. “We are orphans. My brother will explain.”

Nate cleared his throat. “Until recently our grandfather looked after us, but now he’s died, leaving us his money, but naming two guardians over us, his cousin Adam and our uncle Bernard.” It was the story they’d worked out in hours of conversation before they ever took the stage. Nate suspected the details came straight from one of Miranda’s favorite novels.

Miranda leaned forward as if confiding a deep secret. “Uncle Bernard is a terrible wicked man. He wants to marry me himself to control our money.”

Nate took over again. He didn’t want their fiction to get in the way of the real job. “So my sister’s only hope of escaping a marriage she detests is to find our cousin. Our solicitor told us that Cousin Adam had once been in service at Hartwood.”

“That’s why we’ve made this desperate journey to you, ma’am,” Miranda added. “Without Cousin Adam we are at the mercy of our wicked uncle.”

“Oh dear. Your case does sound desperate. It sounds like something quite out of a novel.”

“Oh, ma’am, do you read novels?” Miranda asked.

“I do,” Mrs. Wellby admitted.

Nate stared at his tea. That could not be good. Mrs. Wellby might be kind, but he doubted she was a fool. He held his breath. He had yet to take a bite of the biscuit and jam on his plate.

“I just finished The Marchioness,” Miranda confided.

“Have you?” Mrs. Wellby asked. “Do eat, Mr. Pickersgill, is it?”

Nate nodded. He managed to swallow a bite of biscuit and jam and reached for his tea. He wanted to kick Miranda under the table.

“Have you plans to put up at some inn in the neighborhood until you find this relation of yours? The Three Horseshoes in Sunley perhaps?”

Miranda shot a panicked gaze his way.

“I confess, ma’am,” he said, “we’ve made no arrangements. My sister did not like the look of the coaching inn. It’s not what she’s used to.” He did not say that the inn was far too grand for them.

“Ah,” said Mrs. Wellby. She took up her teacup in a slow, meditative way.

Nate swallowed another bite of biscuit. It might be his last for a while unless he could sneak some into a pocket. He hadn’t been reduced to such measures in nearly seven years.

Mrs. Wellby lowered her cup again and smiled at Miranda. “I suppose I must help you, as one novel-reader to another. Let’s put you up for the night, and in the morning we’ll check the record book for your cousin’s name.”

As her Season progresses, the husband hunter may wish to take stock of her prospects. Especially, if she feels she is meeting the same gentlemen repeatedly without progressing in an acquaintance with any. She might consider whether she has overlooked a worthy candidate for her hand. Is it possible that she should consider the shy gentleman who appears to fade into the woodwork of a ballroom? Or the man who does not show to advantage on horseback during excursions to the park? Or the man who perpetually amuses his dinner partners on the other side of the tall epergne? To discover a diamond in the rough, the husband hunter is advised to see whether she can’t meet these gentlemen in a new setting.