Chapter 1

One

May 9, 1810

S tewards don't belong in the schoolroom.

Yet, Mr. Rhodes stood in the doorway, clearing his throat and straightening his limp cravat.

It was rude to stare. Phil bowed her head over her French book and waited for her governess, who helped her youngest sister on the far side of the room, to notice the steward's presence. Although the man spent several hours a week in the house, the children rarely saw him and, less frequently, spoke to him. And he never, ever traversed the stairs to the floors above the small office near Father's study. Across the room, her twin sisters stopped arguing over their sums. Although they differed in appearance, George and Jane's wide eyes and opened mouths matched in every feature.

Mr. Rhodes cleared his throat again. "Pardon the interruption. Sir Lightwood requires Miss Philippa's presence in the study."

The governess's head popped up, her face registering the same surprise as the twins for a long moment before she returned to her prim demeanor. At the governess's nod of dismissal, Phil closed her book, allowing each page time to float into place and her heart to stop pounding as she took a deep breath. Father hadn't spoken to her in several days and then only to tell her to not run in the garden.

She followed the steward out of the room and down two flights of stairs. The last time she had been called to the study was when she helped her older sister, Alex, put a snake in their old governess's bed. As punishment, father had sent them both back to the nursery for a week with only porridge to eat. The maids hadn't tended the deserted nursery since Rose graduated to the schoolroom. In the interim, spiders had taken up residence in the windowsill. Phil spent each night terrified the eight-legged monsters would climb into her bed. Soon after, the horrid governess left, and their current governess replaced her. If Father had listened to Mother's complaints about the governess, the snake wouldn't have been necessary to rid the house of the spiteful old spinster. However, Phil had done nothing of that sort of mischief again.

Phil slowed her steps. Her chest tightened, making breathing difficult. The only time her father had announced good tidings was the day of William's birth. Phil cataloged all of her misdeeds in recent weeks. None to concern her father came to mind. With each descending stair, she turned over the possibilities in her mind. Was Father upset with her lack of progress in the schoolroom? With Alex and Mother away, she hadn't been paying as much attention as she should to her lessons. Had their governess complained? Why not send a footman or a maid to the classroom?

The heavy study door stood open. Philippa followed the steward into the space Sir Lightwood occupied when not in London. Deep walnut-paneled walls and heavy furniture matched the oppressive smell of coal smoke filling the room. The chimney refused to draw properly, despite all of Father's haranguing the staff, making the room unpleasant after the long winter months. The open window did little to help.

Father stood behind his massive desk buttoning his great-coat, a sure sign he was leaving again. "Philippa, you are the lady of the house now. It's your responsibility to see to the funeral arrangements. Send a message to the coffin-maker. You'll need to prepare the house. I'll be back in the morning. I want your brother laid out in his new suit. Have your mother's maid choose her dress and Alexandra's."

"Mother is dead?" Phil clutched the back of a chair to steady herself. She must have misunderstood. "Alex? William?" Her mother and two siblings had been visiting Mother's father, the Earl of Whitstone, for the last fortnight. Grandfather had taken a great liking to young William, and Father had encouraged the visits. They were to return today.

"How many times have I told you to call your sisters by their full Christian names? Calling each other men's names isn't proper. William was the only son I had, not Alexandra." Until William's birth seven years ago, father had used the masculine version of their names often enough. Father adjusted the fingers of his right glove. "Your sister still lives, or did when the courier was dispatched, but I doubt she will survive the night."

If a full breath could enter her lungs, she would scream. Mother and William couldn't be dead, nor Alex in danger of joining them.

Father crossed the room in three steps. "Inform your sisters and see they are dressed appropriately when I return with the bodies. I expect to be back by mid-morning tomorrow at the latest."

His quick footsteps echoed through the tiled corridor until the front door shut behind him. As businesslike as ever. Did he not care? Had he no feeling?

Philippa remained standing behind the chair, afraid if she let go, she might fall to the ground. Lady of the house? How could she take her mother's place at father's command?

The housekeeper hurried into the room, followed by the butler. She guided Philippa around the chair. "Sit down, child. Take a breath. Would you like tea?"

"What happened?" Phil addressed the steward, struggling to keep her voice even.

"A message arrived a quarter hour past. There was a carriage accident not two miles from The Willows. According to the earl's missive, Miss Alexandra is with the best doctor his lordship can find." Mr. Rhodes didn't repeat the fact her mother and brother were dead.

A simple visit to her grandfather's estate should not end in death.

Phil closed her eyes, forcing the tears to stay hidden. Funeral and mourning arrangements had not been part of her education. Beyond knowing she needed to shroud the parlor in black and cover her mother's portrait and have black dresses made for her and her sisters, Philippa was ignorant. An ache started behind her eyes and moved to her temples and squeezed her head. How would Mother act? Mother, a genuine lady in deed and title, would not descend into tears in front of the servants. After a steadying breath, Phil opened her eyes and spoke as calmly as she could. "I'll need your guidance. I'm afraid I don't know what my father expects of me."

The housekeeper exchanged looks with the steward and butler. "I'll serve tea in the green parlor. I'll ask the governess to bring your sisters down. Take the time you need to explain. In my experience, a good cry will help."

The butler bowed more deeply than his usual nod. "With your permission, I will gather the staff and inform them of Lady Lightwood's and young William's passing. We will pray for Miss Alexandra's recovery." Except for the governess, even the smallest stable boy most likely had heard of the tragedy already. The staff always knew everything first, even if they feigned ignorance. Still, prayer would be appropriate. Another thing Phil had neglected to request. What would she do without Alex? Phil realized the butler awaited her reply. "Thank you. I wouldn't have thought about informing the staff."

Father's pronouncement that she should take charge weighed heavily on her shoulders, preventing her from running from the house to her favorite bench in the garden to cry in private.

"Besides your governess, is there anyone you would like in the parlor when you talk with your sisters?" asked the housekeeper.

"I think it's best if our governess does not attend to us." Jane, the youngest twin, only spoke in her presence when asked to or when fighting with George. This governess was kinder than the last, yet still not understanding of Jane's quiet nature.

The housekeeper ushered Phil into the parlor. "I'll return in a moment with tea. Do you have your handkerchief?"

Phil pulled one out of her sleeve and nodded. No words could pass the lump in her throat.

The housekeeper closed the doors most of the way, leaving Phil alone to compose herself.

A sob escaped her mouth before she could contain her emotions.

Mother.

William.

Alex.

Life without her dearest sister would not be bearable. A fortnight alone in their bedroom had been an eternity. Alex couldn't die too. What of all the secrets she had to tell? Edward had returned home on leave and had inquired about Alex after Sunday service. The twins and Rose would never care.

Voices drifted around the gap of the door.

"I don't know what he is thinking. Miss Philippa is not yet fifteen. He should have told his daughters himself. And to place the poor girl in charge." The housekeeper's voice carried a tone of anger reserved for when the butcher delivered a poor cut of meat or when William tracked mud through the entrance hall. Phil clamped her hand over her mouth. There would be no more muddy, little-boy footprints.

"The entire staff will help the young Miss. I've taken the liberty of sending a note over to the vicar," said the butler. Her father's instructions hadn't included contacting the vicar. Something Phil should have thought of herself. How was she not to make a muddle of everything?

A door shut and footsteps clicked on the uncarpeted tile in the corridor. Mr. Rhodes's voice was soft, causing Phil to strain to listen. "You best move on. The Misses Lightwood need our support, not our speculation."

"Yes," answered the butler.

Three sets of footsteps echoed as the staff dispersed. Philippa closed the door and blinked back tears. Now was not the time to cry. She needed to wait until she told her sisters.