Anne bustled away from her sleeping mistress, mindful of the short time allotted for her plans. The grand foyer clock began its drawn-out monotone music denoting the arrival of the noon hour as she hastened to Master Robert's study. At the portal, she did not hesitate before giving the solid wood panel three firm taps.

A gruff voice bade her to enter, and she slipped through the door, shutting it behind herself with barely a whisper of sound to mark her passage. The master sat behind a modest desk set at an angle so as to take in the warmth of the fire and observe clearly any person entering this important room. The masculine scent of cigar smoke mixed with the musk of decaying paper into a heavy perfume that threatened to overwhelm her nostrils, but Anne could afford no delay, even for a sneeze.

Her efficient gait placed her directly in front of Master Robert as he looked up from the papers scattered over the desktop in a pattern only sensible to him. Ignoring his glare of annoyance at her intrusion, she relayed to him the importance and details of the missive to be sent to the Chesterton estate. His expression softened as she explained her intentions and his sister's conflicting emotions over the invitation, and when she finished her requests, he offered her a rare smile and encouraged her to proceed. She answered his smile with a small one of her own when he said he had a surprise for Angela that would ease her transit to the parlor. He insisted she send for him when all was ready before dismissing her with a wave of his hand. As she spun away to her next task, she heard the rustle of papers and the pop of an ink pot being opened.

In the hall once more, Anne thought of her mistress as her feet darted toward the servant's staircase. Unsolicited invitations rarely graced her bedside table, but rarer still did she so plainly struggle with the more severe limits of her condition. Given these observations, some key information about the late Duke's heir was unaccounted for, and Anne meant to uncover it.

Taking the steps to the second floor as quickly as she dared, Anne searched her memory for her first years with her mistress, before her lady's accident and her eventual inclusion in the Hollins household. Her employment as Angela's lady's maid had begun after Anne's own family - mother, brother, and new husband - had perished in a fire along with the family they had served. The family's solicitor had been so kind as to write her a glowing letter of recommendation, ensuring her continued employment, despite the tragedy. Her first years serving Angela were blurred by her raw grief, but a few details emerged from the fog of time as she opened the door that concealed the attic stairs.

At the top of the attic steps, Anne's thoughts were cut off as her footfalls sent up a cloud of dust, causing her lungs to rebel against the air. She nearly lost her footing and tumbled down the stairs from the force of her coughing, and in the end she retreated a few levels down to regain control of her breathing. Once she could inhale and exhale normally, she tugged her handkerchief from her sleeve cuff and pressed it over her mouth and nose before returning to the summit of the stairs.

The light from a small window to her left afforded just enough illumination to survey the closest of the room's contents. Her gaze skittered past the trunks and crates stacked neatly against the left wall, lingering instead on the cluster of indistinct gray shapes on the right. Her entire project hinged on locating a particular kind of furnishing, one too large for a box. The furniture in the drawing room featured classic styling, with one distinct nod to current fashion: every chair and sofa featured a low back. This characteristic drew the eye to the shape of an occupant's shoulders and the cut of their dress or jacket, but it provided little support for one too weak to remain upright unsupported. Miss Angela's presence at tea required a more substantial fixture in the room, and Anne hoped something suitable could be found among the house's discards.

Stepping closer to the shrouded lumps, Anne bent low to shift the grimy sheets, taking care to disturb the collected dust as little as possible in her search. Her third attempt yielded the desired results: a lounging couch with a high back, its blue and gold flowered fabric clean and unmarred by holes or stains. A minute later she tucked the filthy fabric that had covered the couch under her arm and began descending back to the main part of the house.

A brief stop in the kitchen divested her of the dusty sheet and brought the couch to the attention of the footmen, who were finishing their noon meal at a rough table in the corner. Allan, a tall broad-shouldered man who reminded her of her father, and Edgar, a slender young man just sprouting the traces of his first moustache, promised to fetch the requested item once they washed up, and bowed their dark heads back over their bowls of stew. The two had never given Anne reason to doubt their word, so she left them in peace. Before she abandoned the kitchen, she shared an overview of her intentions with Mrs. Nelson, the cook. Five minutes later, her confidence in her chances of success soared; Mrs. Nelson promised that her part in the plot would be completed without delay, and she offered solid advice where Anne's limited experience in hosting guests left her undecided on the best course of action.

Directing her steps toward the receiving parlor, Angie returned to the question of the late duke's heir. The townhouse of the family stood nearby, sharing access to the green park at the rear of the Hollins residence, and the heir would be near Angela's age. Perhaps they had known each other as children? Unable to answer her own question, she called to mind her most coherent memories of those days.

Early in her employment here, she had been scolded many times when young Angela had been tardy or absent at meals or tea, having made one excuse or another to slip out of the house alone for hours at a time. The girl would return dreamy-eyed and apologetic, only to repeat her actions again after a day or two. Attempts to prevent her leaving the house only encouraged more creative excuses and methods to steal away, and no amount of encouragement could either ensure her prompt attendance at meals or uncover details of her escapades, save that she enjoyed the company of a close friend. Anne had suspected Angie met with a boy she harbored more than friendly feelings for; could it have been the young son of Duke Chesterton?

In the parlor, Anne noted the tight arrangement of seats close to the fireplace and knew such narrow spacing would hinder her lady's passage. A few sharp shoves forced a few of the heavy pieces farther from the fireplace while maintaining a near proximity to one another. This opened a gap in the semi-circle of seats, but she required a larger hole. She shifted a couple of smaller chairs behind the sofa, and she pushed a small bench until its cream fabric caressed the tropical panoramic wallpaper. Now sufficient space awaited the arrival of the couch from the attic, and she turned her attention to adding additional comforts to the room.

The narrow windows faced the afternoon sun, and the floor-length sapphire blue velvet drapes were tied back, inviting in piercing columns of light, softened slightly by white silk under-curtains. Even so, the light shafts would be too bright for Angie's currently weakened eyes. Anne tugged the under-curtains so their folds were the most numerous directly over the gleaming panes, and she loosened the ties of the drapes to their longest length. A few much thinner lines of sunlight now peeked into the parlor, and so diffused were they by the bunches of white fabric that no hint of raw brilliance appeared. Instead, the pale fabric glowed with radiance, providing ample illumination without a concentrated source to irritate her lady's eyes. Not as effective as the slatted window coverings Mister Robert had designed and installed over Angela's bedchamber windows, but it would do on such short notice.

Satisfied with the lighting, Anne rushed to the servant's area at the end of the corridor and threw open the linen storage cabinet. Sure fingers gathered spare cushions and two light solid-colored blankets, and swift steps returned her to the parlor, even as her mind wandered back into her memories.

She recalled one pleasant late August morning when young Angela received a letter at breakfast. Her mistress wasted not a breath before breaking the seal, her wide smile announcing her pleasure in the unexpected missive. Her features went slack as her eyes flicked back and forth over the written words; facing the single address line and the remains of the ornate seal on the other side of the paper, Anne read the devastating waves of disbelief and anger that crashed over Angela's face. "How could he?!" she screamed, throwing the letter down, stomping her foot on the page as she bolted up from the table. "No warning, no chance to say goodbye, no chance to say-"

Their gazes met, and Angela's words halted as her eyes widened, as though she remembered Anne's presence for the first time in minutes. Tears erupted from her lady's eyes, and she sprinted from the room, her flight punctuated by the thud of a closing door. Only now did Anne realize it must have been the door in the kitchen, the one closest to the stables. Her mistress would return that day injured to the point of death, never to fully recover. Her favorite mount perished in the accident, and in the days and weeks to come, no mention was made of the letter that sparked her ill-fated ride.

While her body recovered some of its vigor, Angela's spirit remained broken ever after that terrible day; the determination that drove her to take whatever risks necessary to achieve what she desired reappeared only in rare moments, such as her unaccompanied trek into the park last year that ended with a plunge into the icy cold pond. She survived the resulting pneumonia but sustained yet more permanent damage to her health, and evidence of her strong spirit had yet to reappear since. The tears shed over the untimely invitation to tea were the first since long before the illness, and while they distressed Anne, she welcomed any sign of deep emotion from her mistress. Perhaps this gentleman could rouse Angela from her melancholy completely, given time and the proper encouragement.

Smiling at the thought, Anne dropped her armful of cushions and blankets onto the sofa in anticipation of Angela's appearance. Thundering footsteps at the door denoted the arrival of the couch from the attic, born by the two footmen. Anne waved her hand toward the empty space in the group of seats, and in a trice, the furnishing took its indicated position, and the footmen departed, nodded in acknowledgement of her murmured thanks as they paced away.

The parlor now readied, she hastened to the kitchen to assess the cook's progress and to gather a strong cup of tea for Angela; her mistress would need all the aid she could provide. Satisfied with Mrs. Nelson's headway, she added a drop of fresh milk to the waiting full cup of steaming liquid and bustled on. Only one task remained before she could deliver the tea, and the pursuit of it led her to the master's study. She tapped once on the closed door after setting the cup and saucer aside on a nearby pedestal table. Muffled male conversation rumbled within the chamber uninterrupted, so after waiting in silence for a complete breath, Anne rapped her knuckles on the door again. Immediately, the voices stopped and one called out, "Enter!"

At the word, Anne's knees trembled, for it was not Master Robert, but his younger brother Theo, who spoke. Heart racing, she did as she was bid, observing the two men seated side by side in chairs near the hearth where a fire smoldered, only a few low flames peeking out of the ashy pile of wood. The warm scent of brandy overshadowed every other lingering scent in the chamber, and distaste for what chaos that spirit had wrought in her own life sharpened her resolve as she approached them.

"Sir," she began, fixing her eyes only on the master of the house, "you asked to be notified when I completed my arrangements for your sister's tea. All that remains is preparing she herself for the occasion, which I will commence momentarily. Do you require anything else of me?"

Master Robert rose to his feet, eyes merry. "Do not attempt to move Angie to the parlor without my attendance. I will fetch my surprise and wait outside her chamber. Come with me, brother?" He turned his gaze to Theo and extended his hand. Anne's heart stuttered in her chest as the blond man stood, his head rising inches above his sibling's own impressive height. Without another word, she ducked her head and backed away, snatching up the hot tea outside with such careless speed that a bit sloshed out, singeing her fingertips as she dashed to Angie's room. The clock in the hall began chiming the time as she passed, and the sharp note marking half past two rang in her ears as she slipped into the dim bedchamber.

She set the cup and saucer on the side table next to the bed, lowering them with excruciating deliberation to ensure no clatter would disturb the silence. Once her hands were empty, Anne sighed, willing her heart to slow its bounding tempo. It always reacted to Master Theo in this confounding manner, so she was grateful that the man spent little time roaming the halls; such distraction could compromise her position, and finding a situation as pleasant as this would be difficult.

Her pulse no longer thrumming in her veins, Anne stepped to the bedside to awaken her mistress, halting when she heard the crinkle of paper. When she reversed her action, she discovered she had trod on the inviting letter. She lifted it and set it on the side table next to the saucer, taking care to fold it again, the remnants of the seal facing up. The low light seeming through the thinly cracked slats over the windows brought the details of the seal into sharp relief, and Anne froze. This mark matched the one on the missive delivered the morning of her lady's accident so many years ago, its swirling design fresh again in her mind.

A fierce gust of wind howled under the eaves and jerked her from her introspection. There would be time enough later to examine the day's revelations but no time to spare now if she wished this tea to be successful. Swift strides carried her back to Angela's bedside; with luck, the promise of an encounter with a friend would provide her mistress the fortitude for what lay ahead, whatever that may be.