“Now then, shall we find that gingerbread?” Layla dropped her reticule on the ground, bent down, and scooped up the little girl. Susannah’s legs looked birdlike against Layla’s curves.

There was one long moment when Layla and Susannah stared at each other, and then the little girl smiled. Some of her teeth appeared to be missing, which was oddly adorable. Layla turned to Edie and said, “Susannah and I will find the gingerbread in the carriage and return shortly.” She walked away, holding Susannah as if she were very precious.

Edie took a deep breath and picked up Layla’s reticule.

“I see why you were concerned,” Gowan said, his voice offering no judgment. “Clearly, you are not accustomed to children, but Lady Gilchrist is. Perhaps she will offer a solution to the question of Susannah.”

Edie stared at him. Had he just offered to give away his sister?

“Are Lord and Lady Gilchrist permanently estranged?” he asked.

“I certainly hope not.”

“Perhaps we can persuade Lady Gilchrist to live here in the interim.” That was Gowan. When a solution to a problem presented itself, he moved swiftly to carry it out.

Edie gave herself a mental shake and turned to the nursemaids. “Do we truly need all three of you for one child?”

“The best nurseries have at least three nursemaids and a nanny, if not a governess as well,” Bardolph put in.

Edie looked at him, and he fell back a step. “Which of you does Susannah like best?” she asked the maids.

After some hesitance, a chubby-cheeked girl with a sweet mouth stepped forward and said, anxiously, “My name is Alice. But I don’t speak a word of French, Your Grace. Nor any other language except the King’s English.”

“You shall be the head nursery maid for the time being,” Edie said. “Susannah is still in blacks, so languages can wait. The more important thing is to find a music instructor. The younger she is when she begins, the more proficient she will become.” It was the one thing she felt confident about. She herself had picked up a cello around Susannah’s age.

Gowan seemed faintly amused. “Find a musician who can tutor the child,” he said to Bardolph.

The nursemaids curtsied and departed. Bardolph ushered forward a group of women who wore dark crimson gowns and snowy white aprons. “The downstairs maids.”

“Good morning,” Edie said.

Bardolph waved forward another group. “The dairy maids.”

“Good morning.”

The second-floor maids were followed by the scullery maids, who were followed by some other groups, and then by the bootblacks. The very last cluster were the swineherds, of whom there were a surprising number.

“I’m very happy to meet all of you,” Edie said when the final group had been introduced. “I hope that in time I shall learn all your names.” There was a round of smiles at that.

“Good morning,” Gowan called, followed by a tidal wave of curtsies and bows, and then it was over. “There are others,” he told her. “The bailiffs and the stewards, the keeper of the tower, and so on. But they can wait.”

They walked across the courtyard toward a huge open pair of richly carved wooden doors, as Edie absorbed the idea that there were still more people to meet. “The ‘keeper of the tower’? Which tower? I saw several as we approached in the carriage.”

“I shall give you a tour of the grounds, when I have the time. The towers in the castle fall under the purview of the groundskeeper, who is under Bardolph, of course. The tower to which I refer is an unattached structure built in the thirteenth century, down in the meadow by the Glaschorrie River.”

“It sounds very romantic.”

“No,” he said uncompromisingly, “it is not. It presents constant trouble, as fools cannot resist climbing it. One boy fell two years ago and cracked his head so badly he nearly died. After that, I appointed the keeper to make certain no one approaches it.”

The entry hall was large enough to roast four or five suckling pigs and still have room for a maypole. The acoustics, Edie noted automatically, would be terrible, given the fact that the ceiling disappeared into the gloom far above their heads.

Bardolph immediately caught Gowan’s attention and bore him off to the side of the hall. Layla had emerged from the carriage and followed them into the entry hall with Susannah trotting along beside her, so Edie took the opportunity to ask the little girl, “Do you know where your brother’s bedchamber is?”

“No,” Susannah answered, unsurprisingly. “You’d have to ask her.” She nodded toward the housekeeper, Mrs. Grisle, who had been drawn into the conversation with Bardolph and Gowan.

“Let’s try to find it ourselves.” Edie started up the great stone staircase, followed by Susannah and Layla. At the top, she began pushing open doors. “Do you like living here?” she asked Susannah.

“It’s lonely. My mother is dead.” She put a bit of vibrato into her voice.

“So is mine,” Edie said.

“But you are old.”

“My mother died when I was only two. Younger than you are.”

“Oh.” Susannah digested that for a while. “Did your mother fall into a loch and drown?”

“No, she did not. She took a chill and caught pneumonia.”

“Were you sad?”

“I don’t remember, but I’ve been sad about it since. I would have liked to have a mother.”

“They’re not so important,” Susannah told her.

Edie tried not to take that personally.

“I think mothers are very important,” Layla put in.

The next door led to a large bedchamber, but it had no connecting doors leading to a bathroom or dressing room.

“This appears to be a guest room,” Layla said. “Shall I stay here, Edie?” It was a bilious room, completely done up in mustard yellow, from the drapes to the rugs to the bed hangings.

Before Edie could answer, Susannah said, “You can sleep in the nursery, if you want. Miss Pettigrew had a bed there but now she’s gone. The room is small, though.”

Edie instinctively recoiled at the idea, but she caught herself. Layla never saw a baby on the street without stopping to coo. She paid calls merely to catch sight of children who might be paraded through the morning room. Of course, she already adored Susannah, and it seemed Susannah adored her.

“I like small rooms,” Layla said. “I think they’re cozy, don’t you?”

Layla wasn’t one to travel light and had brought three trunks full of clothing with her. Cozy would not accurately describe Edie’s understanding of her preferences.

The duke’s bedchamber turned out to be just down the hallway. Here the rugs, drapes, and bed hangings were brown.

“I like the nursery better.” Gowan’s little sister planted herself in the middle of the room with her arms crossed over her narrow chest. “This is not a good room,” she stated. “This is a bad room, and maybe someone died in here.”

“There are no ghosts in my castle,” Edie said, walking over to an interior door, which led to a large chamber, with a built-in bath and an adjoining water closet.

“There are three ghosts in the tower,” Susannah said. And then: “The bath is large enough to swim in.” She sounded impressed for the first time.