chaise pulled to a stop in front of a set of massive double doors.
For a moment, Violet feared her courage might fail her. But she squared her shoulders, wrapped her cloak around her, and stepped down from the carriage. There was more wind up here than there had been in the valley below, and it sliced through her, tugging at her cloak and hat as she mounted the steps to the front doors. The house was utterly dark; no lights shone in the myriad of windows, not even a glow through the drapes or around the edges.
Violet raised the ornate knocker and banged it firmly against its plate. After a long moment with no response, she gave it several more sharp raps. At last one of the heavy doors opened, revealing a young man holding a lamp in one hand.
âI am Lady Violet Thornhill,â she said briskly. She had learned long ago that one could not show any sign of hesitation or lack of confidence if one hoped to be taken seriously. âI am here to see Lord Mardoun.â
The young man gaped at her. A womanâs voice sounded faintly somewhere in the house behind the man, and with a look of relief he turned away. âMrs. Ferguson! Some lass is here tae sae the earl.â
âWhat nonsense is this?â He stepped back as an older woman appeared at the door. Mrs. Ferguson was a square, substantial woman wrapped in a heavy flannel dressing gown. Her hair, liberally sprinkled with iron gray, hung braided in one thick plait over her shoulder. She regarded Violet suspiciously. âWhat do you think youâre doing, pounding on peopleâs doors at all hours of the night?â
âIt is barely eight oâclock.â Violet returned an equally steely gaze. âI am here to see Lord Mardoun.â
âWell, you have nae chance of that. Go on with you now.â Mrs. Ferguson made as if to close the door, but Violet hastily slipped inside.
âI am here at the express invitation of Lord Mardoun.â That was stretching it, but the man had invited Lionel, and Lionel would have brought Violet with him if he had been able to come.
Mrs. Ferguson crossed her arms, blocking Violetâs entry farther into the foyer. âThatâs a puzzle, then, since his lordship is not here.â
âNot here!â Violetâs stomach sank. âWhat do you mean? Will he be gone long?â
âAye. Heâs in Italy on his honeymoon. As you would know if you were a friend of Lord Mardounâs.â With a triumphant expression, Mrs. Ferguson began to close the door.
âNo, wait.â Violet dug in her reticule and pulled out her silver, chased card case, extracting one of her calling cards. âI did not say I was a friend of Lord Mardoun. But he is acquainted with me. I am Lady Violet Thornhill.â
The mention of her title had the intended effect. Mrs. Ferguson paused, took the card, and perused it, frowning. Violet dug in her reticule again and found the earlâs letter.
âThis is Lord Mardounâs invitation to my mentor, Mr. Lionel Overton, to visit and examine the ancient ruins on his estate. You can see it is written in his hand. Here, read it.â
Mrs. Ferguson drew herself up and said frostily, âIt is not my place to read his lordshipâs letters.â
âThen surely it is not your place to turn away Lord Mardounâs guests, either.â Violet was pleased to see uncertaintyflicker across Mrs. Fergusonâs face. She pressed her advantage. âIf his lordship is not in residence, who is in charge of Duncally?â
âI am the housekeeper here.â
âDoes that leave you responsible for deciding whether or not you will refuse Lord Mardounâs hospitality? He delegated such authority to you?â Violet felt a twinge of remorse at adopting her fatherâs aristocratic, contemptuous tone. But she could not fail after she had come so far.
The housekeeper turned to the footman, still hovering in the background. âJamie, fetch