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“She’s beautiful,” Sophie whispered. She darted a quick look back at Mrs. Gibbons to gauge her reaction, but the housekeeper was standing at strict attention, eyes straight ahead, waiting for the earl to bring his new family inside for introductions.
Sophie gulped, not exactly certain where she was meant to stand. Everyone else seemed to have a designated place. The servants were lined up according to rank, from the butler right down to the lowliest scullery maid. Even the dogs were sitting dutifully in the corner, their leads held tight by the Keeper of the Hounds.
But Sophie was rootless. If she were truly the daughter of the house, she’d be standing with her governess, awaiting the new countess. If she were truly the earl’s ward, she’d be in much the same place. But Miss Timmons had caught a head cold and refused to leave the nursery and come downstairs. None of the servants believed for a second that the governess was truly ill. She’d been fine the night before, but no one blamed her for the deception. Sophie was, after all, the earl’s bastard, and no one wanted to be the one to offer potential insult to the new countess by introducing her to her husband’s by-blow.
And the countess would have to be blind, stupid, or both not to realize in an instant that Sophie was something more than the earl’s ward.
Suddenly overcome with shyness, Sophie shrank into a corner as two footmen threw open the front doors with a flourish. The two girls entered first, then stepped to the side as the earl led the countess in. The earl introduced the countess and her daughters to the butler, and the butler introduced them to the servants.
And Sophie waited.
The butler presented the footmen, the chef, the housekeeper, the grooms.
And Sophie waited.
He presented the kitchen maids, the upstairs maids, the scullery maids.
And Sophie waited.
And then finally the butler—Rumsey was his name— presented the lowliest of the lowest of maids, a scullery girl named  Dulcie who had been hired a mere week earlier. The earl nodded and murmured his thanks, and Sophie was still waiting, completely unsure of what to do.
So she cleared her throat and stepped forward, a nervous smile on her face. She didn’t spend much time with the earl, but  she was trotted out before him whenever he visited Pen-wood Park, and he always gave her a few minutes of his time,  asking about her lessons before shooing her back up to the nursery.
Surely he’d still want to know how her studies were progressing, even now that he’d married. Surely he’d want to know that she’d mastered the science of multiplying fractions, and that Miss Timmons had recently declared her French accent, “perfection.”
But he was busy saying something to the countess’s daughters, and he didn’t hear her. Sophie cleared her throat again, this  time more loudly, and said, “My lord?” in a voice that came out a bit more squeaky than she’d intended.
The earl turned around. “Ah, Sophia,” he murmured, “I didn’t realize you were in the hall.”
Sophie beamed. He hadn’t been ignoring her, after all.
“And who might this be?” the countess asked, stepping forward to get a better look.
“My ward,” the earl replied. “Miss Sophia Beckett.”
The countess speared Sophie with an assessing look, then her eyes narrowed.
And narrowed.
And narrowed some more.
“I see,” she said.
And everyone in the room knew instantly that she did see.
“Rosamund,” the countess said, turning to her two girls, “Posy, come with me.”
The girls moved immediately to then- mother’s side. Sophie hazarded a smile in their direction. The smaller one smiled back, but the older one, whose hair was the color of spun gold, took her cue from her mother, pointed her nose in the air, and  looked firmly away.
Sophie gulped and smiled again at the friendly girl, but this time the little girl chewed on her lower lip in indecision, then cast  her eyes toward the floor.
The countess turned her back on Sophie and said to the earl, “I assume you have had rooms prepared for Rosamund and Posy.”
He nodded. “Near the nursery. Right next to Sophie.”
There was a long silence, and then the countess must have decided that certain battles should not be conducted before the servants, because all she said was, “I would like to go upstairs now.”
And she left, taking the earl and her daughters along with her.
Sophie watched the new family walk up the stairs, and then, as they disappeared onto the landing, she turned to  Mrs. Gibbons and asked, “Do you think I should go up to help? I could show the girls the nursery.”
Mrs. Gibbons shook her head. “They looked tired,” she lied. “I’m sure they’ll be needing a nap.”
Sophie frowned. She’d been told that Rosamund was eleven and Posy was ten. Surely that was a bit old for taking naps.
Mrs. Gibbons patted her on the back. “Why don’t you come with me? I could use a bit of company, and Cook told me that  she just made a fresh batch of shortbread. I think it’s still warm.”
Sophie nodded and followed her out of the hall. She’d have plenty of time that evening to get to know the two girls. She’d  show them the nursery, and then they’d become friends, and before long they’d be as sisters.
Sophie smiled. It would be glorious to have sisters.
As it happenned Sophie did not encounter Rosamund and Posy — or the earl and countess, for that matter — until the next day. When Sophie entered the nursery to take her supper, she noticed that the table had been set for two, not four, and Miss Timmons (who had miraculously recovered from her ailment) said that the new countess had told her that Rosamund and  Posy were too tired from their travels to eat that evening.