A Stroke of Luck by Andrea Pickens

right away. It has been a long journey and we are quite famished."
    "B-but, miss." Confusion caused the man's normally stoic features to crumple in dismay. "The new baron is already in residence."
    "Like Hell he is," she whispered under her breath.
    The butler's face spasmed.
    "We shall wait in here," she continued, choosing the first room on her left. It was a spacious sitting room, with a large sofa and several upholstered chairs set around a hearth of carved limestone. The furnishings were a bit spartan, the dark colors and fabrics suited to a masculine taste. And yet, even though the empty grate looked as though it had not seen a fire in ages and the telltale scatterings of dust revealed a haphazard sort of housekeeping, Zara immediately felt... at home.
    "Er, yes, miss." Tugging at the high fold of his collar, the butler turned and hastily retreated down the hallway.
    Her lips gave a wry twitch on spotting the bag left abandoned on the slate tiles. "I do hope he remembers the tea," she murmured to her brothers. "Otherwise, Nonny, you may have to consider hiring new staff."
    Perry grinned and made a choking sound as he drew a finger across his neck. "Off with his head! That's how a noble Spartan would handle a disobedient servant."
    "The laws of classical Greece are somewhat different from those of modern England," grinned Nonny. "I expect I shall only be allowed to lop off an ear."
    Zara smiled as well, relieved to see their plucky spirits remained undaunted. She wished, however, that her own show of blithe humor was not merely a mask for deeper misgivings. Despite her earlier air of assurance, she was not quite as sure of herself as she appeared. Though she had tried not to dwell overly on it, she imagined her actions could conceivably result in a number of unpleasant consequences—from being bodily ejected from the premises to having the local magistrate lock them up in the gaol them for trespassing.
    Drawing in a deep breath, she tried not to flinch at the sound of approaching footsteps.
    "Her Ladyship will be with you shortly." It was only a young maid, her lowered lashes not quite hiding a gleam of curiosity over the new arrivals as she delivered the terse message.
    A low rumble sounded in Zara's stomach on noting that words were the only thing the servant was delivering. Swallowing a pang of hunger, she forced her mind from thoughts of fragrant oolong to careful consideration of the oblique reference.
    To which "Ladyship" was the maid referring?
    With a quirk of her lips, Zara realized as her eyes strayed around the room that she knew precious little about her father's branch of the family tree.
    Nonny seemed to be thinking the same thing. "Is that Father's cousin?" he asked, his gaze coming to rest on a portrait above the mahogany desk. There was a certain limpid slackness about the gentleman's mouth and eyes that hinted at a tendency toward dissolute behavior, but the smile was friendly and long lines of the face and crook of the aquiline nose had a poignant familiarity to them.
    "I imagine so," she answered, then moved closer to inspect the inscription on the gilt frame. "Yes, it is Aubrey Greeley. He bears a striking resemblance to—"
    A whoosh of silks interrupted her words. "Do not touch the canvas, if you please!" The implication seemed to be that Zara was about to grab it from the wall and stuff it down her bosom. "It is a very valuable painting."
    "I do not doubt it." Zara somehow managed to answer with a cool composure. "Gainsborough is certainly considered one of the preeminent portrait painters of the past century." She tilted her head and pretended to study the work a moment longer. "This is a fine example of his later brushwork. Though I must confess, I tend to prefer his landscapes."
    There was a sharp intake of breath, then a tight-lipped silence as the speaker seemed unsure as to how to reply.
    Zara turned to meet the glowering gaze of an older lady whose short stature and wide girth immediately