Not at present, Cook.

There was a whistle and the train slowed as it approached a station.

"This'll be our coaling stop," Chop-Chop said.

"Hawkins, perhaps we can stretch our legs for a bit," Lucy said.

"Yes, Miss Lucy," Hawkins said. Old Netherwood's underbutler rose to his feet.

Lucy noted with approval that the front of his trousers were immaculate. She had feared that Hawkins' intimate episode with the railway clerk, Miss Quill, might have soiled his traveling dress. She wondered that Hawkins' handsome face and figure might not have matched him with a more prepossessing woman than the plain, stout clerk. But the mysteries of attraction were many, she mused.

"Will you want me, Miss?" Chop-Chop asked. The redoubtable cook looked to Lucy.

"Not at present, Cook," Lucy said. She laughed. "Miss Cook, that is."

Chop-Chop smiled. "Member of the Proper Job Club, I am," she said. "As long as you keep me as cook, Miss Lucy. I'll never make a lady's maid."

"We may have to make you housekeeper and style you Mrs. Cook so the servants will know to look up to you," Lucy said. "Carry on, then."

Carlotta Cook approximated a curtsey. Her Sunday bonnet bobbed, her apron billowed, and her traveling skirt rustled. "Miss Lucy," she said. Chop-Chop patted her box of treasured knives and settled herself down opposite Mr. Ruddigore Fitch, who was paging through the Times and pretending not to listen.

Lucy and Hawkins stepped out on the platform. He offered his arm to her.

"No thank you, Hawkins," Lucy said. "Please, let us walk."

They walked in silence along the platform. Hawkins kept his tall, trim form to a modest pace to stay in step with Lucy. She could hear his slight hesitations and catch his looks out of the corner of her eye.

Lucy cleared her throat. "I have some news for you that will be hard to believe," she began. "Related to the reading of Lady Catherine's will. At the same time, their solicitor read a sealed provision of Lord Jeremy's will." She took a deep breath. "I am Lord Jeremy's acknowledged child, his eldest."

Hawkins missed a step, but caught himself before he scuffed his polished shoes.

Lucy herself had a moment of vertigo, thinking of her own daughter. Because if Lucy were in truth and had always been a Netherwood, then Annie was not merely Sabrina Netherwood's companion, but her cousin. Lucy swallowed, thinking of Edmund's frequent carnal demands. Jeremy's will aside, it was all but certain that Annie was of Edmund's seed and thus Sabrina's half-sister.

Lucy cleared her throat. "And Lord Jeremy settled Old Netherwood on me."

"Miss Lucy?" Hawkins said. His reserve had finally broken. He stopped and looked her in the face.

Tears streaked her cheeks. She coughed. "Meet your new mistress, Hawkins," she said. "Miss Netherwood. Miss Lucy Netherwood." She reached in her purse for a handkerchief. "Bother. Only now the smoke gets to me."

Hawkins, properly, offered his handkerchief but no opinion. Bright white with knife-edge folds and a monogram 'N' for the house, it was still a handkerchief and dried her tears.

Lucy's breath steadied.

"Thank you for your timely assistance, Hawkins," she said.

"Ma'am," he acknowledged.

Lucy drew Hawkins out on other matters concerning Old Netherwood. Little enough time had passed since her last visit that there was little truly new he could offer her. But her new rôle as mistress pressed other questions upon her. There was little help for her confusion from his part. Lucy prayed that the butler, housekeeper, and steward had things in good order and they would be amenable to her inexperienced hand as mistress. If they would not serve her well, they would have to be replaced directly before strife ensued.

The train whistled and the conductor called for the passengers to board.

"Miss Quill," Lucy said evenly. "Is she more than a conquest, Hawkins?"

"M-ma'am," Hawkins said. "Cordelia has been my sweetheart for two years. But we can't marry. We'd both lose our positions and we'd have no references or prospects. So we're saving and trying to figure out what to do."

Lucy raised her eyebrows. It did sound like true love. Unless the handsome Hawkins was plowing fields elsewhere. And maybe even if he were.

"Thank you, Hawkins," she said, nodding. "I'm sure that must be difficult." At least the Netherwoods had kept her mother on, and had kept Lucy herself on, in circumstances when others would have discharged them without a second thought.

Lucy boarded and Hawkins followed. She turned and met his eyes. "I suppose if Miss Quill has a little time after she has completed her tasks on this journey, you may wish to confer with her again. I will not hold you chatting about wine bottles and candle stumps while Cook grits her teeth. But I did have one further question for you," Lucy said.