Meredith was handling the news of Miss Winlow’s arrival better than Ram had anticipated. Unlike many women in his past, Meredith had not succumbed to tears or thrown a single object at his head. Truly he was optimistic. “Miss Winlow is joining us at my request,” he said, giving Meredith a level stare. “You are mistress of Swancott. As such, I expect you to welcome her in a manner befitting your position.” His sister lowered her head and twisted the gold ring on her first finger. “Your Miss Winlow is not a visitor, Ram. She is a servant. Why should she be given any more courtesy than, say, the gardener or scullery maid?” Ramscar was so stunned by Meredith’s uncharacteristic viciousness, he just gaped at her. Any hope that his sister might concede to his dictates willingly vanished. Still, he was master of Swancott. “You are furious with me, Meredith. Do not shame me by focusing your ire on an innocent woman.” Meredith flung out her hands, appealing to the heavens. “Why do you not listen to me?
