THE URGENT TONES of her maid dragged Tess up from the deepest sleep. She came awake with a start, her heart pounding. For a second her mind felt hazy and confused, sluggish with dreams. She could see that there was light creeping around the edge of the bedchamber curtains but it was a very pale grey early-morning light. “What is it, Margery?” she said, propping herself up on one elbow, forcing her eyes to open. “Is the house on fire?” “No, ma’am,” the maid said. “Lord Rothbury is here to see you, ma’am.” “Rothbury?” Tess squinted at the clock but could not see it in the deep shadows of the room. “But it can only be eight o’clock.” “It is nine-fifteen, ma’am,” the maid said, in the tone of one who had been up and at work for at least four hours. Tess gave a muffled groan and flopped back on the pillow. “Nine-fifteen? But no one makes morning calls in the morning,” she said. “It is far too early.” “Lord Rothbury is doing so, ma’am,” Margery pointed out, with the brand of logic that was peculiarly her own.
