It was a fine bit of acting. Not that anyone was around to notice. According to Anderson, the butler, her aunt Mary, Lady Jordan was napping. Her father, the Marquis of Melverley, was out, likely at either White's or his current mistress's house on George Street. Of course, as the innocent and unmarried daughter of a marquis, she wasn't supposed to know about such things, but as her father made rather an open habit of having a mistress or two, she didn't suppose she could be blamed for knowing what was obvious to all. The only person who was home was the same person who was always home, Louisa's younger sister, Eleanor. There was absolutely no point at all in acting a part with Eleanor as an audience. She was the most jaded cynic Louisa had ever met, and that included the cynical Henry Blakesley. Having Melverley for a father gave one rather a hand up on being cynical. Eleanor was in the library, just to the left of the vestibule. It was a massive room, fully the largest in the house, and had the happy situation of being flooded with western light for the better part of the day.
