The butler tapped at Diana Waverly’s half-open door. “The piano tutor is here.” He hesitated, a furrow marring his usually placid brow. “Well, it is Wednesday.” Diana laid her last black dress in the trunk she had been filling, then carefully closed the lid. “Tell Samantha it’s time for her lesson. I’ll be down directly.” The butler remained in the doorway, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Forgive me, my lady, but it … er, it is not the customary piano tutor. It is an altogether different gentleman.” She blinked. “But—Mr. Bent is Samantha’s tutor. We have no other.” “I tried to tell him as much, but the gentleman insists.” Diana stood, frowning. “I’ll see to him.” They had few callers—the inevitable result of turning down a season’s worth of invitations—and never unannounced visitors. Tucking up a stray auburn curl, she started down the hallway toward the wide second floor landing. Mr. Bent had said nothing of this. He was quite reliable—if a bit dour to be tutoring a girl still recovering from the loss of her father.
