“Yes, of course, miss,” the maid replied. “Mr. Dawkins, the butler, will be waiting for you.”
She spoke as if for him to fail to do so would be a social error and Alisa smiled.
She tried to remember all the things her mother had told her about grand houses and what happened when one stayed in them.
She hoped she would not make a lot of mistakes when, as Penelope hoped and prayed, they were invited to parties of consequence.
She wondered if the gentleman who was being so kind as to give her luncheon would be of any help, then once again she felt certain that he was not the type of person she would wish her sister to associate with.
The butler, waiting at the foot of the stairs, led her without speaking to a door at the end of the hall.
When she entered the room, Alisa saw that it was
