One young lady who was not in the least fearful of using any weapons she had to hand was Elizabeth Fanshawe. She cornered me in the small salon I used for painting in. 

 'I hope you will forgive me for disturbing you, Lady Hardley?'

 I put down my brush with a sigh. 'But of course. Did you wish to speak to me?'

 'Yes, I'm afraid so. I can't conceal from you that I'm a little bit concerned.'

 'Are you?' 

 'Indeed I am. You see, I've just been looking over the planned supper menu for the ball with dear Cecily. And I do so hate waste, and I fear there will be a lot of it.'

 I stared at her. 'Waste? I don't see why?'

 She trilled with laughter, or at least, a...

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