“We’re here!”
Hannah’s voice broke in on her thoughts and Cyrilla clenched her hands together with an effort at self-control.
“Leave everything to me,” Hannah said briskly, “and just remember that there’s no alternative. This is what you have to do and what your mother would want, if you could ask her.”
The coachman, who was obviously impressed by the fine house he had brought his passengers to, stepped down and opened the door for them.
Cyrilla, however, gave it only a perfunctory glance before she followed Hannah, who, having paid the coachman, had walked up the steps to the front door.
Before she could raise her hand to the knocker, the door was opened by a footman wearing a powdered wig and a livery of dark blue and yellow with crested silver buttons.
“Is His Grace at home?” Hann
