Today’s post is an sneak preview of the novella I’m writing for the Belle’s next anthology, due out in February. Matilda is Her Grace’s ward.

Matilda had apprenticed to her guardian at enough major events to be able to write lists of the possible problems with ideas on how to solve them, and by early afternoon, she was satisfied that, whatever the weather did, they could cope.

She visited the duchess again, and this time was invited inside. Her Grace was dressed, but lying propped up on pillows on a sofa in her sitting room, her eye swollen nearly shut by a large purple bruise. Reassured that Matilda was fully recovered, she claimed that she, too, was on the mend.

“I shall be perfectly well by the auction and ball, my dear,” she insisted, “but I know you will all fret if I get up too quickly. Indeed, I am still a little shaken, so I shall rest, and you shall be my deputy and run my messages.”

“Of course, Aunt Eleanor,” Matilda agreed, and explained what she had been doing. By the time she had displayed her list, the duchess had paled and was drooping on her pillows.

“Tell me what is most urgent for me to know,” Matilda said, “then I shall go away and let you rest.”

“Nothing, Matilda. You are doing an excellent job. Give me a kiss, my dear, and off you go.”