do you—” “I am the Viscountess Marleigh”—being all of five foot had never stopped Lady Marleigh from looking down her nose when she wanted to—“and you are a terrible butler.” “That’s because,” Viola put in quickly, “he’s a groom.” Janner’s expression grew wary. “Have we met, Miss? And we weren’t expecting company.” “That’s not my problem.” Before the poor groom could say another word, Lady Marleigh had not so much sailed as launched herself like an armada past him. “I wrote to your master several days
