Chapter 42

Being invited to Lady Rodhalm's first ball of the season was either a high honor or a signal of disapproval. Earl had not yet determined which applied to him, even after four biscuits and two cups of tea. Their hosts were yet to arrive, but they had been served tea and made to feel 'at home' as the wide eyed servants put it. But Earl was far from feeling that way, and he could tell it was the same with Charlie with the way he kept glancing around the house. "She does favor that one," Charlie Murmured to his friend, nodding toward the painting above the fireplace, a portrait of a tiny woman with a flat mouth, triangular nose, and arched, disapproving brows. It was one of at least ten portraits of Lady Rodhalm's female ancestors lining the canary walls of the Rodhalm's fussy, feminine parlor. Earl only nodded. "The wig disguises her hair color, but even if it did not, we would only be guessing that it is her. I doubt her ladyship was born with white hair." In his eyes, there wer