“No indeed,” I said, although I would happily consign Paternoster Row to the Devil. It had been the backdrop to a disreputable and poverty-stricken period, which was now over. My life, and that of my children, was to be transformed by honor and wealth; not my own, but close enough to rub off.

“I have something for you,” Mistress Bowdlery had said, retrieving from the deep pocket of her apron a square of fine linen. I recognized at once the labor that had gone into the decorative embroidery of my initials and the needle-lace border.

“It is beautiful,” I replied, tears burning. “When the Countess sees it she will order a hundred.” We had smiled at each other then, united by widowhood and motherhood, both knowing we were unlikely to meet again.

“Someone sit on your grave?” said Mr. Palmer, joining me. I was both surprised and delighted to see him there and had not time to hide either from him. He kissed my hand and stood firmly beside me in the line forming to tour the new Earl and Countess of Somerset’s apartments. I tried not to look too often at him, but was aware of everything, from the little coughs that indicated a slight sore throat, to the wear on the outside edges of his shoes.

There was plenty to discuss as we began our jaunt around the forty-one-room apartment, stuffed with precious objects from ports unimaginably distant. The King had given them the rooms previously occupied by his daughter, the Princess Elizabeth. These were situated away from the river, facing St. James’s Park. Mr. Palmer made fewer and fewer comments, for what was the point of this visit but to remind the Court of the dominion of the Earl and Countess of Somerset? He looked out of the windows at the trees; he loved beauty, not power.

The most startling thing to me was not that every manner of modern and exotic furniture was displayed, but that the Earl had no bed. Despite being married to Frankie, it seemed the King still expected him to spend every night at Court in the royal bedchamber. I knew this would be a mark of great favor to the couple that neither of them wanted, but as Mr. Palmer made no comment about it, I too held my tongue.

The finale of the tour was a long room with walls covered in large paintings. Only then did Mr. Palmer return to his usual animated self.

“My Lord Somerset has created this gallery from a bowling alley. It says much about the man, does it not?” He bent closer to whisper, “It is unsurpassed even by the Prince’s collections. The Earl has bought twenty-nine cases of statuary, at a cost of over two thousand ducats, only fifteen of them here displayed. He is the first in these isles to collect such statues.”