“I am the only heir to Sir Hubert Anstruther, remember. But he’s hale and hearty and not even fifty yet, so I’ll be ancient by the time he dies.”

Darcy wrapped me in his arms. “We’ll manage somehow. We’ll survive on our own, if we can just get through this.” He kissed me again, this time with real passion, leaving me breathless as he ran out into the swirling snow.

Dinner was a masterpiece. The pheasant was tender enough to eat with a spoon, the gravy rich and the apple dumplings perfect. I was relieved that Treadwell served at table and didn’t ask Queenie to help. I was dreading the thought of custard spilled over the princess’s dress. In fact I didn’t see Queenie until I went up to bed.

“I’ve brought up a hot water bottle, my lady,” Queenie said. “I thought you’d like a warm bed.”

“Queenie?” I looked at her. “I’ve had glowing reports on you today. What happened?”

“Well, miss,” she said, looking down at her hands, “after what I did last night, I saw that I was a right bloomin’ failure, and what’s more, I was a discredit to you, who’s been so kind to me. So I decided I’d try really hard and make myself a credit to you.”

I felt a lump come into my throat. “Why, Queenie, I’m impressed and pleased. And I hear that you are a good cook too. I never knew that.”

She made a face. “Not really, miss. I just know how to make a couple of things and custard is one of them. And I did knock over a jug of milk, but luckily the cat lapped it up before Mr. Treadwell saw.”

As she spoke, she helped me out of my dress and hung it in the wardrobe. Then she helped me on with my nightdress. “Anything else, my lady?” she asked.

“No, thank you, Queenie. You can go to bed now,” I said. I felt a great bubble of happiness inside. Queenie was going to turn into a real lady’s maid and Fig was going to have to approve, and I would never have to worry. . . . I slid under the covers and recoiled as my foot touched warm wetness. I turned back the sheets.

“Queenie!” I called as she was disappearing down the hall. She came running back.

“Yes, my lady?” she asked sweetly.

“My bed has turned into a lake. You didn’t put the stopper on the hot water bottle properly,” I said.

“Nobody’s perfect,” she replied.