“I have,” she said, still defiant. “Didn’t you notice I said ‘bloomin’ heck’ instead of ‘bloody hell’? One of the other maids said that swearing wasn’t proper and she’d be fired if she ever said a swearword. So I thought I’d better watch me language a bit.”

“Quite right,” I said. “You know I’ve been far too lenient with you. I let you take too many liberties, but I expect you to shape up from now on or I really won’t be able to keep you. I have to return the motorcar to its owner now but I expect my room to be warm and comfortable by the time I get back.”

“Bob’s yer uncle, miss,” she said, never having learned after two years to address me by my proper title. Then she added, “So what happened, then? You and Mr. Darcy didn’t have a falling-out, did you? He didn’t jilt you, did he?”

“Certainly not. Mr. O’Mara had a family emergency and had to return home to Ireland unexpectedly.”

“Oh, does that mean we might be going to Ireland? I’d rather do that than go back to your right cow of a sister-in-law.”

I was about to tell her, for the hundredth time, that it was not her place to criticize her betters, but it never seemed to sink in. “We will not be going to Ireland. Mr. O’Mara does not want me there at the present.”

Then I walked away, afraid that she might spot the despair on my face.

Chapter 5

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 30

Back in London and my last night at Kensington Palace.

Feeling really unsettled. I have no idea what tomorrow might bring.

It was becoming decidedly foggy by the time I turned the motorcar into Eaton Square and found number sixteen. The spiky silhouettes of trees in the middle of the square loomed eerie and indistinct in the mist and the air smelled smoky, making it hard to breathe. This might turn into a real pea-souper by the middle of the night. I was glad it wasn’t far from Kensington Palace. I managed to park the motor without scraping anything and went under the portico to the front door. It was opened by a maid. I would dearly have liked to just hand her the keys and ask her to tell her mistress that I had returned the motorcar, but I realized she’d probably want an explanation of why the motor had been returned so quickly. So I told her who I was. She admitted me, took my coat, hat and gloves, then showed me through into a delightful sitting room. Before I could take in more than the roaring fire in the grate with a polar bear skin rug on the floor in front of it a woman rose up from the Queen Anne chair by the fire where she had been sitting.