“Does it worry you that he’s a Catholic?” she asked. I thought she was hinting at the line of succession that forbade the royal family from marrying Catholics. But then she went on, “They don’t believe in birth control, do they? At least not after marriage. Before it is quite another matter, isn’t it?” She gave me a “we girls understand each other” look, then went on, “With Darcy’s ardent nature you’ll be popping out a baby a year, my dear.”

I’m afraid I blushed bright red, making her chuckle. “You really are a sweet innocent, aren’t you?” she said. “I don’t believe you’ve even thought of such things. Being a Catholic myself I think of them all the time. Of course, we have a wonderful institution called confession. One can be very naughty and then pop into the confessional, say a few Hail Marys and all is forgiven. So much simpler than the Protestants and their hellfire.”

She took another spoonful of meringue, licked her lips, then went on, “That’s how we first met, you know. Darcy and I. Several years ago. He was just a child, but such a handsome little boy. So mature for his age. We bumped into each other coming out of the confessional.”

On the other side of me the hand was now sliding up my thigh.

“Have you seen Zou Zou’s fine collection of etchings?” Jean-Claude whispered. “Upstairs in one of the bedrooms. I would love to show them to you after dinner. I don’t think we’ll be missed.”

Suddenly I had had enough of being polite and being questioned about matters too close to my heart. I picked up my dessert fork and stuck it into the hand that was now squeezing my thigh as if testing a melon for ripeness. The marquis gave a little involuntary exclamation—“Ah!” Of course, good breeding required that he retain perfect composure and no more would be said. But the hand was removed.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I must have dropped my fork. How clumsy of me.”

On the other side of me I saw a flicker of amusement cross the princess’s face. She knew exactly what I had done.

“So where is dear Darcy?” the woman called Bubbles asked from across the table. “I haven’t seen him in an age.”

“My dear. Haven’t you heard?” Zou Zou said. “His father’s been arrested. The dear boy rushed to his side instantly.”

“Good God,” Dicky said. “I did read something in the paper this morning. Saw it was some Irish peer and didn’t take any more notice. But it was O’Mara’s father, was it? Arrested for murder, no less.”

“Those Irish always are a little too heated, I think,” Lady What’s-it, the banker’s wife, said. “Not quite civilized, you know. And they get aggressive when they’re in their cups.”