That was when I thought of Belinda. She had been my best friend in school. She had led a very wild and naughty life that had finally caught up with her. She now found herself in trouble, as they say, and at her wits’ end. I had written to my mother to see if she might let Belinda hide out at one of her villas until the blessed event was over. Since Belinda and my mother were kindred spirits and had led similarly naughty lives, I was sure that Mummy would take pity on her and whisk her off to Lugano or Nice. And if Belinda was abroad, then her little mews cottage might be the perfect place for me.

“I’ll be back in time for luncheon,” I said to Queenie, then I bundled myself into my coat and scarf and headed out into the murk. Belinda lived not too far away in a delightful mews cottage in Knightsbridge. I didn’t think she’d be likely to be out on a filthy morning like this so I tapped on her door and heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Belinda opened it, wearing silk pajamas and looking glamorous as usual, if decidedly frail. The image of Camille flashed through my mind.

“Georgie!” she said, her face lighting up. “How lovely. I thought for some reason that you had gone away, now that the wedding is over. Come in, do.” She almost dragged me into the house before more of the fog could curl its way in with me.

“I was away,” I said, “but Darcy had to rush off to Ireland unexpectedly, as I’m sure you now know.”

She looked around in surprise. “No. Why?”

“You don’t read the newspapers?”

“Never. It’s all bad news, isn’t it?” She had gone ahead of me into her cozy sitting room and draped herself on the sofa. I headed for the chair near the gas fire.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll hear soon enough when you are out in society. His father has been arrested and Darcy rushed to his side.”

“Darcy would.” She nodded. “But how horrid for you both.”

“We’ll come through it, don’t worry,” I said. “But how about you? You don’t exactly look in the pink.”

“No, I’ve had some terrible bouts of sickness. They call it morning sickness but I’ve been vomiting into the afternoon and evening. No food seems to appeal to me. I gather it should stop soon. God, I hope so. I don’t know why women ever have children from choice. It’s beastly.”

“Have you heard from my mother yet?”

“Not yet. But it doesn’t matter anymore, Georgie. I don’t need her.”