The cream was now sliding down the front of my white blouse. Maybe they hadn’t noticed. If they had, I was hardly exhibiting those highest standards of social behavior at this moment. I half expected the dowager duchess to say that she had changed her mind and wanted someone who didn’t squirt cream to educate her heir.

“So what do you say, Georgiana?” the queen asked. “Do you feel up to the task?”

“Oh, absolutely,” I said. I put the half-eaten éclair into my saucer and reached to set down the cup and saucer on the low table by the sofa.

“Splendid,” Her Grace said. “I am delighted. A load off my mind, if you must know. If you are free to travel immediately, I am staying tonight at our house on Eaton Place, dining with friends at the Savoy and return to Kingsdowne in the morning. You can travel down to Kent in the Bentley with me.”

Kent, I thought. The garden of England. How lovely. For once I seemed to have fallen on my feet. Surreptitiously I picked up my napkin from my lap and dabbed at my blouse. As I lifted my elbow I must have knocked the table beside me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the dragon figurine teeter. I reached out and made a successful grab for it as it was about to fall. Then I turned back to the two ladies.

“Thank you. I’ll be ready in the morning,” I said, giving them what I hoped was a confident smile.

“Jolly good. Splendid,” the duchess said.

“Oh yes. Jolly good,” the queen echoed. I thought she looked a little pale.

Chapter 4

CHELSEA AND EN ROUTE TO KENT

That evening, I was supervising the packing of my belongings, not wanting to leave anything to the next morning. I had discovered that leaving Queenie to pack my things could be a disastrous mistake. I remembered the time she had wrapped my riding boots, still muddy, with my one good evening gown. And she always managed to leave something out. So I went around the house after her, opening drawers and calling her attention to left objects. Each time she had to reopen the trunk, she said “Sorry, miss,” and stuffed the object down the side, not caring what she crumpled in the process. I was becoming more and more short-tempered with her.

“And look, Queenie, here are my best silk stockings,” I said. “Careful with them. Where is the tissue paper?”

“All gone, miss. Never mind. I’ll shove them inside your shoes.”

I bit my tongue and took deep breaths. “And you do have my jewelry case? I think I’d better take it with me in the motorcar.”

“Yes, you’d better,” she said. “I don’t know how I’m going to manage all this stuff as it is.”

“I’ve told you. You hire a porter and have him load it into the train carriage for you. You will be met at Swanley Junction station. You will remember that, won’t you?”