I realized I had walked until the Kensington Road had become Kensington High Street. I recognized Barkers and knew that it would have a tearoom, but I had determined never to set foot in a department store again. In the end I went into a dismal Lyons, ordered a pot of tea and a scone, and sat feeling sorry for myself. At least I’d eat well as lady-in-waiting to a princess. At least I would be addressed politely and wouldn’t have to put up with people like Miss Fairweather and that floorwalker. And I wouldn’t risk bumping into my mother.

I looked up as a shadow hovered over me. It was a dark-haired young man, slightly unkempt, but not at all unattractive, and he was grinning at me.

“My goodness, it is you,” he said in a voice that bore traces of an Irish brogue. “I couldn’t believe my eyes as I walked past and saw you in the window. That’s never her ladyship, I said to myself, so I had to come in to see.” He pulled out the chair opposite me and sat without being invited to do so, still studying me with amused interest. “So what are you doing, seeing how the other half lives?”

He had unruly dark curls and blue eyes that flashed dangerously. In fact he so unnerved me that I resorted to type. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” I said. “And I don’t speak to strange men.”

At that he threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, that’s a good one. Strange men. I like that. Do you not recall dancing with me at a hunt ball at Badminton a couple of years ago? Obviously not. I’m mortally wounded. I usually make a far greater impression on a girl I’ve held in my arms.” He held out his hand. “Darcy O’Mara. Or should I say the Honorable Darcy O’Mara, since you obviously care about such things. My father is Lord Kilhenny, a peerage that goes back far longer than your own admirable family’s.”

I took his hand. “How do you do?” I said tentatively, because in truth I was sure I’d have remembered meeting him and especially being in close contact in his arms. “Are you sure you’re not mistaking me for someone else?”

“Lady Georgiana, is it not? Daughter of the late duke, sister to the boring Binky?”

“Yes, but . . .” I stammered. “How can I possibly not remember dancing with you?”

“Obviously you had more desirable partners that night.”

“I assure you I didn’t,” I said hotly. “All the young men I remember were as dull as ditchwater. They only wanted to talk about hunting.”

“There’s nothing wrong with hunting,” Darcy O’Mara said, “in its place. But there are many preferable occupations when in the presence of a young woman.”

He looked at me so frankly that I blushed and was furious with myself.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to drink my tea before it gets cold.” I looked down at the grayish, unappetizing liquid.