“My lords, ladies, and gentlemen, pray raise your glasses for the loyal toast,” the toastmaster boomed out.

I accepted another glass of champagne from a passing tray. As I was raising it, my elbow was jogged violently and the champagne splashed up into my face and down my front. Before I could do any more than gasp I heard a voice saying, “I’m most frightfully sorry. Here, let me get you a napkin.” Like many young men of our class, he could not, or would not, say the letter r and pronounced it “fwightfully.”

He reached across to a nearby table and handed me a piece of linen.

“That’s a tray cloth,” I said.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again. “It’s all I could find.”

I dabbed at my face with the tray cloth and was now able to focus on him. He was tall and slim, like an overgrown schoolboy who is wearing his big brother’s morning suit. An attempt had been made to slick down his dark brown hair but it still flopped in boyish fashion across his forehead and his earnest brown eyes were now pleading with me in a way that reminded me of a spaniel I once had.

“I’ve ruined your lovely dress. I really am the most clumsy ox,” he went on as he watched me dry myself off. “I’m absolutely hopeless at events like this. The moment I put on a morning suit or a dinner jacket, I am positively guaranteed to spill something, trip over my shoelaces, or generally make an utter fool of myself. I’m thinking of becoming a hermit and living in a cave somewhere on a mountaintop. In Scotland, maybe.”

I had to laugh at that. “I don’t think you’ll find the food is as good,” I pointed out. “And I think you’d find a Scottish cave incredibly cold and drafty. Trust me, I know whereof I speak.”

“You do have a point.” He observed me and then said, “I say, I think I know who you are.”

This was not good. It was bound to happen, I suppose. Just in case things got awkward, I tried to spot Darcy in the crowd. However, I was completely unprepared for what the young man said next: “I believe that you and I are related.”

I went through a quick mental list of cousins, second cousins, and second cousins once removed.

“Really?” I said.

“Well, sort of related. At least, not actually related, but your mother was once married to my guardian, and we played together when we were little. I’m Tristram Hautbois, Sir Hubert Anstruther’s ward.”

All I could think was what terrible twist of fate had christened somebody Tristram who could not say his rs properly. He pronounced it “Twistwam.”

“We ran through the fountains naked, apparently,” I said.

His face lit up. “You remember it too? We thought we’d get into frightful trouble, because a lot of important people had been invited to tea on the lawns, but my guardian thought it was frightfully funny.” His face became solemn again. “You’ve heard what’s happened, I suppose. Poor old Sir Hubert’s had a terrible accident. He’s in a coma in a Swiss hospital. They don’t expect him to live.”