“I’ll see you home,” he said, taking my arm again when I teetered as we crossed the street.

“I’m perfectly capable of finding my own way home in broad daylight,” I said, although I had to admit that my legs weren’t exactly steady after all that champagne and with the heady prospect of his walking beside me.

“I’m sure you are, but wouldn’t you rather have my company to enjoy this lovely evening? Were I currently in funds, I’d have arranged a horse-drawn carriage and we’d clip-clop slowly along the leafy avenues. As it is, we can still walk across the park.”

“All right, then,” I said, rather ungraciously. Twenty-one years of strict upbringing were shouting that I should have no more to do with a man whom I had been warned was a cad and unreliable, as well as being penniless and a Catholic. But when had I ever had such a tempting chance to stroll through the park with someone so devastatingly handsome?

There is nothing as lovely as a London park in springtime. Daffodils among the trees, new green emerging on those spreading chestnuts, elegantly turned-out horses crossing from the riding stable toward Rotten Row, and courting couples strolling hand in hand or sitting rather too close to each other on the benches. I stole a glance at Darcy. He was striding out, looking relaxed and enjoying the scene. I knew I should be making conversation at this moment. At all those training sessions at Les Oiseaux, when we had to dine with each of the mistresses in turn, it was drummed into us that it was a mortal sin to allow a silence to descend upon a dinner party.

“Do you actually live in London?” I asked Darcy.

“At the moment. I’m sleeping at a friend’s place in Chelsea while he’s on his yacht in the Med.”

“That sounds awfully glamorous. Have you been to the Med yourself?”

“Oh, yes. Many times. Never in April though. Not smooth enough. I’m a rotten sailor.”

I tried to form the question I was dying to ask him. “So do you have some kind of profession? I mean, if you have to gate-crash functions to get a good meal and your father has cut you off without a penny, how do you survive?”

He looked down at me and grinned. “I live by my wits, my girl. That’s what I do. And it’s not a bad life. People invite me to make upon even number at dinner parties. I’m awfully well house-trained. I never spill soup on my dinner jacket. They invite me to dance with their daughters at hunt balls. Of course they don’t all know what I’ve told you about being penniless. I’m Lord Kilhenny’s son. They think I’m a good catch.”

“You will be Lord Kilhenny one day, won’t you?”

He laughed. “My old man is likely to live forever, just to spite me. He and I have never been the greatest of pals.”

“And what about your mother? Is she still living?”