The sound of an approaching motorcar grew louder. Edwina put down her teacup and picked up her lorgnette, peering through the trees as the black shape of a motorcar came into view. It was an open-topped sports car, low and sleek, and it was being driven rather fast. My heartbeat quickened as I watched it come closer. Could it possibly be Darcy, home from foreign missions and coming to sweep me away?

Then I realized that the driver was certainly not Darcy. It was a small person, hatless, with blonde hair that blew out in the breeze. It was only when the driver spotted us and the car screeched to a halt in a shower of gravel that I recognized who she was.

“Who on earth?” Edwina started to say.

“It’s my mother, Your Grace,” I said as a trim little person in bright red slacks and a white halter top climbed out of the car. She was wearing big sunglasses that hid half her face, and her hair, in spite of having been windswept, now looked perfectly in place. She waved then came toward us, tottering on high platform espadrilles.

“There you are, Georgie,” she called in that voice that had delighted theatergoers across the world. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I telephoned Castle Rannoch but your brother didn’t seem to know where you were. You weren’t at the house in London where I left you a few months ago. I was quite despairing until I ran into your friend Belinda at Crockfords last night and she told me you were staying with the Eynsfords.” She had reached us now, picking her way carefully across the lawn. She seemed to notice the three elderly ladies, all sitting and staring at her in her flamboyantly modern outfit, for the first time. “How do you do,” she said. “Sorry to barge in on you like this.”

I intervened hastily. “Your Grace, may I introduce to you my mother, the former duchess of Rannoch.” I thought it wise to give Mummy the only acceptable title she’s ever had. I wasn’t actually lying. She was a former duchess of Rannoch. It’s just that since that time she had been a great many other things to a great many men. It was possible that the dowager duchess knew a lot of this, but as always her manners were impeccable.

“How do you do,” she said, extending a hand. “Delighted to meet Georgiana’s mother at last. Although I do believe we met many years ago when your dear Bertie was still alive. I was his mother’s lady-in-waiting, you know. He was such a lovable little boy, such a sweet smile. So sad that he died too soon, just like my own sons. One should not have to outlive one’s children.”

My mother, presumably not having heard of the demise of the Eynsford sons, wisely said nothing.