Diana stood up and moved toward the door. Her voice was a monotone as she said, “Thank you. I need to think. I’ll come back to you when I’ve decided what to do.”

The solicitor followed her down the narrow staircase and opened the front door, standing aside as she stepped past him into the warm sunlight. The hackney stood waiting for her at the curb. Mr. Muldoon hurried to open the door for her, and with a distracted nod, Diana stepped up into the gloomy interior.

The cabbie leaned down. “Back to Cavendish Square, ma’am?”

“Yes, thank you.” She held out her hand to Muldoon. “I’ll be in touch when I’ve had time to consider my options.”

He bowed his head in acknowledgment, closed the door and stepped back as the cabbie shook the reins and the horses moved forward.

Diana sat back against the cracked leather squabs, vaguely aware that her hands were shaking. She glanced at her watch and was surprised to see it was only ten o’clock. It felt as if she’d lived through a whole week in the few short hours since she’d woken at dawn in Brown’s Hotel on Dover Street. She peered through the grimy window, looking out at the busy streets, so different from the peaceful, lush landscape of the veldt, the long, shimmering reach of the Orange River, so different from the noisy, crowded, gray expanse of the Thames, snaking its way through the city.

The unconnected thought pierced her dim trance that fashions had changed since she was last in London. She wondered if it was possible for life at some point to assume a sense of normality again so that she could contemplate a shopping trip with her friends. She hadn’t seen Petra and Fenella since their debutante season had ended two years ago and she’d sailed to her family in South Africa, secretly engaged to Colonel Rupert Lacey. They were to be married in Cape Town, while he and her brother, Jem, served with the army, protecting the English gold and diamond mines against the Boers. When the war was finally won they would return to England and take up married life.