“Of course not.” He held my hand as I started up the steps to the front door. “Society of Chartered Accountants dinner this time.” Then he looked at my face and laughed. “Pulling your leg, old thing.”

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Rannoch House
Wednesday, November 9
Fog has lifted. Dinner with Darcy tonight. Hooray.

I spent the day working on getting the house ready for impending doom. I took off dust sheets, swept carpets and made beds. I left laying the fires for another day. I didn’t want my hair to be full of coal dust when I went out with Darcy. You see how frightfully domestic I had become. I kept darting over to the window to make sure the fog wasn’t creeping in again, but a stiff breeze had sprung up and by the time I started to get ready for my date with Darcy, it had started to rain.

Having been home to Scotland, my posh frocks had been cleaned and pressed by my maid. I chose bottle green velvet and even attempted to tame my hair into sleek waves. Then I decided to go the whole hog and attacked my face with lipstick, rouge and mascara. I topped it with a beaver stole that was one of my mother’s castoffs and was actually looking quite civilized by seven. Then of course I worried that Darcy wouldn’t show up, but he was there on the dot, with a taxi waiting. We sped along Pall Mall, around Trafalgar Square and into the jumble of lanes behind Charing Cross Road.

“Where are we going?” I asked cautiously, as this part of the city seemed poorly lit and not too savory.

“My dear, I am taking you to my lair to have my way with you,” Darcy said in a mock villain voice. “Actually we’re going to Rules.”

“Rules?”

“Surely you must have eaten at Rules—oldest restaurant in London. Good solid British food.”

The taxi pulled up outside an unprepossessing leaded-glass window. We went inside and a delightful warmth met us. The walls were rich wooden paneling, the tablecloths starched and white, and the cutlery gleamed. A maitre d’ in tails met us at the door.

“Mr. O’Mara, sir. How delightful to see you again,” he said, whisking us through the restaurant to a table in a far corner. “And how is his lordship?”

“As well as can be expected, Banks,” Darcy said. “You heard that we had to sell the house and the racing stable to Americans and my father now lives in the lodge.”

“I did hear something of the kind, sir. These are hard times. Nothing makes sense anymore. Except Rules. Nothing changes here, sir. And I believe this must be the old Duke of Rannoch’s daughter. It’s an honor to have you here, my lady. Your late father was a frequent visitor. He is much missed.”

He pulled out a chair for me while Darcy slid onto a red leather bench.