“And what exactly is it? A place where the laird could spy on his guests, isn’t it?”

“Exactly. A little secret room built into the walls, where the laird could listen through slots to hear if anyone was plotting against him.”

“Dashed interesting. You wouldn’t like to take me to see it, would you?”

I gave him an exasperated look. “I thought you were supposed to be keen on Ronny, Hugo. And now you’re trying to lure me off somewhere secret? I’d stick to one girl if I were you.”

“No, I really am interested in Scottish history,” he said.

I laughed. “I’ll have one of the servants show you the laird’s lug tomorrow if you’re keen on Scottish history.” Then I moved to join Belinda and Paolo, who were talking with Max and Digby Flute, the young American.

Belinda intercepted me halfway across the floor. “Darling, talk to me about something normal,” she said. “I shall scream if I hear the words ‘torque’ and ‘thrust’ again. Strangely enough I found the use of the word ‘thrust’ quite titillating until now, but not when it so clearly applies to a boat engine.”

“They’re still at it, are they?”

“Nonstop.” She sighed. “And speaking of that—what is up between you and Darcy? You’re not exactly acting like dearest chums, are you?”

“Absolutely not,” I said. “He did something—well, for which I can’t forgive him.”

“The lovely señorita, you mean? My dear, he hasn’t been near her, and it’s not for want of trying on her part.”

“No, it was something in London. He—” I stopped, unable to talk about it. “Let’s just say that he is not my favorite person at the moment.”

“Such a pity when you’re both in the same place for once and the atmosphere is so romantic up here. Oh, and talking of romance, take a look at the dreaded Mrs. Simpson. I think she was expecting another dinner guest and he hasn’t turned up.”

I followed her gaze to the group around Binky. Mrs. Simpson was standing close to him, only half paying attention to a story he was telling. She kept glancing up nervously, or was it impatiently? Lachan and Murdoch had now joined us, looking resplendent in full Highland dress. They stood a little apart, deep in conversation, and suddenly it dawned on me that they were two men with slight Scottish accents. Could they have been the ones I overheard in the bathroom? Surely they weren’t Scottish nationalists out to kill the heir to the throne? But then they did have Stuart blood in them. I went over to join them.

“We didn’t see you all day,” I said brightly. “Where did you disappear to?”