It was only when it was finished and she could not find anything else to occupy her mind that she remembered she had gone downstairs to find a book. She wished now with all her heart that the valet had called her to the rescue after she had found one and not before.

‘If only I had something to read,’ she told herself. ‘Perhaps it would distract my brain from all this wondering and puzzling over other people’s affairs.’

But she knew that this was wishful thinking. It was indeed most unlikely that anything would distract her at the moment.

Finally, although it was still early, she took off her dress and put on a soft wool dressing gown trimmed with lace.

As there was nothing else to do, she would brush her hair as Nanny had always told her to do – one hundred strokes in the morning and the same at night.

She took out the pins and let the golden tresses fall around her shoulders and then because it was cold in the bedroom she went back into the day nursery and sat down in front of the fire.

She brushed and brushed until electric sparks almost seemed to come from her hair, making it fly round her face.

She rose to her feet to go back into her bedroom, but at that moment the door opened.

She turned sharply and saw that it was a manservant. She was about to tell him that he should knock before entering when she saw that in his hand he carried a large silver wine cooler in which was resting a bottle of champagne.

He walked across the room and with a bang set it down in the centre of the table.

As he turned his face towards her, she recognised the man she had seen when she had entered the house by the back door. She was certain that she was not mistaken as she was good at remembering a face.

“With Sir Percy’s compliments, miss,” the man said jauntily. “And he’ll be up presently to help you drink it.”

His eye closed in a wink as he spoke.

For a moment Carina’s breath was taken away by the sheer impertinence of it. But before she could find words in which to tell him to take the champagne away, the man said,

“I thought I recognised you when you passed me in the passage. Your name’s Claverly, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean? How do you know?” Carina asked sharply.

“You gave me quite a start, you did,” he answered.

His tone was still familiar and yet in some curious way there was a touch of respect.

“As you came along, I was certain I’d seen you somewhere before and then when you’d gone up the stairs, I remembered. ‘Lady Claverly,’ I says to meself, ‘that’s who it is. Lady Claverly or I’m a Dutchman.’”