“Keep your thoughts to yourself. Go back to your guests,” the Dowager retorted. “And be very very careful that no suspicion of this reaches Percy Rockley or any other of those club gossips. What a stir they would make of it at White’s!”

Again her eyes met her son’s and something passed between them that, without words, they both understood. Almost violently, Lord Lynche turned away from her.

“Why not tell the truth, Mama, and say who the child is?” he asked.

The Dowager thumped with both hands on the bed in front of her.

“Are you demented?” she shrieked. “I will have you put in a strait-jacket and bury you as I buried your poor father, before I will listen to your insane suggestions. Get out, go back to your cards! Gambling and drink is all you are fit for anyway.”

To Carina’s astonishment. Lord Lynche seemed not a whit abashed by his mother’s abuse.

He laughed, picked up her hand and raised it to his lips.

“As I have always said, Mama, you have been born in the wrong century. You are the last of the Regency ladies. Your language, your insufferable pride and, above all, your courage have nothing whatsoever to do with Victorian England.”

The Dowager snatched her hand away from his lips. But Carina could see by the little twist of her mouth that she was amused and rather flattered by his backhanded compliment.

“Away with you,” she said less violently, “and leave me to deal with this.”

Lord Lynche turned on his heel, gave a stiff bow to Carina as he passed her, glanced across to the hearthrug to where Dipa had his arms round the black and white spaniel and looked quickly away as though the sight hurt him.

He went through the door, closing it behind him.

“Now, Miss Warner,” the Dowager said, with a tone of one addressing a refractory scullery maid, “you understand what is expected of you?”

For just one moment Carina was tempted to reply that she was leaving this madhouse here and now and that she had no intention of being mixed up in their shoddy intrigues. She thought to herself what satisfaction there would be to listen to the Dowager’s anger and know it could not hurt her.

Then she knew that this was only a dream and was something she could not do, not only for her own sake because she needed the job so desperately but also for Dipa’s. The Dowager hated him and Lord Lynche’s feelings, she reckoned, were inscrutable, but certainly not those of affection.

With an air of bravery, which was an effort because the Dowager was so overpowering, she said,

“I will accept the position, if that is what you are asking of me, but only because I already have an affection for the little boy and I would not like –anything to happen to him.”