There was none of the warmth in his voice with which he had thanked her in the kitchen. Carina felt as if they had slipped back into their correct roles and now she was only the Governess whose place was upstairs.

“Will you be down for luncheon, miss?”

Newman’s voice arrested her as she put her foot on the stairs.

“No – no thank you, Carina answered. “We have already had something to eat. The Prince and I will require nothing more.”

She hurried Dipa upstairs and put him into his bed to lie down.

He was sleepy, but his thoughts were full of his ride that morning and he talked long and ramblingly about horses and pussy cats. Almost sharply Carina told him to go to sleep and then there was silence.

After she had changed her clothes, Carina went into the nursery and stood looking out onto the path below.

It seemed almost incredible that only an hour ago she had been galloping across the grass, feeling the breeze on her face and the joy of a perfectly trained horse beneath her.

Then, with a stab in her heart, she realised that it would never happen again. The horses would go with everything else. And soon they would be moving out, but where – where could they go?

She felt lonely and isolated up in the nursery. It was like standing in the cold outside a theatre and being unable to see or hear any of the performance taking place.

She could imagine the agitation downstairs. And yet she knew that Lord Lynche would not betray his feelings, but would appear a quiet considerate host, not allowing himself to show in any way his hatred of Sir Percy.

‘But underneath it all, I know how he is suffering,’ Carina thought.

And quite suddenly her pity and her compassion swept over her so intensely that she felt she must go to him and stand by his side.

She closed her eyes and she could see him looking down at her, see him staring at her and she remembered the extraordinary feeling, almost of magnetism, that had seemed to pass between them.

With a little shake of her head she forced her thoughts away from what had taken place that morning.

She walked to the door of the bedroom.

Dipa was breathing quietly, his small dark head dug into the softness of the white pillow.

‘I must do something,’ Carina thought wildly. ‘I cannot think what.’

She glanced at the time. The gentlemen would still be in the dining room. They seldom finished before three o’clock.

She decided to find a book to read – any book, as long as it kept her thoughts from wandering into channels that she felt she must forbid them entry.