If this was love, it hurt like a burn.

‘Are you expecting something important?’ asked Ainslie.

Marion brought herself back from her thoughts. ‘I haven’t heard from my parents for a while,’ she fibbed. ‘That’s all.’

‘I thought you received a letter from them two days ago?’

Crawfie flushed. ‘Oh yes, but, you know how it is.’

Ainslie knew exactly how it was. He’d seen Crawfie’s reaction to envelopes written in a hand that was not her mother’s. ‘If anything arrives for you from your family or … a friend, I shall have it delivered upstairs immediately.’

She smiled at him. ‘Thank you.’

He got up and went to the range. ‘I’m making some coffee, if you have time.’

‘Thank you.’ Marion reached across the table and picked up the discarded Times. ‘They won’t miss me for ten minutes.’ She flicked through the pages. ‘Very nice photograph of the Duke and Duchess here. Did you see it?’

‘Yes.’ Ainslie reached for two coffee cups as the kettle boiled. ‘Dinner at the Ritz, wasn’t it?’

‘I’d love to dance at the Ritz.’ Crawfie leant her chin on her hand. ‘The last time I danced was Hogmanay. It was such fun.’

‘Then you’ll love the Ghillies Ball if you ever get to Balmoral.’

Crawfie began reading aloud the short paragraph beneath the photograph: ‘Their Royal Highnesses the Duke and Duchess of York attended a private dinner in Mayfair last evening. The Ritz Hotel is one of the Duchess’s favourite places to dine. Looking splendid in rose satin and diamonds, the Duchess charmed everyone she met. The Duke thanked all those who had made their evening so entertaining.

‘They are wonderful people, aren’t they?’ Crawfie said affectionately.

Ainslie brought the coffee and sat down beside her. ‘Well, let’s put it this way, I would rather work for the Yorks than his brother the King.’

Crawfie put the paper down. ‘Poor man. He must be feeling so lonely and wretched. Bereaved and preparing for his coronation and the rest of his life in service to the country.’

‘That’s not in question.’ Ainslie pursed his lips. ‘It’s his private behaviour he needs to be careful with …’

Marion stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Come, come, Miss Crawford, you aren’t deaf. You must have heard the gossip.’

She had, but she was trying not to listen to it. ‘Well, of course he has close friends, and some are married women,’ Crawfie scoffed.

‘Exactly. A married woman is safe.’ He raised his eyebrows pointedly. ‘One would assume.’

Crawfie shook her head. ‘He is not that sort of man.’

‘I fear he is exactly that sort of man, Miss Crawford. And some men are the sort who would lay down their wives for their King.’

‘That is a shocking thing to say!’ Crawfie’s mind was still fresh with the idea that George might have forgotten her for some other woman, and Ainslie’s words stung her.

Ainslie’s chin tucked itself into his neck. ‘I hear that the King is bringing his special friend, Mrs Simpson, to dine with the Duke and Duchess at the Royal Lodge this Saturday.’ He paused. ‘Without Mr Simpson.’