“How do you do,” the countess said stiffly, holding out a black-gloved hand before she could be touched.

“Have you been traveling long?”

“Not too bad. Drove from London yesterday. Spent the night at the Francis in Bath. One of my favorite cities. Always loved shopping for antiques on Milsom Street. Not anymore, of course. Nowhere to put them.”

“Come inside, do,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said.

“I fully intend to,” the countess sniffed. “Certainly don’t expect to stand out here in the cold all week.”

Lady Hawse-Gorzley gave an embarrassed little titter and tried to help the dowager countess up the steps. The latter fought her off. “I am not quite decrepit yet, you know. People have tried to put me away in mothballs, but I won’t let them.”

She made it up the steps unaided.

“I’m sure you’d like to go to your room to freshen up before you join our other guests for tea,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said.

“Freshen up? Is that some horrible transatlantic slang? If you mean for a rest, a wash, a change of clothes, then please say so. People always said what they meant in my day. There was no ‘freshening up’ and ‘needing to relax’ when I was a girl.” She glanced up the long sweep of stairs. “Given the condition of my right knee, I think I will forgo the ‘freshening up,’ if you would please show my companion where we are to sleep and have someone escort me to a salon or wherever one sits in the afternoon.”

“There’s a lovely big fire in the drawing room,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said. “Maybe Lady Georgiana will find you a comfortable chair.”

The lorgnette was turned onto me. “Georgiana? Not Bertie Rannoch’s daughter! Yes, I see the family likeness.” She put a hand on my arm for me to lead her. “I knew your grandmother and of course your terrifying great-grandmama, Queen Victoria. I nearly toppled over when I was presented to her, I was so nervous. Your grandmother was a shy woman, I remember—well, she would be, wouldn’t she, not daring to say a word in her mother’s presence. But we became quite close after she married Rannoch and I married Albury. I remember your father as a boy. Sweet-natured child. Always loved company and was always so lonely. It was a shame they couldn’t provide him with brothers and sisters. He would have thrived in a big household.”

“Like me,” I said. “My brother was so much older than me that it was like being an only child.”