“Ready?” Ned asked, smiling into her eyes.

Cecilia shrugged. “Tally ho.”

21

post-traumatic housework disorder—her majesty’s special service—a royal handshake—ned’s trousers—a roadblock—the ghost of miss darlington—degeneration (metaphorical and literal)—more of her majesty’s special service—a bloodless victory

Nothing is easier than to admit the truth of the universal struggle to find a good parking space. After some hovering and maneuvering, Ned was finally able to set Darlington House down not far from where Queen Victoria sat picnicking in grand state with Tom Eames and Constantinopla Brown. Oply’s presence explained why the Queen was there, but Ned could not imagine either her or Tom having the skill to raise a castle and fly it all the way from Windsor. Curious, worried, he muttered the anchoring stanza, then hurried downstairs.

Cecilia looked up from sweeping the foyer floor. She looked as implacable as a stick of dynamite. Ned eyed the broom warily as he approached, not altogether sure she wouldn’t hit him with it just to relieve her nervous tension.

“I’m almost finished,” she said. “I have to get this floor done, dust the side tables, clean the kitchen, and hang the bedding out to air. Then everything will be tidy again.”

He stepped close. His quiet, unblinking gaze caught her, held her still, so that he could take the broom uncontested from her grip. He set it against a wall that was actually nowhere near, and as it clattered to the floor he put his arms around her.

For a moment he thought she would protest. But she only sighed and relaxed against him. He whispered nothing in particular, kissing her hair. She nestled closer, and then he was the one to sigh. He was on the verge of begging her to marry him when a sudden knock on the door prevented it. Cecilia moved away, leaving him oddly bereft, and crossed to open the door.

“Yes?” she said.

Two dozen armed soldiers stood at the threshold.

“Good morning,” said the man in front. “Could we interest you in an unconditional surrender?”

“By all means,” Cecilia replied. “I do not know who you are, but I am most happy to accept your surrender.”

“Er.” The man grimaced with embarrassment. “I referred to your surrender, madam. I am Lieutenant Fluthian of Her Majesty’s Special Service. And you are under arrest.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Fluffy.” Ned opened the door wider and scowled at the lieutenant. “Don’t be such a twit.”

“M-Major Candent.” The lieutenant flushed scarlet. “I did not realize.”

“Major?” Cecilia echoed, raising one eyebrow.

Ned shrugged.

“You outrank us all,” she said, amused.

“I’m also a colonel somewhere or the other. It doesn’t signify. Get out of the way, Fluffy. We’re going to talk to the Queen.”

“Oh. I—well—I—can you—well, yes—certainly, sir.” Lieutenant Fluthian stepped aside, and his troops echoed the movement with flawless synchronicity. Ned offered Cecilia his arm, she took it, and they exited Darlington House.