“And what monument are you visiting tomorrow, my dear?” She smiled at the way he said it.

“None. We were going to stay here and rest. Father has business to do, and he’s having lunch with an old friend, and Mother and I were going to do absolutely nothing.”

“That sounds very appealing.” He looked at her seriously. “Gould I induce you to do nothing with me? Perhaps a little ride in the country for a bit of fresh air?”

She hesitated, and then nodded again. In spite of all her cautions to herself, she knew now that she couldn’t resist him. And she had almost decided not to try until they left London.

He picked her up before lunch the next day, in a custom-built Bugatti she had never seen him drive before. And they set off toward Gloucestershire, as he mentioned points of interest to her, and kept her amused as he was driving.

“Where are we going anyway?”

“To one of the oldest country seats in England.” He looked very serious as she listened. “The main house dates back to the fourteenth century, a bit dreary, I’m afraid, but there are several other houses on the property that are a wee bit more modern. The largest of them was built by Sir Christopher Wren in the eighteenth century, and it’s really very lovely. There are extensive stables, a farm, and a sweet hunting box. I think you’ll like it.” It sounded very pretty to her, and then she turned to him with a question.

“It sounds wonderful William. Who lives there?”

He hesitated, and then grinned at her. “Me. Well, actually, I spend as little time there as possible, but my mother lives there all the time. She lives in the main house. And I prefer the hunting box, it’s a bit more rugged I thought you might like to have lunch with her, as long as you had a bit of spare time.”

“William! You’re taking me to have lunch with your mother, and you didn’t tell me!” Sarah looked horrified, and suddenly a little frightened by what he had done.

“She’s quite nice, I promise you,” he said innocently. “I really think you’ll like her.”

“But what on earth will she think of me? Why does she think we’re coming to lunch?” She was afraid of him again, and of their unbridled feelings, and where they might lead.

“I told her you were desperately hungry. Actually, I rang her yesterday and told her that I’d like her to meet you before you left.”

“Why?” Sarah looked at him accusingly.

“Why?” He looked surprised as he answered her. “Because you’re a friend of mine and I like you.”

“Is that all you said?” she growled at him, and waited for an answer.

“Actually, no, I told her we were getting married on Saturday, and I thought it would be nice if she met the next Duchess of Whitfield before the wedding.”

“William, stop it! I’m serious! I don’t want her to think I’m chasing you, or that I’m going to ruin your life.”

“Oh no, I told her about that too. I told her you would come to lunch, but you absolutely refuse to take the title.”

“William!” the screeched, suddenly laughing at him. “What are you doing to me?”

“Nothing yet, my darling, but how I’d like to!”

“You are impossible! You should have told me we were coming here. I didn’t even wear a dress!” She had worn slacks and a silk blouse, and in some circles that was considered pretty racy. Sarah felt sure the dowager Duchess of Whitfield would disapprove when she saw her.

“I told her you were American, that will explain everything.” He teased as he pretended to soothe her; actually he thought she had taken it rather well. He had been a little worried that she would be even more upset than she was when he told her he was taking her to have lunch with his mother, but actually she had been quite a good sport.

“Did you tell her I’m getting divorced, too, since you seem to have told her everything else?”

“Damn, I forgot.” He grinned. “But do be sure to tell her over lunch. She’ll want to hear all about it.” He smiled at her, more in love with her than ever. And totally indifferent now to her fears and objections.

“You are truly disgusting,” she accused him.

“Thank you, my love. Ever at your service.” He smiled.

They reached the main entrance to the property shortly after that, and Sarah was impressed by how handsome it was. The property was surrounded by tall rock walls that looked as though they had been put there by the Normans. The buildings and the trees looked very old, and everything was impeccably kept up. The scale of it was a little overwhelming. The main house looked more like a fortress than a home, but as they drove past the hunting box where William stayed with his friends, she saw how charming it was. It was larger than their house on Long Island. And the house where his mother lived was beautiful, and filled with lovely French and English antiques, and Sarah was startled to meet the tiny, frail, but still beautiful Duchess of Whitfield.

“I’m happy to meet you, Your Grace,” Sarah said nervously, not sure if she should curtsy or shake her hand, but the older woman took her hand carefully in her own and held it.

“And I you, my dear, William said you are a lovely girl, and I see he’s quite right. Do come in.” She led the way inside, walking well but with a cane. The cane had been Queen Victoria’s, and had recently been given her by Bertie, as a small gift when he came to visit.

She showed Sarah around the three downstairs sitting rooms, and then they walked outside into the garden. It was a warm, sunny day, in a summer that had been unseasonably warm for England.

“Will you be here for long, my dear?” his mother asked pleasantly, but Sarah shook her head with regret.

“We are leaving for Italy next week. We’ll be back in London for a few days at the end of August before we sail, but that’s it. My father has to be back in New York at the beginning of September.”

“William tells me that he’s a banker. My father was a banker too. And did William tell you that his father was head of the House of Lords? He was a wonderful man … he looked a great deal like William.” She looked up at her son with obvious pride, and William smiled at her, and put an arm around her with open affection.

“It’s not nice to brag, Mother,” he teased, and it was obvious that she thought the world of him. He had been the delight of her life from the moment he was born, he was the ultimate reward in an extremely long and happy marriage.

“I’m not bragging. I just thought that Sarah would like to know about your father. Perhaps one day you will follow in his footsteps.”

“Not likely, Mother. That’s too much of a headache by half. I’ll fill my seat, but I don’t think I’ll ever run it.”

“You might surprise yourself one day.” She smiled again at Sarah, and a little while later they went in to lunch. She was a charming woman, amazingly alert for her age, and she clearly doted on William. She didn’t seem to cling to him, or complain that he wasn’t attentive enough, or that she never saw him. She seemed perfectly content to let him lead his life, and she seemed to take great pleasure in hearing about it from him. She told Sarah about some of his more amusing youthful escapades, and how well he had done when he was at Eton. He had gone to Cambridge after that, and read History and Politics and Economics.

“Yes, and now all I do is go to dinner parties, and do the tango. Fascinating how useful an education is.” But Sarah already knew he did more than that. He ran his estates, the very profitable farm, and was active in the House of Lords; he travelled, he was well-read, and he was still fascinated by politics. He was an interesting man, and Sarah hated to admit to herself that she liked everything about him. She even liked his mother. And his mother seemed enchanted by Sarah.

The three of them went for a long walk in the gardens in the afternoon, and Annabelle Whitfield told Sarah all about her childhood in Cornwall, as well as her visits to her maternal grandparents in France, and their summers in Deauville. “Sometimes I really miss it,” she confessed with a nostalgic smile at the two young people.

“We were just there in July. It’s still lovely.” Sarah smiled back at her.

“I’m glad to hear that. I haven’t been back in fifty years now.” She smiled at her son. “Once William came, I stayed home. I wanted to be with him every moment, hovering over him, marvelling at his every word and sound. It almost killed me when the poor child went to Eton. I tried to convince George to keep him here with me, with a tutor, but he insisted, and I suppose it was just as well. It would have been too boring for him at home, with his old mother.” She looked at him lovingly and he kissed her cheek.

“It was never boring at home with you, Mother, and you know it. I adored you. And still do.”

“Foolish boy.” She smiled, always happy to hear it.

They left Whitfield late in the afternoon, and the duchess asked Sarah to come back and see her again before she left England. “Perhaps after your trip to Italy, my dear. I would love to hear all about it when you get back to London.”

“I’d love to come and see you.” Sarah smiled at her. She had had a lovely time, and she and William chatted about it on the way back to London. “She’s wonderful.” Sarah smiled at him, thinking about the things his mother had said. She had been welcoming and warm, and sincerely interested in Sarah.

“She is wonderful, isn’t she? She hasn’t got a mean bone in her body. I’ve never seen her angry at anyone, except perhaps me”—he laughed at the memories—“or unkind, or speak to anyone in the heat of anger. And she absolutely adored my father, and he her. It’s a shame you couldn’t meet him, too, but I’m awfully glad you had the time to come and meet my mother.” The look in his eyes said something more to her, but Sarah pretended to ignore it. She didn’t dare allow herself to feel any closer to him than she already did.