When she was finally alone, Lydia realized she had so many questions about London that she decided the first order of business was to explore the house she was staying in.

When Nancy came in with a fresh jug of water Lydia asked. “Nancy, could you give me a tour of the house? I have only ever lived in a cottage in the country and I would like to see how such a grand house operates.”

“Oh, Miss, I could not do that. But I shall speak to Mrs. Samuels, the housekeeper. I am sure she would be happy to assist you.”

“Thank you, Nancy.”

The maid left and Lydia settled down by her window to read Daniel’s letter.

It contained, as she suspected, a revised list of entertainments. It also contained a brief note.

She did not think a written reply was needed as he would be stopping by early tomorrow.

There was a knock on the door and it was opened by a plump older woman in a severe dark dress.

“Miss Lydia?”

“Yes. Come in.”

“I am Mrs. Samuels. Nancy tells me you wish to tour the house.”

“If I may, and it is not an inconvenience.”

Mrs. Samuels nodded. “I would be happy to show you the house. When would you like to do that?”

“Is now convenient?”

“It is.” Mrs. Samuels held the door for Lydia. “Come then.”

Mrs. Samuels had a large ring of keys attached to her belt that clinked as she walked down the hall in front of Lydia. She did not seem to be very forthcoming, and it was clear Lydia would need to ask questions if she wanted to learn anything. They began by exploring the three floors of family’s quarters.

“How long has this house been in the Duke’s family?” she asked.

“At least three generations, I should say. I have only been here five and twenty years. But I have heard stories of past masters.

“And you knew the present Duke when he was young?”

That seemed to lighten Mrs. Samuel’s face. “Aye, he was a charmer, he was. A lively lad, filled with curiosity and not without a fair bit of mischief as well.” She smiled.

“Can you tell me a mischievous story about him?” Lydia asked.

Mrs. Samuels considered, and then said, “Perhaps I should not tell you this, but it seems to be a harmless enough story, and I have heard His Grace tell the story to others, so I do not believe I would be betraying a trust.”

By this time, they had reviewed each of the family’s floors and they were headed down to the servant’s quarters.

“It was just in here,” Mrs. Samuels said, opening a pantry door off the kitchen and leading Lydia inside. “This is one of the pantries. It is where the jams were kept at the time. It was late autumn, just after the harvest at Honeyfield. And a load of new made jams and jellies had been sent up for the London house. We had just placed them all in here.

“Then one morning I came in to supervise one of the new girls and we found Master Edwin had opened every single jar of jam, tasted it, and smeared it around on one of the walls.

He was only four and he said he just wanted to make a jammy painting for his mother.”

Lydia laughed.

“And that is when he acquired the nickname ‘Jammy.’”

“I have not heard him called that at Honeyfield,” Lydia said.

“He shut that nickname down after he turned fifteen. And by then, even if he was not the Duke, he was the Duke apparent, and no one dared cross him. Except for Miss Ellen, I have heard her use that nickname from time to time if she is upset with him.”

Jammy. Lydia would remember that.

* * *

“I must work this morning,” Ellen said at breakfast. “I have just one more chapter to write and I am determined to complete it this week. So excuse me, Lydia, if I leave you to your own devices this morning.”

Lydia was enjoying her poached egg and rasher of bacon. “That is not an issue for me, at all. I will be quite content either reading or, even more likely, walking around the neighborhood exploring.”

“There are some delightful benches in the park across the street for reading, although I suspect it would be too chilly this time of year,” Ellen suggested.

“I will see what the outside temperature is later this afternoon. And if it is pleasant enough, I shall don my sweater and sit for a bit.”

“Are you seeing Daniel today?” Ellen asked.

Lydia looked at the clock on the dining room sideboard. “Shortly.”

“Perhaps he will want to take you for a drive.”

“I would like to see London by carriage,” Lydia said.

“And I like to go for a carriage ride in Hyde Park, occasionally. We have a lovely Barouche. And in fine weather, and with the top down, it can make for a most enjoyable morning outing.”

Lydia had finished her breakfast and stood at her place. “Daniel is to arrive at ten. I must prepare for his arrival. Where should I meet him? I am still learning my way around the house, although Mrs. Samuels gave me an overview yesterday afternoon.”

Ellen smiled. “Samuels? Really? Did she bite your head off?”

“Oh, no. She was most cordial. And she told me a naughty story about Edwin and an episode with jam.”

Ellen laughed. “She told you about Jammy?”

Lydia nodded. “Now I have something with which to tease him when I get back to Honeyfield.”

“I doubt he will enjoy that.”

“I will save it for just the right moment.”

Hammond appeared at the dining room door. “Miss Lydia, there is a Mr. Daniel Beaufort who is calling on you. I have put him in the library.”

“There you are,” Ellen said, “Now you know where to meet him.”

“Oh, my… he is early. Please tell him I shall be with him shortly.”

“Yes, Miss Lydia,” Hammond said, and left.

“I must go to my room before I see him. Ellen, you have a most productive morning on your novel. “And shall I see you at luncheon?”

Ellen nodded. “Have an enjoyable morning.”

Lydia scooted up to her room to get her wrap and the list of entertainments Daniel had sent her. She scurried downstairs again and had to hunt for the library, having forgotten exactly where it was.

“Daniel, I am sorry to keep you waiting. I have been a bad girl and slept longer than I am wont.”

“Understandable, as you must have been tired from the journey,” Daniel said as he stood up from his chair.

“Indeed, I was. Although we had a charming respite in Oxford with my aunt and Doctor Winston.” Lydia came over to Daniel. “You look well. It is very nice to see you again.”

Daniel took her hand and kissed the back of it.

“I have eagerly awaited your arrival, and am so pleased to see you again. I see you have the list I sent you.”

“Yes,” she said sitting in the chair next to him.

“And your thoughts? Any special favorites?”

Lydia opened the paper and consulted it again. “I am quite taken with the Mozart opera, and, having never seen the ballet, would love to see the Royal.”

“And that is all?” he asked.

“I do not want to be greedy. And I know you will soon be going back to Honeyfield for the wedding, so I want to be modest in my requests.”

“Then let us begin with these two and, if time and interest allow, we can schedule more outings for later,” he said. “And are you free this morning? I was thinking you might enjoy a visit to the British Museum. It is one of the world’s premiere museums. I think you would find it most interesting. And then there is the most charming restaurant in Soho you might enjoy for luncheon. Does any of this interest you?”

Lydia was feeling rested and adventurous, and his suggestions sounded most appealing. She could explore the surrounding area and the Belgrave Square Park later.

“It sounds delightful. However, I am expected here for luncheon. I shall just need to notify Hammond that I will not be attending. Give me a moment and I shall be ready.”

* * *

When Lydia returned later that afternoon, she was exhausted. She went right up to her room and laid down for a nap. She had been excited, but also overwhelmed, by the scope of the museum. So many exhibits. So much new information. After an hour or so, her mind went numb and she could no longer absorb or process any more input.

A little after four, there was a knock at her door and Nancy came in.

“Tea is being served in the first parlor, Miss. Shall I tell them you will be attending?”

“Yes, please, Nancy,” Lydia said, as she sat up on the edge of the bed.

“Some post came for you, Miss Lydia. I put it on the side table.”

“Thank you.”

Lydia stood up and went over to the table. There was a letter from her mother and another from Jenny. How nice, she thought. She would look forward to reading them later at her leisure. But now it was tea time and she was thirsty.”

As Lydia entered the parlor she saw Ellen seated with another young woman.

“Hello,” Lydia greeted as she came into the room.

“Oh, Lydia. I am so glad you were free to join us,” Ellen said. “Let me introduce to you to my dear childhood friend, Sybil Masters. She is engaged to Viscount Turnbull. They are to have an autumn wedding.” She turned to Sybil, “And this is my good, new friend and sister, Lydia Fernside, who resides with us at Honeyfield.”

Lydia gave a brief curtsy. “It is a great pleasure to meet you, Miss Sybil.”

Miss Masters was exactly what Lydia imagined a famed London Beauty would be like. She was tall and graceful, even seated, and her blonde curly locks fell most beguilingly around her slender, flawless face. She had a wan smile but her eyes were piercing and attentive. She wore the most current fashion with ease and grace. Lydia felt immediately intimidated by her sophisticated presence.

“Miss Lydia, Ellen has been telling me all about your many agricultural exploits. Just imagine—climbing trees and digging potatoes. What will one think of next?” Sybil said, sipping her tea.

Ellen shot her friend a disapproving look and responded by saying, “Lydia is a very knowledgeable gardener and has vastly improved the scope and quality of our estate. And we are greatly indebted to her.”

Sybil just smiled and reached for a finger sandwich. “Did you know that Buster Slaugh was thrown at a gymkhana and broke his hip? His mamma says he shall be shut up until summer. No dancing for him for a month or two, I should imagine.” She gave an icy chuckle.

“Come sit and have some tea with us,” Ellen encouraged Lydia.

Lydia went to the tea table and Ellen poured her a cup. She sat down. She was not about to be intimidated by Miss Sybil, and said, "Whereas Ellen may have told you all about me, she has told me nothing about you. And what might your interests be?”

Sybil studied Lydia. “I am quite well-known for my watercolors in certain circles, I collect bibelots, and I just adore my King Charles spaniels. And when I am married, I expect to establish a Sunday afternoon salon for poets and intellectual thinkers in Mayfair.”

Lydia gave Ellen a furtive glance. Lydia could see that Ellen felt as she did about Sybil’s answer.

Ellen chose to change the subject entirely. “Sybil, and how is your dear mother? I cannot tell you how long it has been since I saw her last.”

“She has the occasional bout of the vapors, but her doctor says it is nothing serious. And she asked after you when she knew I was coming to see you, and she sends her best regards.”

“And return them to her for me.”

Sybil finished her tea. “Thank you my dear, Ellen, but I promised to stop by the Richards before supper. And as I notice it is beginning to snow I feel I must be on my way.”

She stood and leaned in toward Ellen, giving her a buss on the cheek. “It has been such a delight seeing you again, dear Ellen.” She turned to Lydia. “Miss Lydia, good afternoon.”

Ellen rang a bell on the table and a footman appeared.

“Will you show Miss Masters out please?”

Sybil turned and left ever so beautifully.

Both Ellen and Lydia said nothing until they could hear the front door closing, then they collapsed into laughter.

* * *

Alone in her room after tea, Lydia opened her two letters. She opened her mother’s first because she knew Jenny’s letter would be the greater treat and wanted to save that for last.

Her mother bade her write with news of her stopover at Oxford. She talked about the weather, the state of Her Grace’s health, and reminded Lydia to not forget the rose water and the organdy.

Her only other comment was that Her Grace was becoming more and more demanding since she had moved into the house. The Duchess called upon her mother whenever she wanted anything—regardless if it was her private time or not.

However, she said absolutely nothing about Edwin—the one bit of news she would have been interested in.

Now Jenny’s letter was a different matter.

Lydia put the letter aside. It had made her feel desperately homesick. Not that she was not enjoying London. But she had to admit that, so far, she was finding neither the place nor the people to be particularly sympathetic.

She was realizing that her simple ways were not the ways of metropolitan London. The noise, the crowds, the constant clatter of wagons, carriages, and public transportation grated on her nerves. She was a woman of wide open spaces. She longed to walk through a grove of trees on a grey, misty morning. Or study the starry night for shooting stars. Or sit under a shady tree, beside a babbling stream, as she read her book on a hot summer’s afternoon.

It was still an hour or so before supper, but it was already nearly dark. She considered taking the walk she had promised herself but chose against it. It would be better to explore in the full daylight.