She made a little movement and her full glass of champagne crashed onto the table, some of it splashing onto her dress.
“Oh, how stupid of me!” she apologised.
“Don’t worry,” Lord Hartcourt said. “The waiter will clear it up.”
“There is some on my dress,” Gardenia said. “I had better go to the cloakroom.”
“Yes, of course, get the woman to sponge it for you,” Lord Hartcourt agreed.
He rose to his feet and Gardenia moved from the table over the room. The cloakroom was situated a little to the right of the kitchen. She found her way there and the woman came forward to help her.
“Please, madame, I am not feeling well,” Gardenia said in French.
Her face was ashen and the woman helped her to a chair.
“Let me fetch you a little brandy, mamselle,” she suggested.
Gardenia nodded.
She was
