Wilson took my black cashmere topcoat and white silk ascot scarf, then ushered me into Father’s study. While Father was pacing the room, agitation in every stride, Mother sat in the comfortable chair behind his desk, sipping sherry.
“Good evening, Father.” I shook his hand. “Mother.” I stooped to kiss her cheek and was enveloped by the scent of Shalimar, the scent she’d favoured for as long as I could remember.
Mother looked every inch the baroness, with the Pennington diamonds dangling from her ears, coiling ‘round her wrists, glittering on her fingers, and sparkling at her throat. By tradition the diamonds went to the newest Trevalyan bride at the time of her wedding; I’d been given to understand Grandmother Trevalyan had been very loathe to surrender them. Sometime after my marriage h
