The Dollar Prince's Wife. Paula Marshall

the last few notes seemed to hang in the air even longer—like the drops of water of which she had spoken, slowly falling into the basin of which she had spoken.

      He said nothing, simply raised his beautiful eyebrows questioningly.

      Dinah shivered.

      ‘Yes, like that,’ she finally achieved. ‘I wish that Faa could hear you play.’

      Cobie inclined his head. He didn’t ask who Faa was, but he could guess. Violet had told him her half-sister’s sorry story earlier that day as though it were something of a joke. He was more than ever relieved that he had discovered Violet’s careless treatment of the poor child. She had allowed her half-sister to be abandoned at Moorings railway station as though she were an unconsidered package.

      Well, be damned to that. He had not gone to rescue her himself, but had caused her to be rescued by others because Violet had always spoken of her so dismissively that he had feared that it might not be tactful for him to do any such thing.

      For the same reason, he did not see fit to tell Dinah that her sister’s neglect of her had been deliberate. Violet’s behaviour towards her sister was making him regret his decision to have an affair with her. Cobie liked his women to be honest, and he tried to be honest with them—or as honest as he ever was with anyone.

      Now that he had met Lady Dinah, he wished that he had gone to Moorings to collect her. Her shy and drab exterior concealed a lively and original mind—a present from her unknown father, no doubt.

      ‘It is kind of you to praise my playing,’ he said. ‘I fear that I am somewhat of an amateur, unlike my foster-sister Susanna who could have had a career as a concert pianist. If women were encouraged to have them, that is.’

      Once again Dinah was to surprise him—and not for the last time. ‘You didn’t sound like an amateur, Mr Grant, nor do you sound very much like an American—if you will allow me to be impertinent—even if you did say that you come from New York.’

      ‘No, I don’t consider you impertinent,’ he said, smiling at her eager face and her transparent pleasure at being allowed to speak freely.

      ‘Allow me to thank you, Lady Dinah, for both your compliments, especially since I have been somewhat remiss since you arrived. I did not ask you whether you had been offered tea after your journey, which I believe was a long one. Shall I ring for some?’

      ‘Yes, and no,’ said Dinah merrily. ‘Yes, I have had tea, and, no, I do not wish to drink any more.’

      There was something about him which made her want to talk to him. He held himself, she thought, as though he were prepared to listen to her. She wondered for a moment what it would be like to be as beautiful as he was and to possess such perfect manners into the bargain. He even made Violet look a little frantic. What did being such a nonpareil do to you? Would she have his effortless calm if she were ever to become his female equivalent?

      Later she was to laugh to herself for having such an absurd thought. Of course, she could never be like him. Pigs might fly sooner, her old nurse had once said of a similar piece of nonsense of hers.

      ‘Well, that disposes of tea as a subject of conversation,’ returned Cobie equally merrily. ‘Now, how about the weather? Shall we have a go at meteorology as a topic? It seems to be a favourite one over here. For example: Do you think it will continue fine, Lady Dinah? Or would you rather allow me to ask you a personal question along the lines of: Why are you in the library?’

      ‘That would be a fair one to ask,’ answered Dinah gravely, sitting down so that he need no longer stand, ‘seeing that you were kind enough to answer my question about the library earlier. I thought that I might do some work. Faa, that’s Professor Fabian, told me that the last Lord Kenilworth but one had accumulated a superb collection of memoirs and papers of all the most important statesmen of the last three centuries. If I’m ever allowed to read history at Oxford, it would give me a flying start to have gone through them carefully, making notes.’

      So, Lady Dinah Freville took after her real father and, all in all, she was proving to be a very unlikely cuckoo in the Rainsboroughs’ nest. Cobie doubted very much whether Dinah would ever be allowed to go to Oxford. Violet, for one, would never agree to it.

      ‘A most sensible notion,’ he said approvingly. ‘There is nothing like reading those documents which have come down to us from the past to give us a true idea of it. I congratulate you, Lady Dinah: not many scholars have grasped that.’

      Goodness, Rainey’s Yankee barbarian sounded just like Faa when he was talking to her seriously! Did he treat Violet and Rainey to such learned and erudite discourse? These were Faa’s words for what went on in academic tutorials and the dons’ discussions. She rather doubted it.

      ‘Do many Americans think that, Mr Grant? Are American statesmen like ours, do you know? Have you met many politicians over there? I suppose that New York is not much like Washington.’

      ‘Indeed not,’ he said, turning his amazing eyes on her again, something which, oddly enough, made Dinah feel quite dizzy. To amuse her, for he found her eager interest strangely touching, he began to tell her some comic stories of what politicians got up to in the United States, which set her laughing.

      ‘I suppose the only real difference between yours and ours,’ she volunteered, ‘is that yours are more straightforward and ours are more hypocritical. I was always told that the First Lord Rainsborough—his name was Christopher Freville—was given his title for some grand diplomatic work he did for King Charles II at the time of the Dutch Wars.

      ‘Only Faa told me one day that that was all a hum, and he also told me where to look in the papers to find the true story. He had discovered it the year he came here to be Rainey’s tutor, and had begun to catalogue our archives before he ran off with Mama. So, the last time I came, I found the papers—and Faa was right.

      ‘Christopher, whose ancestral home was Borough Hall, was a boon companion of King Charles II,’ she explained, her eyes alight with amusement. ‘He was a King whose habits we are all supposed to deplore, although he doesn’t seem to me to be so very different from the present Prince of Wales.’

      She would never have uttered this last piece of heresy in front of Violet, but the man to whom she was talking seemed to provoke her into making such lively indiscretions.

      ‘He was just a nobody about the court, you understand, a mere gentleman-in-waiting. One day the King went for a walk—he was a great walker, Faa said—and it began to rain heavily. He was only wearing a light coat and Christopher was wearing a thick one. He saw that the King was wet, and offered him his own in exchange.

      ‘That night, at court, they all drank too much, and the King told Christopher that he could have any favour he wanted as a gift for having lent him his coat. Christopher told the King that he could keep the coat—provided that he agreed to make him an Earl in exchange for it. Instead of condemning him for his impudence, the King laughed and said, “Since you saved me from the rain I shall call you by its name—you shall be Lord Rainsborough.”

      ‘Christopher was a pretty frivolous fellow. He was never a diplomat or statesman as his descendants have liked to pretend. Making him an Earl was just one of King Charles II’s jokes—he was very fond of them, Faa says. Please don’t tell Violet the truth—she wouldn’t find it at all amusing.’

      To be sure she wouldn’t, Cobie thought, while thanking Dinah for telling him of this comic piece of unwanted family history.

      A little later he was to discover that Violet wouldn’t find anything amusing about her half-sister. After a happy hour’s conversation the library door was flung open by an imperious hand, and Violet entered, resplendent in an old-rose tea-gown.

      She stared at Cobie and Dinah laughing together over the chess set which stood permanently ready on a marquetry table in front of yet another window. Dinah was finding that Mr Grant played an even better game of chess than Faa. Violet, however, approved of neither the game, Mr Grant, nor Dinah.

      She particularly