The Duchess of Haverford had given instructions that she was not at home to guests, had retreated from the private sitting room in which she entertained favoured guests to the even more private boudoir off her bedroom, where few were ever invited.

The tray she had ordered had been served, and the maid and footman who brought it had left the room.

The box that was the cause of this seclusion sat on a table, its string cut, but the paper still not unwrapped.

To draw out the anticipation, Eleanor made her tea, carefully measuring the leaves into the pot, filling it with the water that boiled over the spirit lamp, and leaving it to brew. Next to her share, within reach of her hands once she was sitting, she placed the pot, the jug of milk, and a plate with a selection of tasty treats made especially for her by Marcel Fournier, who had once been her chef and was now married to a sort of a cousin of Eleanor’s.

Now. It was time. She approached the box, her heart beating with pleasurable anticipation. She removed the paper, taking time to fold it neatly. The box within was made of heavy card. The lid lifted easily, and she set it aside. And there it was at last, her companion for the afternoon and for many pleasurable stolen moments thereafter. Given how thick it was, it might keep her satisfied for weeks.

She lifted it out of the box and held it to her nostrils. Aahh! The smell of a new book. There was nothing like it.

Eleanor sat in her chair and put her feet up on the footstool. She put the book in her lap and traced the letters on the cover with one finger. “Adventures Around the World,” by Two Gentlemen.

This was volume four, dealing with travels in India and Ceylon. Eleanor had read the previous three. It was an open secret that the two gentlemen were the Duke of Dellborough’s fourth and youngest son, Lord Arthur Versey, and his travelling companion and secretary, Mr. Elijah Ashby, who was some sort of connection of the Earl of Werebridge. A great grandson of the sixth earl, if she remembered correctly.

Whoever they were, they were marvellous writers. Their books were full of the most wonderful descriptions, with clever ink sketches. Eleanor poured her cup of tea, sat back in her chair, and opened the covers. She was spending the afternoon with two gentlemen in India.