He looked across at Annabel, and he groaned. The vast mirrored chamber, with its four little square window bays, two either side of the large raised dais that led to the French doors, was very full of company for the start of the Little Season. Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question. His car, a black Alfa Romeo, waited at the end of the subdivision. ‘From the convent, where else?’ ‘It does not strike me that you can possibly have been in a convent.
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