He took her into the drawing room, to see the painted ceilings and the art on the walls, then into the dining room, to see the tapestries hanging from the walls. She walked close to the tapestries.

“These tapestries are like something I’ve seen in a museum,” she said. He noticed that she kept her hands clasped behind her back. “The work that must have gone into these . . . all the detail. How extraordinary.”

He’d never inspected the tapestries that closely before, but now he stood next to her to look at them. She was right—so many of those tiny stitches created this artwork. What a feat.

Vivian made a circle of the room before she returned to his side.

“It’s like being inside a museum, except with no one else there.”

He looked around the room and laughed.

“That’s exactly what it’s like.”

They wandered through most of the main rooms, both up and downstairs. He took her to see the main dining room, but it was a bevy of activity with the staff getting ready for Christmas, so they just stood at the door and watched for a while. They went through the ballroom, where she gasped at the incredibly high ceilings and crystal chandeliers. They turned back down the central corridor toward the main staircase, and he saw Vivian stare at the walls lined with many different types of weapons.

“So medieval,” she said under her breath. He turned back and grinned at her, and she grinned back.

He’d been so consumed with work this year that he hadn’t stopped to enjoy himself in a while. This past hour with Vivian Forest had been the most fun he’d had in months. He liked walking with her. He liked talking to her. He hadn’t felt like this since . . .

He rolled his eyes at himself. One pretty black woman his age turns up, and he starts acting like his teenage nephew.

“Can I ask you a very basic question?” she said, when they reached the top of the stairs.

He stopped and smiled at her.

“Certainly.”

She looked down, then back at him.

“You’ll have to forgive me. I don’t know much about the monarchy—what does the Private Secretary to the Queen actually do?”

He laughed.

“Don’t worry, lots of people don’t know the answer to that question. Many things: the biggest role is to support the monarch in her duties. As Head of State she gets a box of government documents to read through every day, and does so without fail. And with, well, current events being what they are, there is plenty going on.”

Vivian nodded.

“Like with a lot of things about England, at first your system seems similar to ours, then when you dig deeper, it’s like it’s all in a completely different language.”

He lowered his voice.

“Don’t tell anyone this, but I worked for a member of Parliament early in my career, and for the Foreign Office for years after that, and I still sometimes get confused about politics here.”

She laughed again, and he smiled at her.

“But the job is also a lot of work dealing with her diary”—he saw the perplexed look on Vivian’s face—“or her calendar, as Americans call it—all of her public and private engagements.”

“So lots of juggling, in other words.” She smiled at him. “That makes it even more kind that you took the time out of your schedule to give me a tour. Thank you.”

He almost laughed. It had nothing to do with kindness; it was all selfishness on his part. He’d enjoyed this more than he’d enjoyed anything in a while.

“It’s my pleasure, Ms. Forest.” He winked at her, and she smiled.

He stopped in front of one of the big picture windows at the back of the house.

“You can see the stables from here.”

She gazed out the window toward where he was pointing.

“Oh wow, and there’s someone riding a horse!” She laughed. “Sorry, I’m sure this is normal for you, but it’s wild for me to see people on horseback like it’s nothing. The closest I’ve ever been to a horse in real life, other than a zoo, was probably one of those carriage horses they have in New York City.”

He bowed his head to her.

“Oh, we can’t have that. I’d love to take you to meet some horses while you’re here, if you have time. Maybe tomorrow?”

What in God’s name was he saying? He had enough on his plate for the next week; he didn’t need to keep playing tour guide. He had a whole list of detailed plans for tomorrow: go over all of the scheduled engagements for the royal family for the next three months, check on the progression of the Trooping the Colour logistics, deal with that memo he’d meant to read for ages, et cetera.

Granted . . . none of that was time sensitive. He was in a bit of a holding pattern right now, just waiting for news. He had plenty of time to do all of those tasks.

Vivian smiled at him.

“I’d love that,” she said.

As they walked on, she turned to him with a question on her face, then turned away.

“Was there something else?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“No, it’s too personal of a question. We just met each other an hour ago.”

He opened up the napkin he’d been carrying since they left Sycamore Cottage and handed her one of Julia’s scones.

“We met over these scones; you get one free question. Didn’t you know the old English superstition?”