The Campbell townhouse in Berkeley Square was quiet in that dignified, aristocratic way—sunlight pouring through tall windows, the faint scent of polished wood and lemon oil, and a distant pianoforte scale drifting from some far drawing room.
Duchess Catherine looked up from her embroidery as the butler bowed.
"Your Grace, His Highness Prince Felix of Hanover has arrived."
Beatrice's hands stilled on the keys.
Victor straightened, miniature cane at the ready, as though preparing for a diplomatic summit.
Catherine sighed. "Victor, do not posture."
Felix entered with that serene, painterly grace that came so naturally to him—inclined his head politely, but his gaze softened immediately when it found Beatrice.
"Lady Beatrice," he said warmly. "It is an honor."
She curtsied. "Your Highness. Please, sit."
