CHAPTER THREEHarkness Jackson raised one of Aunt Maud’s best wine glasses and looked at Lucilla.
“A toast to you, Princess!” he drawled and drained the wine from his glass in one draught.
‘How dare he call me Princess!’ Lucilla thought, looking down at her plate and wishing she was anywhere but at her aunt’s dinner table.
She might have thought herself a Russian Princess, when she wore the beautiful coat and when she wrapped the brilliant blue stole around her shoulders, but that was something very private.
Something she only wanted to share with a person she liked, someone just like the young man she had met at Ethel’s engagement party.
“Would you care for more beef, Mr. Jackson,” Aunt Maud asked, as the American’s plate was empty already, even though everyone else had hardly begun t
