When they finally reached Grosvenor Square, Roberta ordered Polly to bed and told her to stay there for the rest of the evening. And then, deciding to do the same thing herself, she mounted the stairs to her own room. “Excuse me, Miss Roberta,” the butler said when she was halfway up, “Lord Bromley would like to see you.” “I’ll be down in a few minutes,” she responded wearily, and wished she could refuse the summons. She wasn’t ready to face anyone yet. Fifteen minutes later, after she had changed her rumpled gown arid repinned her hair, she found Lord Bromley seated at his desk, reading a dispatch. “Aha, Roberta!” he said without looking up. “Take a seat; I won’t be long.” She sat primly on the edge of a leather chair. She knew her uncle’s moods well and could judge from the tone of his voice that he was displeased about something. The rustling of papers finally ceased, and when her uncle rose and faced her, his expression was troubled. “I suppose Nicholas has told you of my decision,”
