Drawing a steadying breath Emily prepared to negotiate the front steps without treading on her hem. Somehow she managed to lift her dress a little with her finger tips, in spite of her sisters, and she prayed that she would not fall flat on her face. All was well until the last two steps when a formidable, grey-haired figure, stepped out and bowed deeply.

His sudden appearance startled the already nervous girls and they both stepped backwards, attempting to hide themselves behind Emily's slender frame, jerking her arms and dislodging her tenuous grip on her skirt. The flimsy stuff of her dress swayed freely and with her next step she trapped it under her boot. Unable to free her hands to balance, Emily fell forward, taking both girls with her, to land in an ignominious heap at the feet of the autocratic butler, Penfold.

Unaware that her humiliation was being observed from the gallery that overlooked the enormous marble floored Grand Hall, Emily disentangled herself from her sisters and staggered to her feet. Not one of the watching servants had stepped forward to assist them and of her mother was no sign. She had vanished into the interior intent on re-establishing herself as her father's “darling girl”.

The row of footman remained as statues, faces expressionless, watching her smooth down her dress. “Are you hurt, Serena, sweetheart? Did I tread on your hand?”

“No, I “m fine, thank you, Emily,” Serena whispered.

“I'm unhurt as well, thank you,” Amelia's voice was thread-thin in the silence. Emily's embarrassment vanished. What sort of an establishment was this, which treated guests so insolently?

She stiffened and met the haughty stare of Penfold. It was his eyes that dropped first. He flushed and bowed again. This time his action was deferential. “Miss Gibson, Miss Amelia and Miss Serena, welcome to Westerham. His Lordship is waiting to greet you in the Green with drawing-room, if you will kindly follow me.”