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Dey’s prison.”
    â€œThat much?”
    Again she straggled not to laugh. She wondered how she could be irritated with him when he still could make her laugh with the simplest comment.
    â€œFather’s neighbors,” he continued, but his eyes twinkled with merriment, “are of an ilk. They speak of boring matters unless they can find a tidbit of gossip to chew on. I do apologize that you have had them inflicted upon you during your very first week in Town.”
    She looked around the room. “I had thought to see that gentleman who is often by the statue in the center of the square.”
    â€œWhich gentleman?”
    At the sudden tension in his voice, she nearly paused. A sharp tug kept her walking. “I have not spoken with him, my lord, but I have frequently seen him from my window. He seems to prefer smoking his cheroot there.”
    Lord Daniston muttered something beneath his breath.
    â€œWhat did you say?” she asked as they reached the table that was spread with silver and crystal that sparkled brilliantly in the light from the lamps encircling the walls.
    â€œAndrews—”
    â€œYour valet?”
    â€œHe has a bizarre sense of humor. He tried to convince me that the man loitering out there is a Bow Street Runner.”
    â€œWhat would a Bow Street Runner be doing here?”
    He smiled. “Again we agree, madam, for that was my thought exactly. I suspect the man has slipped away from his duties in one of the houses along the square and that Andrews has taken the opportunity to create a jest.”
    When he seated her at the right of the head of the table, Regina relaxed. This setting was one she knew well. How many times had she sat with her father and the Dey’s ministers? She had eaten the spicy food, watched the dancers and listened to the music, and had taken part in the conversation. At first the leaders of Algiers had been unwilling to accept her as her father’s aide de camp, but they had learned not to underestimate either her father or her.
    Giving Lord Daniston a smile to let him know that he need not worry about her any longer, she turned to the man on her left. She was delighted to discover Mr. Clay, who, if she recalled correctly from when he had been introduced to her by the ballroom, worked in the Home Office.
    When she realized she and the gray-haired man had common acquaintances, the conversation flowed with an ease she had despaired of finding that evening. She discovered, too, that Mr. Clay possessed a droll wit. Soon she was laughing with him as he told stories about working with Lord Sidmouth and the others in the Home Office.
    â€œYou must find this life very tame after the adventures you had in North Africa,” Mr. Clay said, his face wrinkling more with his smile.
    â€œPapa always has urged me to see all of life as an adventure.”
    â€œBut London is nothing like Algiers.”
    â€œNo,” she agreed with a laugh as she put her dessert fork on her cake plate, “but each city I have lived in has had its special charm.”
    â€œAnd what do you find charming about London?”
    She faltered. How could she speak the truth and tell him that she had seen nothing beyond Berkeley Square save for the fog-shrouded streets she had traveled on her way into the city? Then she wondered if it was strange for a new wife to wander no farther than her own garden. So many things she did not know yet, and she must learn before she made a serious error.
    Pasting her splintered smile back together, Regina answered, “I must beg your indulgence, Mr. Clay, to delay in giving you a reply to your question. There is so much of London that I have yet to see, and I would like to reserve judgment until that time. Of course, that may be the city’s source of charm. There are so many places I wish to visit.”
    Mr. Clay looked past her. “Lord Daniston, I congratulate you on finding such a witty and diplomatic wife, who is also