After she’d gone, Holly pondered on her dilemma. She had never considered leaving home before and although she was putting a brave face on things she suddenly felt very confused and vulnerable as she wondered how she was going to manage on her own out in the big wide world.

Saturday evening came around all too quickly and once again Ivy admitted a bright-eyed Mr Dolby. His eyes were kindly as he smiled a greeting and he had clearly gone to great pains with his appearance, but again Holly found herself thinking that he was old enough to be her father as she stared glumly at the blooms he was carrying. ‘These are for you, Miss Farthing.’ He handed her a large bouquet of flowers which she knew must have cost a fortune as they were out of season. Blushing furiously she reluctantly accepted them knowing that it would be rude not to. There followed another painful meal for Holly who spoke only when spoken to. She was aware of Mr Dolby’s eyes on her throughout and also of her mother’s nervousness and her grandfather’s scrutiny.

‘So, do you have any hobbies, my dear?’ Mr Dolby probed.

‘Just a few,’ Holly answered miserably in a voice so low he had to lean towards her to hear it.

‘And do you enjoy the outdoors? Walking?’

This time she merely nodded and eventually Mr Dolby gave up trying to make conversation and instead concentrated on his food. Once the meal was over Holly had to stop herself from sighing with relief. It was customary for the gentlemen to retire to the study for a glass of port and a cigar at this stage, but that evening Gilbert Mason had other ideas.

‘Why don’t you join me for coffee in my study and then we can leave these two to get to know each other a little better?’ her grandfather suggested to her mother, much to Holly’s horror.

Emma gulped deep in her throat, knowing how much her daughter would hate that, but knowing also that she had no choice she nodded and, excusing herself, followed her father out of the room.

Ivy arrived seconds later with the coffee and seeing the arrangement she glanced worriedly at Holly. ‘Would you like me to pour, Miss Holly?’

‘No thank you, Ivy.’ Holly gave her a reassuring smile although her stomach felt as if it was in knots. ‘I can manage.’

Ivy bobbed her knee and with one last glance at Walter Dolby she quietly left the room.

‘It ain’t right what he’s doin’ to Miss Holly,’ she complained to the cook when she entered the kitchen. ‘He’s sellin’ her like the farmers sell the beasts at the cattle market.’

‘Aye well, he’s never had any time for her,’ the rosy-cheeked cook replied with a shake of her head. Now that dinner was over she was settled in a chair at the side of the fire with a steaming mug of tea in her hand and her swollen feet up on a stool.