‘It’s fortunate for our family that Tom was born first,’ Edward said to Lou. ‘I have neither the skills in diplomacy nor the temperament required to be him. Goodnight, Miss Arnold.’

Lou helped herself to more brandy and a cigarette from a box on the table. After a couple of attempts, she managed to connect the flame from a match with the tip of the cigarette. When the smoke reached her lungs, she coughed.

‘Why are we sitting in near darkness when we have electric lights?’ Tom said.

‘Because candlelight is more … romantic.’ Charlotte smiled and placed a card on the table.

‘I have to agree with Tom,’ Emma said, ‘I much prefer a bright room.’ Taking a cigarette from Tom’s silver case on the card table, she leant in for him to light it. She drew the smoke into her lungs and it escaped from her mouth slowly, swirling in the light above the billiard table. ‘I spent a fortnight with a friend of mine in Paris last spring. She has a charming apartment just off the Rue de Passy. The building really is quite stunning. The exterior is designed to take on the appearance of a huge jardinière with ceramic thistles winding around the balconies. The windows are vast, and let in so much light that it feels as though the outside is almost inside. When I’m mistress of my own home, I shall take a broom to sweep out the old fustiness and bring in the new and modern.’

‘You would approve of that, wouldn’t you, Tom?’ Charlotte said. ‘With your love of all things natural.’

Without looking up from his cards, Tom said, ‘The outside is outside. The inside, inside. I see no good reason to confuse the two.’

Lou stared at him in disbelief. What did Emma have to do to elicit a positive response from him? Strip naked and drape herself across the billiard table? Even that might only be enough to receive an arched eyebrow by way of reaction.

‘Is anyone going to play this bloody hand?’ George slammed his cards down on the table. ‘I thought we were here to play cards, not discuss blasted nature and candles.’

Lou got to her feet. She crashed into a side table, almost knocking it over.

The cool air in the hall caught her off guard. She grabbed the banisters. She should go up to bed. No. The room would spin and she would be sick. Stumbling into the library, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror above the fireplace. She was swaying from side to side, eyes swimming, unfocused. She yanked the ridiculous black feather from her hair and threw it to the floor.

‘I didn’t know you smoked.’

Oh God … she turned around. ‘I don’t. I gave up two years ago.’

Tom stooped, picked up the feather and handed it to her. ‘I’d hoped to find you alone. I still owe you an apology for my behaviour earlier today. I acted appallingly when you were so kind. I really am very sorry.’