Tom sighed. ‘There’s no need for apologies, old man. You should come and visit me in Norwich, it certainly seems as though you could do with a break. I’m sure I can arrange a day’s leave to show you the sights. And I’d be glad of your company.’ He held out his hand. ‘No hard feelings.’

Edward took his brother’s hand and smiled. ‘No, no hard feelings.’

‘Are we all having a good time?’ Emma had appeared without any of them noticing. ‘I thought I’d better come and find you, Tom. We’re up next. The Gay Gordons followed by The Royal Scottish Quadrille. What a hoot! Your mother never misses an opportunity to remind us of her heritage. It wouldn’t surprise me if one Christmas, she doesn’t decorate the whole house in her clan tartan!’

Emma’s grip tightened around Tom’s arm. Lou read her message loud and clear: This man is mine, and don’t you forget it.

‘If you’ll excuse me,’ Tom said and dutifully led Emma to the floor. Did he have a furrow in his brow, Lou wondered? Or was that wishful thinking? After a moment, Edward excused himself. Shoulders rolled, head sagging, he headed for the door, no doubt intent on finding comfort in his father’s whisky bottle. Poor Edward. He exuded sadness, consumed as he clearly was by a desire for the unattainable.

Alone, Lou stood and watched the dance commence. Tom and Emma took up position in a large circle of couples, Lord and Lady Caxton in front of them, Sir Charles and Lady Mandeville behind. Each man placed an arm around his partner’s shoulders and each woman clasped her man’s hand. The band struck up a Scottish jig and the circle began to move, taking a few steps forward then a few steps back, before the partners came together once more. After that, the circle started again.

As hard as she tried not to, Lou couldn’t help staring at Tom’s arm around Emma, her hand holding his. When they came together, they were in perfect time; Emma’s dress swirling as Tom spun her around. Their parents laughed, Lady Mandeville beaming each time she looked at them. Tom appeared to be enjoying himself, too, with a partner who matched him step for step; a partner who didn’t stamp on his feet. When a portly man wrong-footed his equally portly wife, and they stumbled into Tom, he laughed, brushing off their apologies. Instantly, he took up position again. He was in Emma’s orbit, drawn to the pull of her gravity. They would marry. Lou was certain of that now.

The mass of bodies picked up speed. Round and round they went, the music and laughter growing louder, steps quickening, until everything in the ballroom became a blur of colour and noise. What was she still doing here? Tom was going to marry Emma. He had made his peace with Edward and had promised to plead Charlotte’s case to go to university. She was no longer needed here. She had to jump off this merry-go-round. Now. She turned to leave, but found her path blocked.