‘But Mama –’ Charlotte whined.

Lady Mandeville held up her hand. ‘I won’t hear another word on the subject. I want this house to be a picture of tranquillity when your father and brother return today. I have asked chef to prepare Beef Wellington for dinner tonight; it has always been Thomas’ favourite. And I do not want anything to spoil his homecoming. I trust I am making myself understood.’

Charlotte folded her arms across her chest. ‘Yes, Mama.’

‘Good. Now finish your breakfast or you shall be late for church.’

Following breakfast, Lou returned to her room where Sally pinned a wide-brimmed hat to her hair and buttoned her up in long woollen coat. How did the women in this era bear the rigmarole of dressing and undressing so many times in a single day?

After Sally handed her a pair of beige kidskin gloves, Lou was allowed to make her way downstairs. Finding herself alone, she wandered around the hall, admiring the statues and paintings lining the walls. What an amazing thing the human subconscious was that it could conjure up this labyrinth of a house and decorate it with such fine works of art, no doubt amalgams of paintings she had seen on her many visits to galleries and stately homes. There were portraits of men in powdered wigs sitting side on to the artist, and portraits of women, the folds of their silk gowns so realistic that Lou felt if she reached out to touch them, they would be soft. In one painting, a large lady clutched two Pekinese dogs to her and in another, a proud man sat with his hand over a globe. In others, ruddy-cheeked children posed with hoops and hobbyhorses and dolls. These paintings told the story of the wealth and luxury the Mandevilles had enjoyed for two centuries.

Lou stopped at a vast painting, at least twice the size of any other. It was hung to the rear of the hall, opposite the doorway to the billiard room. She studied the man in military uniform, who sat astride a black stallion, his height and power matched by the beauty and strength of his horse. His uniform of a dark blue, with a red breast to the jacket, was adorned with swathes of intricately twisted gold braid. His black boots gleamed, and a sheathed sword rested against his hip. He sat upright, his legs bent in the stirrups. The scarlet plume of feathers decorating his gold helmet appeared to blow in the wind, and the peak was pulled down so far that he was forced to tip his chin up and look down the sides of his nose. The man and horse were framed by foliage and in the background, stood Hill House.

The identity of the sitter on the nameplate came as no surprise to Lou – Captain Thomas Charles Oliver Mandeville. So, this was the heir. Poor Edward didn’t stand a chance against this hulk of a man. Where the younger brother was slight and pale, the older brother was well built and proud. He had taken all that was large and brash, leaving Edward with all that was small and subdued. The piercing blue eyes of the future baronet stared directly at her, defiant and superior. The concept of death had no doubt never troubled his mind. He was the centre of the world he inhabited, the chosen one, the firstborn son. Why would he not believe himself invincible?