‘I don’t think it’s rot,’ Lou said. She had been given a glimpse through the bluff of the cavalry officer – behind the throwaway quips and gentle sarcasm – to a hint of the sensitive man below.

Captain Mandeville wiped his hands on his trousers. ‘Come on, then, onwards, fellow traveller.’ He led the way out of the stables and around to the far side of the house. As she walked by his side, Lou noticed how the damp air was playing havoc with his hair, freeing the waves from the confinement of his hair cream.

They came to a stop, and disorientated by the fog, Lou was surprised to find they were outside an extension attached to the house. She had no recollection of a conservatory. Captain Mandeville pushed the door open and ushered her out of the cold and into the near tropical heat of the octagonal-shaped room.

Ivy trailed up the windows and ferns with fronds like broad parasols met in the space overhead. Every plant in the raised metal flowerbeds was separated from its neighbour by lilac-coloured gravel and each bed exploded with colour – scarlet, orange, purple, and blue. The air was thick with perfume, and with the regularity of a metronome, a single droplet of condensation dripped from the glass ceiling, instantly drying on contact with the heated floor tiles.

‘This is my father’s contribution to the house,’ Captain Mandeville said, stamping the snow from his shoes. ‘When he was a young man, he travelled extensively throughout South America and came back with a passion for orchids.’ He pointed to a bloom of the softest pink. ‘Father keeps a gardener who specialises in the care of these flowers. He cultivated this one – Beautiful Charlotte. Apparently, its petals are the same pink as my sister’s cheeks.’

Lou touched the tender green stem. ‘Captain Mandeville –’ she began. He held up his hand.

‘I insist that you call me Tom. And what do your friends call you? I’m sure it’s not Miss Arnold.’

Without thinking about whether or not it was appropriate, she said, ‘Lou, my friends call me, Lou.’

‘Lou it is, then.’ he smiled. ‘So, Lou, please continue.’

It sounded so odd for him to use her name that it took a moment to find her voice. ‘Your sister …’ she said finally. ‘Edward said something a few nights ago about her –’

‘I shouldn’t take much notice of anything Edward says. He’s even more out of sorts than is normal for him.’

‘He’s often … unhappy?’

‘Unhappy?’ Tom laughed under his breath. ‘My brother makes it his business to make life hard on himself. Always has. Aunt Leo would say it’s because he’s sensitive, artistic. I say it’s because he’s bloody-minded. In fact, I’d go so far as to say he enjoys being miserable. At school, he absolutely refused to compete in sports, preferring to sulk in his dorm all day. I may have been six years ahead of him, but even I had one hell of a job saving him from the other boys’ beatings. Not that he ever showed the slightest gratitude.’