Despite his disquiet, Philomena intrigued him. He wished to know more. A sudden thought struck. His neck prickled. He had been cruel, yesterday, and, what’s more, in front of the servants. The young woman was dressed as a boy at the time, that was true, but Hugh was ashamed to be the cause of her distress.

“We prefer people to be honest,” he had said, unkindly, making his mistrust clear. He was too harsh. Such conduct was not worthy of a peer of the realm, one with power over so many fellow creatures. A hatred of lies was no excuse: the master of Thatcham Hall had behaved like a bully.

Hugh must make amends. It was no more than duty to ensure the woman had everything needed for reasonable comfort. He would call in to the kitchen on the way to the stables. He would surprise the butler and the rest of the household in the middle of the Christmas preparations. That would be an opportunity to witness the new nurse’s conduct with John. It was not that Hugh wished to see more smiles, or watch her dimples. No, he simply wished to behave with kindness.

Lord Thatcham threw open the kitchen door, unannounced, to find John hopping on one leg, the new nursemaid smiling behind. Suitably attired in neatly pressed velvet, ready for a morning visit from a grandmother, the boy was happily presenting a small present, wrapped in gold paper, to Mrs. Bramble. Torn paper and an excess of glue hinted that John had wrapped the present himself. The offending wooden sword was nowhere in sight.

“Merry Christmas,” John piped. The nursemaid leaned forward and touched the boy on the shoulder. He sighed and continued, each word running into the next in a rehearsed speech. “I hope you will forgive me for breaking the bowls. I will try to be a little quieter in future.”

Love for his son welled up in Hugh’s heart. John beamed so proudly, his eyes so full of mischief: such a small, happy child. Raising the boy should be a pleasure. Why had Hugh never seen it like that before?

He laughed aloud. The cook started, dropping pans on the hearth, and Philomena looked round. To Hugh’s delight, she blushed. He lingered a moment on the faint pink glow of her cheeks. How could he ever have mistaken such a lovely young woman for a boy?

Her blush deepened. Hugh waited, delighted, until suddenly aware that the servants were watching with interest. He coughed. “That was well done, John.”

The boy turned to smile, a wide grin splitting his face in half. A lump constricted Hugh’s throat. He coughed again, tried and failed to think of something else to say, turned without another word and left by the outside door.

“Papa,” John called, running. “May I ride with you?” Hugh, remembering the long list of tasks waiting, shook his head. Philomena, close behind, cleared her throat. Hugh raised an eyebrow. The woman frowned.