She glanced at Philomena’s expression and added, hastily. “Oh, I do not mean that Hugh disliked him for being a merchant’s son. Hugh cares nothing for such things. Indeed, he cares for little except hunting in the winter and building his ridiculous mechanical farming machines, and reading. And worrying about the tenants, of course. Hugh hardly even visits London in the summer, although he used to take his seat in the House regularly. Before his marriage, I mean.”

Selena waved her muff in the air. “He talks of going overseas, you know, to the Americas, to observe farming methods, or some such, but says he cannot, for there is far too much to be done at Thatcham Hall, to prevent it all falling into disrepair. Papa,” the girl confided in another loud whisper, “was not a good manager.” She blushed crimson, and covered her mouth with one hand. “Oh, Philomena, I do not know what I can be thinking. I should not be telling you all this. Pray, do not tell Mama or Hugh. Please, you must promise.”

“Of course I shall repeat nothing you say,” Philomena said, “but perhaps we should restrict our conversation to other topics. Do you not enjoy this crisp weather?”

Selena giggled. “How sensible you are. No wonder Hugh wants so much for you to look after John.”

The girl’s hand flew to her face again, but Philomena pretended not to have heard.

“Look,” Selena cried, as they passed through a gateway into a prettily wooded area, where the bare branches of the trees pointed up towards the watery sun. “There’s my favourite tree. I used to climb it when we were children. I’m sure I can still reach the top. “

Before Philomena could restrain her, she leapt onto a low-hanging branch and shinned up, clinging on by hands and feet, scrambling and giggling like a child, from branch to branch. At last, she stopped and hung suspended from a high branch.

Philomena laughed. “Now, please come down. Whatever would your mama think if she saw you?” Selena hooted, a most unladylike guffaw, and swung herself down. Just as she reached the base of the tree, a petticoat caught on a sharp twig. Undeterred, the girl leaped nimbly to the ground accompanied by an ominous sound of tearing muslin.

“Oh, dear me!” She glowed with excitement at her own daring. “My dress is ruined. I shall have to get back into the house without Mama seeing me. What a good thing…” Her voice trailed away, and her gaze grew fixed as Lord Thatcham appeared through the nearby gate.

The sun shone from behind, masking the stern face in shadow but haloing locks of fair hair in bright light. Philomena caught her breath. Her stomach lurched most inappropriately.

“I see you have not lost your tomboy habits,” Hugh said sternly. “Perhaps our new nursemaid has been encouraging you to forget yourself.”