She wrinkled her nose. ‘I have read too many Gothick romances, Mrs Collins. Why would I enter such a marriage, and pay for my husband’s pleasures – which will no doubt include a mistress and her establishment in town? I would not mind the mistress, but I would baulk at footing the bill. And men who fancy themselves in love are not to be trusted: what if he began to see me as an impediment, and I had an unfortunate tumble down the stairs and broke my neck?’

Charlotte must have allowed her amazement to flicker across her face, because her companion added wryly, ‘I see you think that I grow wild and rave – blame my habit of indulging in novels at a tender age, if you wish.’ She sighed as she picked a spray of rosemary and began to strip its leaves. ‘Ah, this reminds me of Provence, and the scent of the maquis there!’

For Charlotte, the fragrance suggested only her own herb garden and the savoury aroma of roasting chicken, but she remembered that Miss de Bourgh and Mrs Jenkinson had indeed spent a winter abroad a few years back, for the sake of the former’s health. She had returned a little browner and with some much-needed flesh on her bones, but had soon reverted to her usual wraith-like appearance.

‘You see, Mrs Collins, the Colonel is at a crossroads. He must marry, and he must marry well. And I am not the only wealthy single woman of his acquaintance. Miss Georgiana Darcy – I believe you met her three years ago, when she visited here on her way to London – is now twenty-two. She is beautiful, accomplished, a charming young woman now that she has overcome her natural tendency to shyness. And she has a fortune of thirty thousand pounds. The Colonel is her cousin, and her brother’s close friend. He is, along with Mr Darcy, her legal guardian – there are no family secrets or matters of business that can be kept from him. He has access to her. All seems set fair, should he cast his eyes in that direction. But women are not items in a shop window to be chosen, picked up, set down again. It is Miss Darcy’s very beauty and youth, allied with her wealth, that gives her room to choose, too. She was the toast of London society when she was presented at court. So you see the Colonel’s dilemma.’

Charlotte frowned. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss de Bourgh, but I do not understand.’