‘Mr Bland, how good it is to make your acquaintance. Please do accept my deepest condolences, on behalf of myself and all my family, on the loss of your grandfather. I’m afraid it is as Mazy says: my grandfather is now living at Crummock with his son. But, as Mazy is suggesting, we can make sure the invitation reaches him safely later in the day.’ Jane looked up at the blond-haired young man she now knew to be Daniel Bland, and was even more taken with his striking features.

‘I thank you, Miss Atkinson. That would take a few miles off my journey, so I am most willing to accept you and your maid’s suggestion.’ Daniel smiled at both of the women, who were staring at him in a most bemusing way. ‘Who do I give the invite to?’ He looked at both and waited for an answer.

‘I’ll take it, Mr Bland. My son will take it back to Crummock with him this evening – he works for Mr Atkinson.’

‘Thank you.’ Daniel gave the invitation to Mazy and turned to go.

‘Mr Bland, would you like to join me in a drink of coffee? I must confess, I was about to put pen to paper, but cannot be bothered with writing this morning. My parents are at church and I could do with some company. I’m sure some warm refreshment would be just the thing for you.’ Jane looked at Daniel and then at Mazy, noticing that she too couldn’t keep her eyes off the visitor.

‘I would not say no to that. Especially as I can see that you have a grand roaring fire.’ Daniel smiled at his host and walked past Mazy, who stared at him as he made his way into the morning room.

‘Coffee for two, please, Mazy, and perhaps some of Cook’s rock-cakes?’ Jane quickly dismissed the gawping housekeeper and joined her visitor in a chair next to the fire. She looked him up and down, noting how tall he was, at least six foot; and although he was dressed like any other local farmer, in a shirt and waistcoat with corduroy breeches and jacket, he carried them with a swagger. His high cheekbones and blue eyes, framed by his blond hair, made him a most handsome man – and one that Jane found quite fascinating.

‘I feel I’d better introduce myself, Mr Bland. I’m not, as you called me, Miss Atkinson, but Jane Fox. Mr Archie Atkinson, your late grandfather’s friend, is my mother’s stepfather and she took the Atkinson name when her own father died, until she married my father, James Fox. So we are in no way related, although my grandfather – as we have always called him – is loved by me and my brother and is just as good as a true grandfather, of that I’m sure.’