Cara’s stomach felt suddenly odd, as if there were a knot of eels squirming around in there. Should she try to say sorry for what had happened earlier? It wasn’t as if she had done anything wrong. All she’d done was take a slight risk. Nobody had been hurt. Yes, she had broken a rule, but . . .

‘I know how much you love this place,’ Father said. ‘As much as I do, I believe. When your mother died . . .’

It had been a long time ago. Never having known her mother, Cara did not miss her. But Father still grieved her loss. There was something sorrowful about him even when he was at his most commanding.

‘Never mind that,’ he went on, collecting himself. ‘If I have been critical, sometimes, of your tendency to . . .’ He faltered again.

Something was wrong. Something more than her error of judgement. She made those often enough, and usually got no more than a mild reprimand from Aunt Della.

‘Your aunt and I have been discussing your future,’ Father said. ‘Your welfare. You are nearly sixteen. I believe I have been somewhat selfish. Keeping you up here with me, out of touch with other folk . . . not finding opportunities for you . . . The situation must change. It’s for your own good.’

Words bubbled up, urgent words. But they lost themselves before her lips and tongue could speak them. All that came out was a desperate little sound, a chirp of panic.

‘Within a year or two we’ll need to consider a marriage for you. To be honest, that prospect seems hardly possible at this stage. Your aunt and I agree that you are entirely unready for it. To mingle with society, to create and manage a household of her own, a young woman requires a certain modicum of social awareness.’

In her mind was an anguished plea: Don’t send me away! Oh, please! She tried to get the words out, tried so hard she choked and had to gulp down a mouthful of mead.

‘You make no comment,’ Father said gravely. ‘But I know you can speak when you choose to, Cara. I’ve heard you talking away to that maid of yours. I’ve heard you chatting with Gormán. This stubbornness is childish. I don’t understand it. Can you not see how distressed your aunt is by your refusal to talk to her? You are not a wild creature but a young lady of good family. Della has given up years of her life to care for you.’