They started walking again, by unspoken agreement making for a belt of trees that would take them out of sight of the house.

‘I think that’s why he’s so insistent on you and me, and Pansy, being here. Friends from his own world only emphasise how stuck he is in it.’

Helen thought for a moment. ‘He told me once that as he’s the younger son he doesn’t have to concern himself much with all this.’

The wave of her hand took it all in, the house and the park and the estate stretching as far as they could see.

‘No,’ Tom said slowly. ‘Perhaps that’s a pity. He’s quite powerful, isn’t he? With all his natural advantages he’d have made a good heir. I haven’t met the older brother. But have you noticed, nearly all the photographs are of Oliver? Even though there’s some dog or horse in the foreground as well?’ Helen had noticed, and it had struck her as odd.

‘So even though he’s impossible, he’s still the favourite?’

‘I should guess so.’

‘That must make it harder still for him,’ said Helen, very quietly.

They looked at each other for a moment, thinking about him.

‘Yes.’

Tom shook his head, then took hold of Helen’s arm. ‘Let’s go back. Maitland wheels in the most wonderful tea tray round about now. I do feel sorry for Oliver, but life isn’t all bad around here.’

Lady Montcalm was back in her place beside the fire, but she had exchanged her book for petit point.

Maitland brought in the tea at once, and Tom cheerfully lifted the covers off the silver dishes to exclaim over the array of muffins and hot scones and rich fruit cake.

‘I love tea. So civilised.’

As he spoke there was a sudden murmur of voices outside and the door opened. The first person to come in was Lord Montcalm. Not a big man, he held himself so straight and his head of fine silvery hair so erect that he looked inches taller than his real height. He was followed by two middle-aged men and then, a little behind, by Oliver. All four of them had taken off their boots but they still wore their white breeches, stocks and waistcoats.

Helen’s gaze went to Oliver at once. He was flushed from fresh air and exercise, and his hair was tumbled after pulling off his riding hat. There was dried mud on his white breeches and his stock had come untied to leave his throat bare. He looked handsomer than ever. Helen felt her fingers clasped so tightly round the fragile cup that she was holding that she quickly put it down.