How lonely he must be, Helen thought, with a sudden shock of sympathy for the quiet man beside her. The solitary place setting looked so isolated in this silent, sombre room. Mere House would have to be filled with the noise and activity of a huge family, she reflected, before it would feel homely.

‘I didn’t tell Mrs Maitland that you were coming,’ Darcy confessed. ‘There’d have been a huge to-do of preparation. I’ll call her and tell her now.’ He pressed an old-fashioned bell. From the time that it took Mrs Maitland to arrive, Helen guessed that the kitchen quarters were miles away. While they waited, Darcy poured her a glass of sherry. Helen noticed that the bottle was slightly dusty. Evidently Darcy had few visitors.

‘Mrs Maitland?’ she asked, interested.

‘Mmm. Sister to your friend Mr Maitland at Montcalm. See how inbred we are? Not married, actually. The “Mrs” is a courtesy title, you know.’

When the housekeeper arrived, Helen saw that she had the same imperviously correct exterior as her brother, but her manner was noticeably friendlier.

‘I’ve brought a guest for lunch, Mrs Maitland,’ Darcy said. ‘Bit short notice, I know, but I’m sure you’ll manage something.’

‘Well, my lord,’ she said, after only the briefest surprised glance at Helen, ‘we’ll rustle something up. It won’t be anything very smart, you know.’ They smiled at each other, evidently the best of friends. The ‘my lord’ had startled Helen for an instant. It was hard to remember who Darcy really was, and for a long time now he had been just ‘Darcy’ in her thoughts.

When they sat down together at the long table Mrs Maitland served them with dark pink cold beef, tiny new potatoes and a crisp salad, and an impressive selection of home-made pickles. Everything was perfectly simple and very good.

Helen looked at Darcy over her last spoonful of rhubarb compote and said, ‘I enjoyed that.’ They both knew that she meant more than just the food. It had felt very different, being with Darcy in his home rather than in the anonymity of the places they had visited together, but she was just as comfortable with him.

He leaned back in his tall chair. Against the light from one of the windows in its deep embrasure she couldn’t see his face, but she heard much more than conventional politeness in his response.

‘I’m glad, Helen.’

Be careful, Helen warned herself, and then countered it. Why? Darcy was her friend, a close and valuable friend now.