And do you love Darcy? She answered herself unhesitatingly yes. If she was not in love with him, as she had been with Oliver … well, that had proved to be suffocating and then agonising. That was to be avoided, surely.

Slowly Helen looked into her friends’ faces. They seemed to beam encouragement. Masefield was waiting at the door.

‘I want to reply “Yes Helen”.’

‘I’ll get that fixed up for you,’ he said.

There, it was done.

There need be no more barely admitted battle with herself, no more running from the reality of Darcy. That was all that had been needed. Just to be made to decide.

Then without warning another face floated in front of her. She saw Tom Hart’s sceptical frown, and the hint of amusement behind it that so often pricked her. Tom would be surprised at her. She pushed aside the unwelcome thought, and with it a tiny, deep-seated fear within her. If Tom was her friend, he would be pleased by her happiness. And if he wasn’t pleased, why should it matter to her at all?

None of this was anything to do with Tom Hart.

They were all crowding around her now.

‘Congratulations,’ somebody said. There were kisses on her cheeks, and arms around her shoulders to hug her.

‘This calls for a celebration,’ Masefield decreed. He wrenched the cork from a bottle of champagne and a jet of silvery froth shot over them.

‘Here’s to Viscountess Darcy,’ they toasted her.

‘No. Just to Darcy’s wife,’ Helen protested. She had a sudden vision of Montcalm sitting aggressively on the skyline under its coronet of turrets and domes.

Then she saw Lord and Lady Montcalm smiling thinly on the steps, watching herself and Pansy as they climbed into Masefield’s Rolls.

Did they know? What would they think?

It wasn’t the time to worry about that now. Just remember Darcy, gentle, loving Darcy, and the wide acres of Mere.

Helen wrapped her fingers around her champagne glass and drank so deeply that she felt as if the bubbles were exploding inside her head.

Everyone seemed ready to have a party, but before she had reached the bottom of her glass Helen was overcome with weariness.

Unsteadily she put her glass down and blinked around at them.

‘I’ve got to go to bed. I suddenly feel so tired.’ Sleep beckoned as the most wonderful prospect in the world.

‘Are you all right?’ The voices were concerned.

‘It’s just reaction to the excitement,’ Kim said soothingly. ‘Just get a good night’s sleep and tomorrow we’ll go and look for some Venetian glass for your engagement present. Although I expect they’ve got more than enough wonderful glass at Montcalm.’ Her voice was wistful.

Helen found her way to the door. ‘Goodnight,’ she mumbled. ‘Goodnight, everyone.’