“You sure you’re all right on your own? I know you’ve given your help the day off.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve had a lovely day, but now I’d rather be alone.” Margaret stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “See you at the christening, if not before.”

Randolph waited until she had let herself in, then bounded off down the steps, understandably anxious to be home. She locked the door behind her, turning up the lamp which had been left low, shedding her outer clothing before climbing the stairs to her study, where she set a taper to the logs in the fireplace.

Curling up on the hearthrug, she picked up her bundle of Christmas letters, shuffling through the well-read pages. Susannah was happily established in Cornwall, and as busy as ever with her mothers’ groups. Victoria looked decidedly matronly with her ever-growing brood in her annual photograph, and Kerr, now the Marquess of Lothian, with his grizzled beard, looked much older than his years. Marion had written in eager expectation of what had become Patrick’s annual pilgrimage to County Kildare, and Julia was spending her Christmas with her sister’s family while Wingfield remained at Powerscourt.

He made no effort to dissuade me and appears perfectly content to spend Christmas without me, Julia wrote, and I find I, too, am perfectly content without him. Which for Julia, Margaret thought, folding the letter back up, was akin to a declaration of independence.

Louise’s brief note informed Margaret that she would be spending Christmas with the Argylls at Inveraray Castle. As usual, she gave no indication of her state of mind and made no mention of the possibility of motherhood. The photograph she enclosed was not of her husband’s family home but of the pretty fishing village by the same name on the banks of Loch Fyne, which I thought you would like, for I know how much you enjoy the Highland scenery, Louise had written. It was a very beautiful scene, with heather-clad hills in the background beyond the still waters of the loch, but the image Margaret saw as she looked at it was of another castle on the eastern side of the country, set in more familiar gently rolling countryside.

A tear tracked down Margaret’s cheek as she picked up Mama’s letter, knowing in her current mood that it would be a mistake to read it again, yet unable to resist. July 1866 was the last time they had been together, at Princess Helena’s wedding. Lenchen had four children now and, according to Mama, was very happy with her unprepossessing prince.