‘Those that didn’t mind working for a landlord again,’ he said. ‘Those who had not saved money over the last few years and could not afford to leave. Those who had saved enough to pay the new expensive rents you would bring in.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Each family would feel differently,’ he said. ‘Some would not bear to go. Some have been there so long, and love the countryside so well.’

‘I had not thought anyone would leave,’ I said.

‘Most would,’ Will said bluntly. ‘I’d not stay one day after your marriage. I’ve no time to waste.’

‘You’d go to one of these experimental farms?’ I asked.

‘Or America,’ he said.

I gasped, involuntarily. ‘America!’ I said.

Will looked at me and his brown eyes were smiling. ‘I could be persuaded to stay,’ he said.

I smiled back, but my eyes were steady. ‘I have to have the money and the land,’ I said.

He shrugged. ‘Then you could not keep me,’ he said gently. We turned the horses and headed for home.

‘When’s this wedding to be, then?’ he asked, as we turned down the little lane towards the stables.

‘At the end of the Season,’ I said. ‘Spring, next year.’

‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Plenty of time for you to see his paces. Time for you to change your mind if you wish. No one can constrain you, Sarah.’

We had reached the stable yard and the groom came out to take Sea. I slid from his back and patted his neck. He turned his great wise face around and lipped at my pocket, seeking a sugarlump stolen from my breakfast tray.

‘Will you come to London again?’ I asked. My voice sounded desolate. I had not meant to sound like that.

I turned and walked out to the street outside the stable yard, Will swung down from his horse’s back and led him, following me.

‘Do you want me to?’ he asked.

I turned and faced him. ‘Yes,’ I said honestly. ‘If you’re coming up to town I should like you to come and see me and bring me news of Wideacre.’

He nodded. ‘If you needed me, I should find a room and be here for you, to ride with you every morning, to see you every day,’ he said. He spoke in the same level tones as if he were asking me if the plough horses should be shod.

‘No,’ I said sadly. ‘I should not ask that of you. You should be at Wideacre.’

He swung into the saddle and looked down at me, where I stood on the pavement. ‘So should you,’ he observed.

I raised a hand to him. ‘When shall I see you again?’ I asked.

He smiled. ‘You tell me when, and I will come,’ he promised.

‘Next week?’ I hazarded.