As Ruby murmured a polite reply she was aware of several things at once. One, although the woman in front of her was plump to the point of fatness, she was extremely attractive. Her skin was a peachy cream colour, her eyes a deep clear green with thick curling lashes, her nose perhaps a little large but her mouth full-lipped, and although this same mouth was at present set in a fixed smile, the green eyes had darkened until they’d become almost black. She was wearing a dress that exposed the tops of her ample breasts to a point where it was almost indecent and the dress itself must have cost a fortune. The diamond combs that were holding the waves and curls of her chestnut hair in place were not costume jewellery, like Ruby’s own, and the woman’s fingers were so weighed down with sparkling rings it was a wonder she could move them. But it was the expression on Belinda Ferne-Rice’s face as she looked at Edward that Ruby was most conscious of. It was hungry. That was the only way Ruby could describe it to herself. And then as this stranger turned her gaze on her, there was resentment and dislike in it.

‘Morgan . . .’ Belinda let the name trail over her lips. ‘My husband’s family seat is in Wales and he has a lot to do with the Welsh Morgans. Are you a relation of theirs?’

‘Miss Morgan is from the north-east, Belinda,’ Edward put in quickly. ‘Now shall we all go through to the dining room and—’

‘Really? Then you must be part of Sir Charles Morgan’s family? Such a dear man. We had dinner with Sir Charles and his wife only the other day at the Savoy when they were in town.’

This woman knew she wasn’t related to either of the families she had mentioned, Ruby thought, and that Edward was associating with someone from a different class. Ruby wasn’t sure how she had come by the knowledge but she was sure of it. Mrs Ferne-Rice was toying with her, and the reason she was being so spiteful was because there was something between this woman and Edward. The way he had stiffened when she’d turned to face them and his almost nervous attitude now confirmed it.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Ferne-Rice, but I have no idea who Sir Charles Morgan is,’ Ruby said coolly, ‘or the Welsh Morgans, come to that.’ She didn’t add, ‘Neither have I any wish to,’ but let her icy tone say it for her. ‘Shall we go and eat, Edward?’ she added as she turned and swept away, hearing Belinda’s outraged, ‘Well, really!’ with some satisfaction. It had been rude, but she wasn’t one bit sorry.