The sight of a man in her path startled her. She let her parasol drop from her hand. Then she was afraid. The man was tall and dark, richly attired with a gold-topped walking cane, and although he looked familiar, she could not place him. Someone from London? From the Society? Pray God, no!

‘Forgive me, ma’am, I’ve alarmed you.’ He bowed elegantly. ‘You must be Mrs Jack Rosevear.’

‘Y – you know me, sir?’

‘I have not had that pleasure until now. I was just speaking to Jack, we are acquainted of old.’

Her face contorted in shock and fear, Alicia fought to clear her mind. Then she had it. He looked familiar because he had the distinct features of the Pengarrons. A turn of the blanket of Sir Oliver’s? But no such person had been mentioned to her. Her fear turned to terror. ‘I – I do not know of you, sir.’

‘My name is Drannock. I have come to visit my sister. I was told she was walking this way.’

‘Drannock? Oh, you’re one of Cordelia’s brothers, I had not thought… I had not…’

Her vision grew hazy and she felt a strange lightness in the head.

‘Ma’am, are you unwell?’

She heard nothing more. Blackness engulfed her and she did not feel the stranger’s arms preventing her from hitting the ground.

There were only a few grape hyacinths growing in the patch of back garden of the cottage. Skirting the rubble and ashes, Cordelia snapped them off on their long stems, feeling she must return quickly to Alicia, considering her condition.

A shadow fell across her, making her rise nervously to her feet. It was Morgan Kinver. Where had he sprung from? Had he followed her here?

‘Good afternoon, Mr Kinver.’ She claimed the superior position by getting in the first word. ‘I did not think to see anyone else hereabouts.’

He performed a faultless bow. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Drannock. I often walk this way.’ He, or one of his brothers, occasionally wandered about the cliff to see if anyone was loitering near their hide.

Cordelia had a sudden thought. Considering the reputation of the Kinvers, the most likely reason for him being here was an assignation. He was dressed finely, as always, and he smelled of fresh soap.

‘They’re lovely.’

‘Pardon me?’

‘The flowers.’

‘Oh, yes. I thought they would look very well with some carnations from the gardens. I didn’t like to leave them here, abandoned.’

‘I understand.’ He eased his footing, drawn even more to the gentle young lady’s transparency and honesty. ‘I keep a little brown rabbit at home. I happened across it last year. Separated from its mother it was about to become a meal for a sparrow hawk.’