On his homecoming, Kerensa had spent a long time acquainting herself with Tamara, then after a quiet supper with him, Bartholomew, Cordelia and Kelynen, she had gone up to the master bedchamber alone. Tonight, she was away at Tolwithrick, having informed him of her invitation just prior to leaving in the afternoon.

When he remarked to Kelynen that it did not appear to be a party her mother was attending, she had explained that Kerensa had taken to going off for quiet reflection. Reflecting what?

Please God, let her be thinking about me. What we once had. What I could still give her if she’d only give me another chance.

Quietness? In Rachael’s raucous company? One had more chance of calm seas for a whole year. It had been the Tolwithrick carriage that had collected Kerensa. Was Tolwithrick her true destination? He really was terrified he had lost her.

He clenched his fists and beat them against his face. He paced up and down his study, drinking half a decanter of brandy, then stared out of the windows at his grounds, made strange and ghostly in the silvery moonlight.

‘Don’t go, stay here with me. Love me again,’ he had wanted to plead, but he couldn’t risk annoying her, driving her even further away.

He was almost amused at the thought that he was pining like a lovesick fool. Yearning after her like – like the young Clem Trenchard had once done.

‘Am I such a bad man?’ he asked himself aloud. Bad enough to have almost killed two members of his own family in a spell of jealousy, bad enough to bed the first woman available and risk destroying her happy marriage.

‘What’s wrong here, Uncle? I never thought to find the house under such a mood of despondency.’

Bartholomew was standing in the doorway. He had brought two bottles of claret, their necks dust-laden, from the well- stocked wine cellar.

‘Bring those in, Bartholomew, and I’ll relate what the others have been unwilling to say to you.’

‘The servants don’t quite know what to make of me after such a long absence,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Even Beatrice, who I must add, I’m astonished to find is still this side of the grave. Can’t understand why Cordelia is being mysterious, but she is somewhat distracted. In love, I suppose. It’s time she was. The way she croons over Tamara says she’d make a wonderful mother. This smells divine.’ Bartholomew handed Oliver a large glass of the ruby-red wine. ‘Well, what goes on here? Obviously you and my aunt have quarrelled.’