Alicia Rosevear was sitting on a weathered bench in the apple orchard, which had become her favourite place. On every day she came here, she formed silent prayers for Lord Alexander Longbourne’s soul, ending by gazing down at the private memorial she had made to him, a small mound of stones arranged in a circle, symbolizing the eternal circle of their love.

In an effort not to weep, she talked to him in her heart. Please, beloved, don’t mind too much that I married Jack. I had to do it for the sake of our baby.

Alex’s excesses and gambling debts had cost him his life, leaving her alone to care for their child. Thank God, he had formed a friendship with Luke Pengarron. The two young men had found much in common, seeking pleasure at a furious rate, scorning anything considered commendable, right and proper. Alex, boyishly handsome, well set and starry-eyed, had thought he could indulge in wantonness forever, but Luke, thank God again, was something of a realist, admitting that his escape from conformity and duty was for a limited time only. And Luke, so she had thought, dreamed of something unobtainable, something he accepted, although not with good grace. And for Luke’s own good there had been Jack. Quiet, dependable Jack.

It had been with much silly amusement that Alex had mimicked Jack’s Cornish accent. Alicia had found it soothing, she had admired his honest, simple statements and innocent outlook. Alex had belittled his stern expressions and tut-tuttings. On more than one occasion Alex had fallen down drunk on their bed, declaring, ‘Did you see his face, Phia? How does Luke stand it? Bet the poor fellow will get a good few Bible verses muttered down his ear tonight.’ It was Alex who had brought Jack’s keenness on her to her attention – something she had not minded. Alex had held no concerns over Jack passing away many long hours with her while she’d waited for him and Luke to return from the gaming clubs.

Alicia was four months pregnant and beginning to show. It was assumed their marriage had taken place before the baby’s conception. This pleased her, for Jack’s sake, and she could think of no one better as substitute father and protector for her baby. Dear, kind Jack, now he was home and settled, he was expressing an interest in the baby. Unfortunately, so was the hideous crone that Luke and his family and Jack were so fond of; the disgustingly smelly individual who referred to her as Mrs Jack and looked her up and down as if she was a creature unknown to God or science. The old servant was proclaimed to be an expert on childbearing and had announced the baby would be a ‘cheeil’. Alicia hoped she was correct and it would prove to be a girl, inheriting none of her beloved Alex’s weaknesses.