Alicia, too, was watching Luke, sorry for his discomfort. Would he allow her one small, private favour? In a quiet corner of the graveyard, a proper, although anonymous, memorial to Alex.

Luke tried a deep breath to stop himself coughing, but was unsuccessful. The hacking sounds echoed from pillar to pillar, seemingly from each individual granite stone.

Timothy Lanyon had nearly completed the service but paused in respect of his brother-in-law’s distress.

Luke reached for his handkerchief, his eyes watering, breathing noisily. ‘I’m sorry.’

He met Kane’s gaze across the font. No! He wanted none of the concern shown in those soft brown eyes. Damn Kane. He and Jessica made a striking couple, full of health and purpose. He, straight and commanding, neat reddish-brown hair, his work-roughened hands claiming how content he was to work his own land. She, vivacious, strong in spirit, a mass of golden curls cascading below her simple beribboned hat.

Olivia had crept round to his side. When he felt her hand massaging his back he was livid that she should treat him as an invalid, embarrass him in front of society and the rabble. He had to get away, but the churchyard was choked with more gawping estate workers and villagers. Pushing roughly through the family party, his handkerchief to his mouth, he hastened up the aisle to the vestry. A long humiliating journey.

Leading Alicia by the hand, Jack skirted the packed pews and benches and those standing in the congregation, and caught up with him at the tiny arched door. He closed it behind them. Luke sat down on the single hard chair. Alicia poured him water, from the tray set out in the event any of the gentry had such a need.

Luke sipped, his hand shaking. ‘Thank you. If only I could escape this damned place!’

‘Stay here ’til everyone’s gone,’ Jack said, sensitive enough not to stare into his red face.

‘I didn’t mean the church.’ He looked moodily about the cramped confines, then swore shockingly. ‘The register will have to be signed.’

‘Only the reverend and the captain and Sir Oliver need come in here.’

‘We’ve got to get away again, Jack. Or I’ll go mad.’

‘But I—’

‘Shut up!’

Luke knew what Jack’s protest involved. His parents’ disapproval and the thought of leaving his new wife. Jack had not merely fallen in love with Alicia, he had plummeted down an abyss of adoration and not a little lust.

Luke stared at her. She was standing at a discreet distance. Her clothes of powder blue and fawn were of a quality and style suited to her reduced status, but it was impossible to mask her graceful deportment and handsome face. Her hair, although mainly hidden by a delicate straw affair and a lace snood at the back, was a golden sheen of feminine wile and beauty. She was spring and summer, promise and hope.