Oliver lifted her hand and kissed the warm fingers. ‘Buying that little cottage at Mullion so I can take you away and have you all to myself for a day or two was a master brainwave of mine. I’m rather proud of it.’

‘So I can see,’ Kerensa replied, smiling up at her husband who constantly and openly lavished love and adoration on her. She had been bonded to him in marriage for eight years and except for the first few months they had been blissfully happy in each other’s company. She loved Oliver Pengarron with the same intensity with which he loved her. Everybody who knew them knew that too, although no one would have thought their marriage would turn out this way. Kerensa had been forced to marry Oliver, who had wanted to buy the little cove, formerly Pengarron property, which she and her grandfather had lived in. Her grandfather only cooperated when Oliver agreed to take Kerensa to wife. Oliver had been furious and Kerensa heartbroken that she could not marry the youth she was betrothed to. But the first year of their marriage had taken many unexpected turns and ultimately they had fallen in love.

None of Sir Martin’s guests who witnessed Kerensa bringing Oliver’s hand to her own lips were surprised at the gesture. Sir Martin often remarked on their marriage as a fairy tale come true and Kerensa likened those who shunned her to witches and dragons who would like to spoil it for her. She would not allow their disapproval to taint her happy life.

The display of affection between her and Oliver was interrupted by a maidservant, and, laughing, Kerensa allowed herself to be whisked away to the bedchamber of Sir Martin’s daughter-in-law, Lady Rachael Beswetherick.

Kerensa entered the bedchamber and nearly turned tail again to escape a confusion of harassed maidservants and the overpowering odours of perfumes and powders. But Lady Rachael caught sight of her from her seat in the powder room where she was being attended by three maids.

‘Yoo-hoo! Here I am, Kerensa, my dear. Come in, come in.’

Kerensa stepped over several discarded gowns and pairs of dancing shoes and made her way through a haze of powder to Rachael’s side.

Rachael sent the maids away in a sudden scurry and stood up. She fluttered her heavily jewelled hands up and down. ‘Well, what do you think?’ she asked.

Kerensa stared at the other woman, gloriously arrayed in jewels of every colour, and an over-decorated gown of vivid orange with spiralling purple motifs, her wig elaborately dressed twenty-two inches high and graced with huge colourful feathers, more jewels, and stuffed birds of paradise. Lady Rachael looked, to even the kindest observer, little short of ridiculous. Kerensa blinked, swallowed, smiled widely, and blatantly lied. ‘You look beautiful, Rachael, perfect for tonight’s occasion.’