The Beswethericks would listen to Sir Oliver. James had thought he might receive a sympathetic reception from him as he himself had married a girl notably younger than himself. Life wasn’t fair at times, James decided. He had truly thought the girl gliding down the stairs in the sea-green dress with pearls round her throat was one of Ameline’s friends; she looked no older than Ameline. How old was Lady Pengarron? He did a quick calculation in his head. According to Ameline she had been seventeen when married, eight years had passed – twenty-five. Sir Oliver had been twice her age at the time of the marriage, which made him now, good lord, forty-two! Even with his colourful past the man could still be taken for James’s own age – thirty-six. Life was certainly not fair.

Sir Oliver looked away, and James followed the baronet’s gaze. It stopped at Lady Pengarron who was dancing at a sedate pace with Mr John Sarrison in the same set as Sir Martin and Ameline. James had heard Sir Oliver was possessive over his wife, as he was with his land and chattels, but there was more here than that. There was no mistaking the pleasure in those dark unreadable eyes as Lady Pengarron twirled gracefully under the old gentleman’s stiffly held arm. When her husband caught her attention, she smiled and waved her hand to him. A surprise indeed. It appeared they were actually in love! It was most unexpected because according to gossip it certainly wasn’t the case when they first married and very few married people he knew had any regard for one another, let alone love. Like the self-esteemed coroner, Thomas Cole, and his haughty wife, also in the set, who seemed to be tolerated in genteel company only because of Cole’s position.

James wished again he had been in Cornwall for longer than four months. He would have to enquire of Ameline more about the people here, the Pengarrons in particular, if he wasn’t going to make a greater fool of himself. It was all so bothersome, he had only come down to this backward county from London to arrange the disposal of an inheritance. He had stayed this long, and at a great deal of inconvenience, because he had fallen in love with Ameline Beswetherick and had had to court her and her family. If he could win Ameline, he would hurriedly set the wedding day and hot-foot with her back to London and never set eye on Cornwall again. And now, just when he was hopeful his suit would be accepted, it seemed Sir Oliver Pengarron was making things difficult for him.

‘Are you quite well, Mr Mortreath?’ asked Ameline, when the dance ended. ‘If I may say so, you look most uncomfortable.’

‘I do feel a trifle hot I must confess, Miss Ameline,’ he replied, his face lighting up at her concern. ‘Did you enjoy your dance with Sir Martin?’