Rosina Blake smiled in her own peaceful way. ‘Perhaps you would care to step inside and talk to me about it, Sir Oliver.’

‘That is most gracious of you, ma’am, and I shall not refuse your invitation.’ As he stepped over the threshold Mrs Blight leapt further back and rammed her knuckles into her mouth.

‘I’ll see to His Lordship, Mrs Blight,’ Rosina said. ‘You may go to your room. If I need anything I’ll ring for Kate. Please excuse Mrs Blight’s outbursts, Sir Oliver, I do apologise on her behalf,’ Rosina went on as she took Oliver’s dripping riding coat and tricorn hat. ‘She’s always been a nervous sort of woman but I’m afraid she’s become much worse of late.’

‘Perhaps it’s her age that makes her so ill-mannered towards your more important visitors, Mistress Blake,’ Oliver said, with eyes of ice.

Rosina knew that Oliver knew he really had no right to be offended at such a reception in this household. He looked pointedly at her and she did not lower her eyes. It took only a moment to agree without speech that past events had left no feelings of animosity between themselves.

‘Come into the sitting room, Sir Oliver. It’s not much of a summer’s day today and I have a small fire lit against the chill. You can dry out a little.’

Oliver followed Rosina’s lilting movements, thinking it a pity she should have a lame foot but deciding it detracted very little from her pleasant outline. When they were seated in the plush comfortable room, Rosina offered him a dish of tea which Oliver politely declined.

‘You are very kind, Mistress Blake,’ he said. ‘I would have understood if you had slammed the door in my face after the beating I once gave your husband, though he thoroughly deserved it.’

A remark of the kind said to Kerensa about Oliver would have brought her hurtling to her feet and loudly declaring herself in his defence. Rosina Blake stayed in her seat and spoke in her normal voice. ‘You did more than just beat Peter, Sir Oliver, you almost killed him. It was all a long time ago, before Peter and I were married, and I would prefer to leave it in the past.’

Pulling back a corner of his full wide mouth Oliver regarded Rosina with an appreciative eye. The same age as Kerensa and also from working-class stock, she had married into the gentry in the same year, meeting Blake by coming to his aid after the aforementioned beating. If one had to marry out of one’s class, Oliver decided, you, Rosina Blake, would make a most charming and admirable second choice. He particularly admired Rosina’s waist-length corn-coloured hair, which fell like a waterfall about her shoulders when she moved. Obviously in deference to her husband’s wish, he mused; a woman in love was like that.