RODINGTON COURT, FAMILY seat of the earls of Witton, was a very long slog from Stoke St. Milborough. The journey involved several changes of train, a considerable inconvenience since Pat was travelling without a maid or companion for the first part of it, and she wasn’t able to sit back and relax until she found herself on the train to Manchester, where she would meet Bill.

She was looking forward to the shooting party intensely, in part because she was, unusually for her, tired. The last couple of months had been consumed with preparations for her oldest brother’s wedding, putting the family home in order for his new bride, and working out what she might do with herself when she left. She was annoyingly indecisive about the last of those, which was not her usual state, and she didn’t like it. Her path had always been clear in life before, because there had always been responsibilities, duties, tasks to be done, but that was all the new Mrs. Merton’s now.

Pat tried not to resent it. Naturally a spinster sister would be uprooted by her brother’s marriage. Their childhood home was Jonty’s house, not Pat’s, for all that she had been its mistress since leaving school, and she could well imagine how uncomfortable it would be for Olivia to have her there, telling her she was doing it all wrong. That was inevitable, since Olivia was without question more decorative than practical. If Pat stayed, she would continue running Skirmidge House, and either she would resent Olivia for treating her as an upper servant, or Olivia would resent her for usurping her rights as head of the household, or both. It was far better that she should leave now while there was still goodwill on all sides.

It was, perhaps, a little hard to find herself in need of a new home and occupation, and that she had to leave the village where she’d spent all her life with nowhere to go and nothing to do. Then again, perhaps her discomfort was a sign that she was overdue a change.

She’d been doing the same thing for too long, that was the problem. If one had enough to do, one could carry on doing it indefinitely without looking up from one’s tasks to take a wider view. She’d fallen into that trap, bustling around without ever asking herself what would happen if Jonty married, and now she found herself on an endless plain, with no obvious path in any direction.

She’d find a purpose, of course, with time and application, and she was far from desperate. She had inherited a reasonable sum on their father’s death which her brother Bill had invested shrewdly on her behalf. It was a competence rather than a fortune, but if she found a situation as a lady’s companion, for example, she would do very well indeed.