“Oh, I don’t know. Men. Marriage. Myself, mostly. Goodness, that was alliterative. You’re quite right. If I took myself seriously, I wouldn’t have plunged headlong into one engagement, let alone three. And I shouldn’t stand here—walk here—hoping that Jimmy will realise he isn’t behaving well. He ought to, but since he isn’t, I shouldn’t wait for him to do so, or tolerate it if he doesn’t. Do you think I ought to talk to Jimmy, really, to try and make it work? I shan’t say if you were me, because you wouldn’t be in this position in the first place, but—should I?”

I think you should break it off because he’s too pig-headed to understand what he’s got. I think you should stay here with me, walking in the sun, and come back to a house that isn’t Jimmy’s to sit over tea and cakes, and in the evening...

In the evening, nothing. Pat stepped hard on the thought. Fen couldn’t escape her engagement without consequences: even a wealthy heiress could expect the invitations to dry up if she jilted a third fiancé. Jimmy was a decent man, and if he was a little self-absorbed, that made him no different from anyone else. Pat had no doubt he could become a good husband, if matters were clearly explained to him. Fen would be a countess, a marvellous one who would turn Rodington Court into a fashionable destination, and Jimmy could keep up the estate and the hundreds of people whose livelihoods sprang from it. It was the best outcome for everyone.

“You should talk to him,” she said. “You should tell him what you want and expect. And if he listens, then—then I imagine you’ll be very happy.”

“And if he doesn’t listen?”

“Talk louder until he hears you, I suppose.” She couldn’t resist adding, “And if he doesn’t like what he hears, you’ll have information on which to base a decision.”

Fen glanced at her, eyes glimmering bright. “That sounds terribly sensible.”

“I am sensible,” Pat said. “That’s exactly what I am. I wear Rational Dress and sensible shoes and run a household and make carefully thought-out decisions. I do all those things because they have to be done, but I think people ought to have some frivolity too. Circuses as well as bread. And if Jimmy, or anyone else, tells you that you ought to become serious and competent and sensible, they’re wrong. Lots of us can do that. Very few people make others happy, or care to, and that’s clearly something you do.”

Fen’s hand tightened convulsively. She swallowed, and Pat had a terrible moment wondering if she’d been too much, too outspoken, before Fen replied.

“That is the loveliest thing anyone has ever said to me. Thank you, Pat.”