Rosalie nodded. ‘Then train her up for work in the house.’ She picked up a paper from her desk as if to indicate that the interview was over.

‘Thank you, madame,’ Agathe said. ‘However, there is one other matter I would like to mention.’

Rosalie put the paper down again and inclined her head. ‘Well?’

‘It is the matter of payment to Madame Leclerc. I believe you have been generous enough to pay her for her services, but when we made our original agreement, madame, it was I who would pay for any expenses and care Annette incurred at the time of her confinement.’

‘Perhaps,’ replied Rosalie, ‘but what is done is done. Annette was, and is, in our employ. Please consider this the end of the matter.’ She spoke with a finality that brooked no argument and Agathe recognised it as such. She bobbed a curtsy and simply said, ‘Thank you, madame.’

While her mother and Agathe had been in the parlour, Hélène had gone up to her own room. Maman had said that Yvette would come up and help her dress for the evening. It was this small service that made Hélène realise for the first time that, as the eldest daughter living at home, she was now treated as such… a daughter needing to be presented to the world and in search of a suitable husband. Her mother had also suggested that she wear the gown made for her earlier in the year. Made of leaf-green silk swathed in delicate lace, it set off her pale skin, dark hair and dark eyes to perfection.

‘But, Maman,’ Hélène had said in dismay, ‘that is so old! May I not wear my new white gown?’

‘Certainly not,’ replied her mother briskly. ‘Of course you will have to wear that again, one cannot have something new to wear at every party, but never at two consecutive gatherings. This evening’s dinner is a very informal affair, really only family, and so your green will do very well.’

Hélène still looked mutinous. She had seen the effect her appearance in white had had on several gentlemen at the ball, and two of them would be there again tonight.

‘But Simon Barnier will be there, Maman, and Monsieur Chalfont.’

‘And neither of them has seen you in your green lace,’ replied her mother. ‘You know that Madame Fosch has altered the neckline and adjusted the skirt. One would hardly recognise it as the same gown. You will wear your green.’ The subject was closed.

As Hélène looked at it now, she had to admit the alterations had made it fit for a young lady, rather than a girl from the schoolroom. Will Rupert Chalfont like it? she wondered.

Meeting him unexpectedly in the village this afternoon had made her a little breathless, her heart beating faster than normal. When she had looked back at him from the chaise, he had been standing where they had left him, his hat in one hand and the other raised in farewell. Seeing him thus for the moment had pushed Annette’s problems to the back of her mind. Though Annette had brought her loss with her, at least she was back at Belair with Madame Sauze as they had planned, and now Hélène was looking forward to the evening ahead.