‘It’s beautiful,’ Hélène was saying, ‘and just what I need to trim my new tea gown.’ She carried a small purse and was reaching for this from her reticule when Rupert said, ‘Allow me,’ and handed the woman the few coins she asked for the lace.

Simon Barnier, who had seen them across the square, stared in amazement as the damned Englishman took the lace and handed it to Hélène with a smile and a slight bow. Hélène put a hand on his arm and was thanking him when Simon could bear it no more. He crossed the street and approached as if he had only just seen them.

‘Mademoiselle Hélène,’ he said, ignoring Rupert and greeting her with a bow. ‘Good day to you. I trust you are well.’

‘Yes, indeed, m’sieur,’ Hélène replied with the slightest of curtsies. ‘I thank you.’

‘It is such a hot day, I’m surprised to see you out and about. I was about to take a glass of lemonade at Le Coq d’Argent; if you would care to join me, I would be delighted to escort you.’

‘Thank you, m’sieur, but as you see I already have an escort’ – she indicated Rupert, who was standing at her side – ‘and we have just now taken a glass of lemonade.’

‘I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle Hélène.’ Simon still ignored Rupert. ‘I assumed you were attended by your maid and had only stopped to pass the time of day with Monsieur Chalford.’

Rupert made no effort to join in the conversation. It seemed to him that Hélène was managing very well on her own.

‘Monsieur Chalfont and I are about to return to Belair, monsieur.’ Hélène made no effort to correct Simon’s mispronunciation of Rupert’s name, deciding not to dignify the deliberate mistake with any attention. ‘So if you will excuse us.’ She held out her hand, which he had hardly touched with his own before she withdrew it to rest on Rupert’s arm. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, m’sieur.’

‘Good day, m’sieur,’ said Rupert, with an inclination of his head, and together they walked away. Annette stepped forward to follow a discreet few metres behind them, but as she passed Simon Barnier, who stood stony-faced looking after them, he put out an arm to stop her.

‘You’re Mademoiselle St Clair’s maid?’

Annette curtsied. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘And you always attend your mistress?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I very much fear for her with that man.’ He glanced after the departing Rupert. ‘I think he is an adventurer after her money.’

Annette made no reply, but her mind raced as he went on, ‘I would make it worth your while to keep an eye on them for me. The St Clairs are old friends of my family.’ He jingled some coins in his pocket. ‘It would be doing us all a service if you happened to find out anything about him. He is too free with her and we must guard her reputation, must we not?’