‘So,’ Sir Philip took up his theme again, ‘no more of this French girl. You must write to her and tell her that you will not be returning to France and it is with regret that you must release her from any understanding that was between you.’

‘And break her heart.’

‘My dear boy, if she’s as young as you say – seventeen, was it? – she will soon recover from her broken heart and go on to lose it again to someone else.’ He shifted in his chair as if to get more comfortable and said, ‘You need someone like Kitty Blake.’

‘Kitty?’ Rupert couldn’t hide his astonishment. ‘But she was engaged to Justin and has only just lost him. She’s hardly likely to be looking for another husband yet!’

‘There were good reasons for her engagement to Justin,’ said Sir Philip. ‘It was an excellent match, with advantages to both families. Those advantages still remain, Rupert. Worth thinking about.’

Rupert could hardly believe his ears. He stared at his father in stupefaction, but Sir Philip had picked up his newspaper again, indicating that he considered the interview to be over. As Rupert got to his feet and moved to the door, he lowered the paper again and said, ‘I trust you haven’t spoken to your mother about this girl?’

‘No, sir, I have not.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ grunted his father. ‘Don’t want her getting any silly romantic notions in her head. What about Frances?’

‘She’s of the same opinion as you,’ Rupert replied.

‘Good. She’s a sensible girl. Got her head screwed on properly.’

Rupert went back to his own room, his mind in a turmoil. Was his father really suggesting that he should take his brother’s place in everything, including the marriage bed? Justin was hardly in his grave and such a suggestion sickened him. What on earth would Kitty think if she knew she was being touted about as a prize to be seized? Then he remembered Sir James’s comments at the funeral. Surely his thoughts weren’t running parallel with Rupert’s father’s, were they? Was one of the ‘duties’ Sir James had mentioned to marry his daughter now that his brother was dead and it was he who had the title and the land?

His thoughts were interrupted by Mitchell knocking on his door and handing him a letter. ‘Your post, Mr Rupert.’

Rupert almost snatched it from his hand and the moment the butler had closed the door he tore open the envelope.

Hélène’s letter was the only bright spot that day. When Rupert had read it through several times, he was almost word perfect. He placed it in a drawer by his bed and, fortified by her words, went down to have lunch with his family.

No mention was made of the conversation between him and his father that morning, and as soon as the meal was over Rupert went out to meet the steward, Jack Foxton.

‘Things need looking at, Mr Rupert,’ Foxton said. ‘I don’t want to say nothing against Sir Philip, mind, but things have slid a bit, if you get my drift. I explained it all to Mr Justin and he realised that we needed to take stock of exactly how things were. Reckon you’ll be taking over from Sir Philip, now, sir. Him being not well.’