‘I told you I was engaged, sir,’ began Rupert.

‘To the daughter of some French architect—’

‘He’s a professional man,’ interrupted Rupert, ‘and perfectly respectable.’

‘To a foreigner and a Catholic,’ continued Sir Philip, as if Rupert had not spoken. ‘Neither of which is suitable or acceptable for a Chalfont of Pilgrim’s Oak.’

‘I really think, sir—’ Rupert tried again.

‘That’s the trouble, Rupert! You don’t think at all. Our land marches with Sir James Blake’s. Neither estate is large enough to survive much longer alone, but combined… now that’s a different thing altogether.’ He looked at Rupert with steel in his eyes. ‘Only you can save the place now, you know.’

Rupert did know. He’d been working with Foxton for nearly two months now and had seen that much of the estate was no longer viable as it stood.

‘We have to modernise, Mr Rupert,’ Foxton had urged. ‘If we don’t do that, we’ll end up selling off land simply to survive. You can’t just raise the rents, because your tenants won’t be able to afford them, not without help to bring the farms up to date, and to do that you need an injection of capital.’

Rupert knew Foxton was right, and it had been made clear to him that such capital might come from Sir James if he thought it advantageous to his family, to Kitty and her children.

‘You can’t marry this French girl, Rupert,’ insisted Sir Philip. ‘It won’t do. You have to break any agreement you had with her… and do it straight away.’

‘It’s not as simple as that, sir,’ Rupert said.

‘Yes, my boy, it is. Once done, you propose marriage to Katharine and all will be well.’

‘She might turn me down,’ said Rupert.

‘I very much doubt that,’ replied his father.

‘She loved Justin,’ Rupert pointed out.

‘And she’ll come to love you,’ came the sharp reply. ‘For goodness’ sake, man, look at the bigger picture. The continuance of our family, our name, our land…’

‘That wouldn’t change either way…’

‘You have a duty to your heritage. Against which you’re setting an unsuitable marriage to a chit of a girl from France, and a Catholic at that.’

Rupert got to his feet. ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said, his voice tight with emotion. ‘You’ve made yourself perfectly clear. I will consider what you’ve said. And now if you’ll excuse me…’ He let his words hang in the air, unable to finish, and left the room, closing the door softly behind him… a closing that demonstrated his feelings far better than a slam.

Rupert knew that the time had come for him to make a choice. Hélène, who appeared to have cut him off, or his family, who made it very clear where they believed his duty lay. He thought of Kitty and wondered what her reaction would be if he went to her and suggested that they should get married, and married with Justin only two months in his grave. He could explain that the questionable haste was due to his father’s illness, but wouldn’t Kitty think it unseemly to accept him so soon after Justin’s death?