‘This evening?’ Hélène looked at her blankly.

‘This evening… at Gavrineau. Madame Barnier’s card party.’

‘Oh, Maman, I couldn’t possibly…’

‘Yes, my dearest, you could and you must. You cannot allow the world to see you so distressed. Face the world proudly, with your head held high and a smile on your face, and people will soon forget that you ever met Rupert Chalfont, let alone became engaged to him. Come along, now. Up you get. I’ll send Annette to you, and when you’re ready just come downstairs. Don’t worry, no one will say anything. I shall speak to your papa, and Rupert Chalfont will never be mentioned in this house again.’

Rosalie was glad that they had an evening engagement. It would stop Hélène sitting at home brooding on Rupert’s perfidy. Rosalie had been delighted when they received the invitation to Madame Barnier’s card party at Gavrineau. It was clearly a select gathering, just four card tables and a light supper, and it would be a chance for Hélène and Simon to spend some time together. Now she was even more pleased; Hélène had received a blow to her confidence and the sooner she had another man paying court to her, the better. The quickest way to forget all about Rupert was to fall in love with someone else. Simon was tall and good-looking and could be extremely charming when he chose. She had no doubt the news that Rupert Chalfont had married someone else would percolate through to become general knowledge, but if Hélène could be seen to be unmoved by it, it would be clear she was, perhaps, ready to consider another proposal.

She would share none of these thoughts with Hélène, but she was determined that all memory of Rupert should fade as quickly as possible from local recollection. They had all been taken in by him and the sooner he was forgotten the better.

When her mother left the room, Hélène crawled off the bed and, crossing to the window seat, looked out at the garden. In her mind’s eye she saw not the bare flowerbeds of the winter garden, still gleaming frostily in the pale sunshine, but the pavilion that had been erected for Clarice’s wedding, the rose garden in fragrant and colourful bloom and the seat where she had sat with Rupert, Georges and Sylvie. She would always remember that night, the night when she had first seen him, standing at the bottom of the stairs, and her heart had begun to thud.

On the day he’d left to return to England they had declared their love to each other, and when she had said, ‘I shall remember today as long as I live, sitting with you beside the river and having our picnic,’ he’d replied, ‘It’s the day you said you’d marry me; for that reason it will be with me all my life.’ With his promise and a kiss, he had left her, and now he was married to someone else.