Annette shook her head. ‘They’ll say it’s my fault,’ she said, ‘call me a slut and turn me away.’

‘We don’t know that,’ said Agathe firmly, though she knew in her heart that it could well be the case. ‘Indeed, we shan’t know unless we ask, so it’s worth asking.’

Reluctantly Annette had agreed, and leaving her still hidden in her bedroom, that afternoon Agathe had sallied forth to the Avenue Ste Anne to renew her acquaintance with Rosalie St Clair.

Chapter 5

Rupert Chalfont, younger son of Sir Philip Chalfont, baronet, took the train to Dover and then the steam packet across the English Channel to Calais. He had been advised by his twin brother, Justin, that he should beat a hasty retreat from his father’s London house in Eaton Place and for once he’d taken Justin’s advice.

Justin had travelled up especially from Pilgrim’s Oak, the family home in Somerset, to warn Rupert of the scandal of Mary Dawson, the gamekeeper’s daughter.

‘The governor’s absolutely furious with you,’ Justin warned him. ‘Dawson says you’ve put young Mary in the family way and he’s kicking up one hell of a stink about it.’ He looked quizzically at his younger brother. ‘Did you?’

‘I might have,’ Rupert admitted cautiously, ‘but so might have plenty of others! Puts herself about a bit, does young Mary.’

‘Well, Dawson has sworn to the governor that Mary was white as the driven snow until you had your wicked way with her!’

Rupert laughed. ‘The driven snow must be pretty grey round the Dawsons’ cottage then!’ he said.

‘No laughing matter, Rupe,’ Justin said with mock severity. ‘Dawson is saying that she should be paid off.’

‘Can’t see the governor wearing that one,’ scoffed Rupert.

‘No more can I,’ agreed Justin. ‘Even so, it wouldn’t hurt to make yourself scarce till it all blows over.’

Rupert nodded. ‘Probably a good idea,’ he said. ‘I was thinking of going over to France anyway. Met a chap from somewhere outside Paris at Maud Berrow’s coming-out last month. Handsome in a sort of French way, all bowing and kissing hands. The mamas were enchanté’ – Rupert kissed his own hand with an exaggerated flourish – ‘and enquiring as to his heritage, but turned out he was already spoken for, back home in France. Invited me to his wedding.’

‘He what?’ Justin sounded incredulous. ‘Why would he do that?’

Rupert shrugged. ‘Took to me, I suppose,’ he replied before adding with a grin, ‘People do, you know.’

Justin knew that this was no idle boast. Rupert, with an easy charm, had the knack of making himself agreeable to all sorts of unlikely people, dowagers to scullery maids, grooms to girls still in the schoolroom. The dark good looks he’d inherited from his grandmother were just the sort that appealed to those with a romantic mind: dark hair worn a little too long, deep-set dark brown eyes above an aquiline nose, a wide mouth and determined chin. It was only because he was a younger son that the mamas with eligible daughters did not flock about him. Charming and good-looking he might be, but with no title and no fortune he was not on the list of suitable husbands.