Rupert grinned down at her. ‘I try to be, madame.’

Once they were inside the house there were, indeed, plenty of the Barrineau servants ready to help, and Rupert handed his charge over to a strapping young man, who pushed the chair out of the front door to where a carriage awaited them in the gathering summer twilight. Rupert followed and waited as Madame Barrineau was lifted into the carriage and had a rug tucked securely around her knees.

‘Goodnight, madame,’ he said as the footman closed the door.

‘And goodnight to you, too,’ said the old lady. ‘I like you, Rupert Chalfont. I don’t always like Lucas’s friends.’

Rupert swept her a bow and, smiling, said, ‘I’m honoured, madame.’

‘So you should be. Come and see me tomorrow, or the next day, after the ball.’ She looked up suddenly and added, ‘You will be going to the ball?’

‘For certain, madame,’ he replied. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

‘Well, make sure you behave yourself. Too many silly girls here, ready to have their heads turned.’

‘They are in no danger, I do assure you, madame,’ Rupert said gravely. ‘I’m afraid my heart is already taken.’

She looked up at him sharply and saw in his face that he was speaking the truth. ‘Someone back in England, I suppose,’ she said. ‘Lucky girl! But that doesn’t mean you won’t turn heads here, whether you intend to or not.’ And with that she tapped her cane on the door of the carriage. The coachman flicked his whip and the carriage drew away, its lights disappearing into the gathering dusk.

Rupert, standing and watching it as it disappeared round a bend in the drive, realised with sudden certainty that he had spoken the truth. With a wry grin he turned back towards the house. Typical of me, he thought as he entered the hall and paused where he had seen Hélène St Clair come down the stairs. So beautiful but almost certainly unattainable; his status as a younger son would ensure that, but, he decided, he wasn’t going to let that deter him. He walked back through the house to the garden and the pavilion, where many of the guests were still seated at the tables, some still eating or drinking coffee, some just chatting. Others had drifted out into the lantern-lit garden, seeking fresh air after the hot atmosphere within the pavilion. As soon as he came in through the door, Rupert’s eyes sought out Hélène. Could she be persuaded to take a turn in the garden? Would her parents allow her such a freedom?

He saw the bridal pair at the far end of the room, Clarice’s hand still delicately resting on Lucas’s arm as he showed off his bride to all their guests. Monsieur St Clair had left the bridal table and was standing with a group of gentlemen, chatting, but Rosalie St Clair remained at the table, seated with the bridesmaids and Lucas’s young sister Lucie. She was almost holding court, Rupert thought as various other women came over to her and congratulated her on the marriage of her daughter. Even as he watched, Rupert saw Lucie Barrineau murmur something to the younger bridesmaid, who turned to her mother, and having received a nod in reply, the two young girls slipped away from the table.