She had a feeling of her world shifting, its walls vibrating, though whether they should fall in or outwards, she wasn’t sure.

‘You would be given lodgings on the estate in Ayrshire, several hours south from here. And a decent wage, of course.’ He named a sum that made Effie’s mouth fall open. It was more than the men were receiving at the forestry; Jayne had told her what Norman was earning as they were standing in line at the butcher’s earlier.

She felt her blood rush. This proposal was more than she could have dreamt – not just that she would be given a man’s wage for doing what she loved, but being in the earl’s employ was the very escape she sought. She might not be out of sight there – word would get around – but it would put her out of reach. The earl would be untouchable. She would be safe there.

She glanced at her father. He was standing by, mute and inert, and she knew he felt humiliated that it was she who was conducting the conversation with the earl and not him. It had been bad enough back home that he could not earn, but now here, not even to communicate . . . His voice had been the only remaining strength he had.

She saw the pain in his eyes that he could not contribute in any single way. Strained though their relationship might be, there was no question of leaving him.

‘You are so generous, sir, and kind too, to think of me when there are so many others better qualified.’

‘Nonsense. You have real-world knowledge. An instinct for the subject.’ He regarded her, seeing her downcast eyes. ‘Miss Gillies, I hope this isn’t leading to a “but”.’

She shook her head slowly. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t leave my father.’

‘Of course you cannot! And you must not! It was never my intention to separate you from your father. Where you go, he goes. There would be room for you both, naturally. We will most surely have a cottage on the estate that could be made ready for you both.’

She blinked, marvelling at how easy everything was in his world. ‘Really?’ She hardly dared to hope it could be true. They could leave this dank, dreary house – just like that? She would never have to see – or work for – that harridan Mrs Buchanan again? They could turn their backs on this new life that had been foisted upon them and choose one of their own making?

But . . . ‘Does Lord Sholto know you’re asking this?’