Effie could do nothing more but nod, but as she looked into his eyes, she saw his anger was still there, that beneath his manners lay a darker mood and she knew he wasn’t just angry about the book; he was angry that she was here.

The sound of a small gasp rescued her.

‘My dear, where are your shoes?’ Sibyl asked, staring down at Effie’s bare legs and feet. The scandalized tone of her words made Effie feel as if she was standing there completely nude.

‘. . . I . . . have blisters,’ Effie faltered, feeling her cheeks flame as her next transgression was revealed. Why hadn’t she put them back on before leaving the collection room? Why had she thought she could get back to her room without incident? Skirting Margaux again, she ran lightly back to the door and picked up her boots, clutching them to her chest. ‘I should go.’

She wanted him to implore her to stay but Sholto didn’t stir, his expression tight and closed. Without another word he turned away and began arranging the book as best he could on the display stand. Effie watched him for a moment. It was clear the prize book was a prize no longer, but what could she do?

Meeting Sibyl’s thoroughly entertained gaze, she gave a polite nod and slipped from the room. But even with the door closed behind her, she could hear the woman’s words at her back. ‘Sholto, darling, where did you find her? She’s a riot!’

Effie walked into the servants’ hall, ashen-faced. She had stopped on a servant’s stairway on her way down to put on her boots before disgracing herself any further. Most of the servants were already gathered at their places around the table as the meal was brought through by the kitchen maids, everyone talking animatedly to their neighbours. Billy’s bright eyes followed her as she made her way to the empty chair beside William again.

‘Enjoy yourself today, Miss Gillies?’ he asked, as she pulled her chair in. ‘I expect you heard his lordship is back?’

‘Not just him, sadly,’ someone else muttered before she could reply.

Not that she was up to talking. The reunion with Sholto just now had left her shaken and upset. He hadn’t once smiled at her; in fact, he’d looked ambushed, he’d been angry and embarrassed. She was no better than the factor, trying to curry his favour.

Mr Graves strode in, disrupting her thoughts as everyone rose, and the general murmur of conversation quietened to a hush. Heads bent as he said grace.

‘You missed dinner, Miss Gillies,’ he said afterwards as everyone sat and picked up their cutlery, the first few mouthfuls savoured in silence.

‘Dinner?’ Her voice was distracted and flat.

‘At noon. Our main meal of the day.’