She stared at him, feeling the walls of her life begin to shake. He couldn’t mean it. ‘But my father’s going to be coming through those doors any moment. He’s just left our new home, sold all our animals . . . We’ve given up everything to come down here. You can’t honestly be saying . . .’ She couldn’t believe her ears. ‘Sholto? You’re not going to throw us out? We’ve nowhere to go.’ It was true. All day she had racked her brain trying to think where they could go to next, to hide away from here. But there was no outrunning the trail of evidence that the steward had found to connect her and Frank Mathieson, and when the police came for her – and they surely would – what would happen to her father then? Her only hope was that the Earl would show mercy to an old man, left abandoned and destitute through no fault of his own. They had to stay here and she had to wait for her fate to catch up with her. ‘Please. For my father’s sake. He’ll end up in the poor house.’

Sholto wouldn’t look at her but the ball of his jaw was pulsing. He looked pinched with strain, unspoken thoughts racing through his mind. ‘I didn’t mean . . . Of course I’m not . . . throwing you out.’ He shook his head and sighed. ‘Of course not. It’s fine. Stay.’

‘Really?’ The word was a sob of relief as she clutched his arm. ‘. . . You promise?’ Why wouldn’t he look at her?

He turned away, out of her reach and opened his car door. ‘Forgive me. I shouldn’t have said anything. It was selfish of me. You’ll be in the cottage now anyway. It’ll be fine.’ He got out and shot her the briefest of glances. ‘I’ll meet you back here when you’re ready.’

And before she could say another word, he turned and walked into the station, spine erect, shoulders back.

Effie watched him go, trying to absorb what had just happened. Leave. Stay. Stay out of my way . . . For several seconds, she sat where she was, heart clattering at the near miss. How could he have said those things to her? Who was this version of the man she had thought she loved – running cold where once he’d been hot? Distant where once he’d been intimate? Rigid, no longer languid. Humourless, no longer laughing.

People were beginning to come through from the platform, porters carrying trunks and bags.