‘My late wife found the climate here unbearable. Most Brits do. Especially the women. Maybe you’re made of sterner stuff.’ His expression implied his doubt about that.

‘I hope so. I’ll try to adapt.’

He gave a little snort of disbelief. ‘Perhaps.’

Dispirited, she wanted to run away. To rush through those French doors, out into the garden and from there into the street. To get away from the rejection. But she stayed where she was, clutching the glass of gin in which the ice had melted.

They fell into a silence that was far from companionable. To break the tension, Evie spoke again. ‘The Leightons told me you have a daughter, Jasmine. Will she be living with us? After the wedding, I mean.’

It sounded presumptuous to refer to their marriage when he had only just offered to arrange her return home, but Evie was both confused and angry. Did he want to wait, to see how they got on before making the commitment to marriage? Yet he had made a clear offer – surely he didn’t expect to back out now. Having come this far she wan’t going to let him wriggle out of it.

Evie realised she wanted to stay, in spite of Douglas’s coldness and his evident lack of any feeling for her. She was attracted to him and would move heaven and earth to make him feel something for her. It might take years, it might not happen at all, but she’d do her damnedest to make him care for her, or at least to win his respect and possibly some affection. Anything was better than the dead-end she was stuck in back in England. The future was what she would make of it. She would have to be brave. Her only chance was to speak up.

Suppressing her wounded pride, she pressed on. ‘Will I meet Jasmine soon?’ she asked, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tremor in her voice.

‘My daughter is in a convent school. She’s settled down well. I don’t want her education adversely affected. She’s gone through a lot, losing her mother so young. The last thing she needs is constant change and disruption.’

‘But I thought you wanted to have her at home? I got the impression from the Leightons that–’

‘The Leightons don’t know everything. Even if they might think they do.’ He put his pipe down.

The third whisky was dangerously close to being finished. Douglas Barrington clearly had a great tolerance for alcohol. Evie remembered the words she’d overheard Veronica saying, about him writing the letter while the worse for drink. Maybe there was truth in that? Maybe his proposal had been a joke he hadn’t expected to result in an acceptance.

Taking a deep breath, Evie clasped her hands together and leaned forward. ‘I think we need to get a few things straight. You made me an offer of marriage and I accepted. Your proposal was unusual, but that was part of its appeal. My circumstances have been straitened since the death of my father. I have no qualifications. I have no money.’ She was conscious that she was talking at a rapid speed but wanted to get it all out before she lost her nerve. ‘Living in the countryside as a companion to an elderly lady, my horizons were narrow, and my opportunities to meet people extremely limited. Marrying you opens a door to something different in my life.’