Anger flared, hot and impotent inside her chest. What would Constance do to punish her refusal to fall in line this time? Slash her other gowns? Take away Cedric’s books again? ‘Be reasonable,’ she pleaded. ‘I know you wish to make me a gift of the gown, but I do not need it. How am I to face Simon this afternoon? Do you not consider that he must still pay your debts – even the ones you run up in presents for me?’

‘Of course I consider it. I want him to pay.’

He could not afford to, Agnes was certain. His patients were numerous and wealthy, but not enough to justify the horses and their livery at Carter’s, nor the many gowns, bonnets and necklaces Constance kept frittering away his money upon. Yet he would never refuse to honour a debt. An informal separation was one matter – the idea of divorce did not bear thinking about.

The horses spurted forward, eager to canter, while the coachman attempted to hold them at a trot. Agnes wished he would give them their heads. The sooner they were back at Orange Grove the better; Constance would alight with her infernal boxes and Simon, who was currently visiting Cedric, would take her place in the carriage.

Not that they would enjoy the pleasant afternoon tea she had envisaged. The whole time would be spent warning him of the bills to come. She and Simon never seemed to have anything except difficult conversations, these days. She remembered how they used to laugh together, and play with Cedric as a baby, but now a strain had been put on their friendship.

No doubt that was what Constance wanted.

Constance had taken Montague, she had taken Simon, and she had ruined them both.

‘I wish you would leave Simon alone,’ Agnes complained. ‘He is a good man! He has given you everything: respectability, a name for your child and an income. I know he was always my friend, and you never warmed to him, but you are not even forced to endure his company now. What can you possibly hold against him?’

Constance’s lips curved in a slow smile.

They were nearing home. Agnes knew her time was running short.

‘Answer me, Constance. I will not let you leave this vehicle without you promising to be kinder to your husband.’

Constance breathed a laugh. ‘Oh! You dear innocent. You know nothing about marriage!’

‘And whose fault is that?’

The carriage jerked ungracefully to a stop. Constance leant forward to open the door; she never waited for the coachman to lower the steps. It was just as well, for he was cursing on the box as he struggled to hold the horses in check.

A cloud of jessamine scent engulfed Agnes as Constance climbed down. With one foot on the street, she fixed Agnes with a last, glacial look.