She was struck with a sudden wild fear that the journey would never end. The carriage smelled of the stale stickiness of leaking breast milk, along with frozen metal, damp velvet and the polished leather of Eustace’s boots. She found it difficult to recall what her life had felt like before. It was as if there had only ever been this moment, trapped in the upholstered confines of the brougham. Rosa simply couldn’t recall what it felt like to be warm and happy. She couldn’t remember the taste of fried fish at a barbecue, or imagine it being so warm that she would shelter in the shade of a papershell pecan tree on her family’s Georgian plantation and call for palmetto fans and mint juleps. In fact she could no longer recall at all what it was like to be Rosa Warren rather than the Duchess of Chalkley.

Ada grizzled in her arms and, with a sense of dread, Rosa knew that she would begin wailing soon, and that the cries would be even shriller and more unbearable than usual in the small space. She would be quite unable to stop them. In contrast, Esme had become more and more settled in the weeks before their trip, perhaps even content. She rarely cried and, when she did, Rosa could immediately quieten her simply by picking her up. But that did not work with Ada. If anything, her incessant crying had worsened, and if Rosa tried to cuddle and comfort her, this only seemed to enrage her further. Her arms would flail, her back would arch and the tears just would not stop.

It would have been better if Ada had died instead of Esme.

The thought rose only once in Rosa’s mind before she quickly smothered it, appalled at herself for thinking such a thing. Yet the notion seemed to echo round and round her head. It was a truth that made her feel cold to her bones. She shivered where she sat. What a wretched, wicked creature she must be. Eustace was right – she was a despicable excuse for a mother.

As if on cue, Ada drew in the trembling gasp of air that Rosa had grown to dread, before letting out a thin, heartbroken cry. Normally Eustace flinched away if one of the babies so much as whimpered, but this time he indicated Ada and said, ‘Shall I take—’

‘No!’ Rosa snapped. ‘Do not touch her!’

Eustace closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Please, Rosa,’ he said quietly. ‘I am aggrieved by what has happened too.’

‘Don’t!’ she hissed. ‘Don’t pretend that you loved Esme. Or that you care for anyone but yourself.’