‘What is magical about this bush?’ she overheard another guest ask a passing footman, pointing at a plant with vivid red leaves.

‘It is a poinsettia, madam,’ the footman replied. ‘Lady Beatrice’s favourite plant.’

‘Yes, but what does it do?’

‘It does not do anything, madam. Lady Beatrice simply has a great liking for its leaves. They require periods of darkness in order to take on their red colour.’

The guest seemed disappointed, but Rosa thought there was something very lovely about the plant. Every time she took one path, she knew she was missing out on several others that would take her to equally marvellous things. There was forever the sense in the garden that there were wonders hiding just out of sight, and invisible eyes watching her from the foliage. Beatrice was nowhere to be seen, but it wasn’t long before she spotted another familiar face – James Sheppard was on the path up ahead.

Rosa had not spoken to him since Esme’s funeral and felt a sudden burst of regret at the way they had parted. He was the first and only person who had shown her any kindness that day, and she ought to have been more gracious. It had been too painful to be near him then, and Rosa sensed that same ache stirring inside her now. She yearned to be near James, even though his presence was a bitter reminder of everything she might have had if she had chosen more wisely. She had gone too far down another path to wish to turn back time now – she wouldn’t give Ada up for anything. James and that other life were lost to her forever, but she wished to thank him for the flower, so she called his name and he turned round.

His eyes met hers across the garden and he smiled, causing the lines around his eyes and mouth to deepen. As he walked over, it struck Rosa that he was a man who smiled often. She did not think Eustace had a single one of those lines.

‘Rosa,’ he said. ‘How good to see you. You look well.’

‘Thank you, I am,’ she replied. ‘How are you?’

‘Better than ever.’ His smile broadened. ‘In fact there’s someone I’d like you to meet.’ He beckoned over a nearby lady, who left the glowing blossom trees she’d been admiring and came to stand by his side. She wore an emerald cloak with a matching bonnet and was startlingly pretty. She was also, to Rosa’s surprise, brown-skinned.

‘Jani, this is Rosa Warren,’ James said. ‘Well, the Duchess of Chalkley now in fact.’

‘Of Warren’s Clockwork?’ Jani asked, in lightly accented English.

‘The very same,’ Rosa replied. ‘How do you do?’

The other woman smiled. ‘I am delighted to meet you. I am Jani Sheppard.’

‘Sheppard?’ Rosa repeated, confused.

‘We married in India in the autumn,’ James said.