‘Goodness.’ Rosa carefully set the peacock down on the long table with the other wedding gifts. It pattered up and down, inspecting the offerings and occasionally letting out a tinny shriek of excitement. ‘Whatever for?’ she asked. ‘I can’t think you’ll find anyone more eligible in the whole of England than the Duke of Chalkley.’

‘I don’t w-want someone more eligible!’ Beatrice exclaimed, with renewed irritation. ‘I want to be a s-s-spinster. And m-manage my own h-home. And a-affairs.’

Rosa had made no secret of her own ambitions to make a fortuitous match in England, so Beatrice suspected she might not understand this sentiment, but in fact her friend broke into a dazzling smile.

‘Bravo, my dear! But how marvellous!’

‘I t-tried to tell Eustace yesterday. He w-would not. Accept. My l-letter.’

‘What a bounder!’ Rosa exclaimed. ‘Still, one can hardly blame him. I suppose he thinks if he makes it too difficult, then you’ll simply give up.’

Beatrice shook her head. ‘I w-won’t.’

‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘Thank you, n-no. I m-m-must do this for m-myself.’

There were too many people on the lawn for Beatrice to hope to catch Eustace’s attention and the idea of sending Rosa out on her behalf seemed cowardly. Beatrice would simply have to march confidently out there, just as her friend had gone into that buffet last summer.

‘The truth is, I didn’t even want a stirrup cup particularly,’ Rosa had confided to her later. ‘I simply wanted to prove a point to that intolerable coxcomb.’

Beatrice went out through the door, encumbered by her huge, ridiculous dress, which Rosa attempted to help her with. The moment she appeared, the string quartet started up a bridal march, the guests oohed breathlessly and her bridesmaids came rushing over to pick up the train. Her aunt also hurried to her side, having clearly tired of the fainting couch upstairs.

‘Come along, Beatrice,’ she said, once again pretending their earlier exchange had never happened, as she thrust the bridal bouquet at her niece and then deftly lifted the long veil over her head. ‘A decorous bride is too timid to show their face in public until after they’re married.’

Beatrice tried to protest, but her throat was closing up again, making her voiceless as well as faceless, and then her uncle was there, taking her arm to walk her down the aisle. Rosa had been shown to her seat and it felt like time had sped up faster than usual, racing her along with it like a tide.