Rosa wished he would say instead: You look wretched. What is wrong? How can I help?

Run away with me …

‘Thank you, Mr Sheppard,’ she replied, marvelling that her voice could come out sounding so ordinary. ‘I am gloriously happy.’

‘Naturally.’ He glanced at her feet. ‘But where is your charming dog?’

Grief immediately filled Rosa’s throat and she had to swallow it down with an effort. She was suddenly very afraid that she would not be able to speak of Cookie without crying. ‘He … he was very old,’ she managed. ‘And even clockwork creatures wind down eventually.’

James winced and put a hand on her arm. ‘I am so very sorry.’

Rosa couldn’t bear his kindness and pulled away from his touch, afraid that it would unravel her completely.

‘Isn’t this divine?’ she asked in an overly bright voice, desperate to change the subject. ‘The garden, I mean.’

James looked out across the lawn. ‘It is certainly a spectacle.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘It is not to your taste?’

‘Pleasure gardens are my bread and butter,’ he replied. ‘But it seems to me that they are very often ugly affairs.’ He glanced at her. ‘Your clockwork peacocks, though – they are quite lovely. You must be very proud.’

Rosa said nothing. She could not stand the sight of them. James would see soon enough that the ugliest thing in the garden had come from her. She had created her own monstrosity. She had allowed herself to get drawn into the depravity. She felt a flash of regret, but it was too late to go back now. She was determined to see it through.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘But I believe your orchids are the loveliest thing here by a long way.’

No longer content with hunting orchids abroad, James had also set up a garden laboratory in England and had begun experimenting with creating hybrid flowers. The tray at his feet held rainbow orchids, and their multicoloured petals were not found anywhere in nature.

‘Thank you. I sense the duke’s design on these gardens more than your own,’ he said. ‘If you were to have a free hand, what would your ideal garden be?’

No one had ever asked her that, but Rosa wasn’t surprised that James should do so. Back when they used to take tea in her town house together, he was forever asking her questions and, furthermore, listened carefully to the answers. He had always seemed genuinely interested in her thoughts, and opinions, and preferences.

He was watching her and waiting quietly for an answer now, so Rosa said, ‘Perhaps something like the Winter Garden. The magical one from the book you gave me. Except it would have more clockwork.’ She glanced at him. ‘Do you think it could be real? The Winter Garden, I mean?’

‘Well. It hardly seems plausible, does it?’

‘Beatrice says she has been there.’

That got his attention. James’s eyes fixed on her in the dark.