He was on the outskirts of Consett now and as he left the town behind the tranquillity of the white landscape and the falling snow calmed him. He was in the devil of a mess, he admitted to himself, and he didn’t know which end was up, but for the time being he could do nothing more. He had to return to the regiment and that was that, and to be fair, normally he couldn’t wait to get back to his army pals. The social scene his parents enjoyed so much held no appeal for him, neither was he a hunting and shooting and fishing man like his father. Strange really, when he had chosen the army as his career, but the killing and shooting of defenceless animals and birds disgusted him. His father had never understood that and he knew he had disappointed him on numerous occasions.

The forecourt was brilliantly lit by lights from the windows in the house when he reached Highfield Hall, and he saw one of the stable lads waiting under a massive cedar tree, no doubt at the instructions of his mother. He’d intended to check on Ebony, his stallion, who had stumbled on some ice and strained one of his forelegs the day before, but now he reluctantly handed the reins to the lad and watched him lead the horse out of sight to the stable block at the back of the building. The front doors of the house opened in the next instant, more light flooding down the steps onto the forecourt.

‘Don’t tell me,’ he called to the young second footman standing on the threshold as he walked towards him. ‘They’re waiting for me. Right?’

‘Just so, sir.’

‘Have the ladies finished their repertoire of music and recitations yet?’

‘I couldn’t rightly say, Mr Alexander, but there have been a number of renditions throughout the evening.’

‘So it must surely be near suppertime? Please tell me it’s near suppertime, Franklin.’

The footman tried to conceal his grin and failed. It was well known among the servants that the young master was as different from his parents as chalk from cheese. Everyone liked Mr Alexander. ‘Shortly, yes, sir.’

As Alexander entered the warmth of the house, he heard what was almost certainly Gwendoline’s voice lifted in song from the drawing room. She had an exceptionally fine voice, he’d give her that. It was unfortunate that in his mother’s eyes such an accomplishment in a well-bred young lady was highly desirable, along with speaking a little French – and having a pedigree as long as his arm, of course.