Over the last couple of years he had had time to reflect on how he would proceed if she ever mellowed towards him, and it wouldn’t be by insulting her and trying to keep her hidden away from his family and friends. He’d take them all on, every last one who dared to look down on her or criticize her because she came from a different class, and that included his parents, much as he loved them. He agreed with Lawrence that there would be those in his social circle who would be merciless in their derision and superciliousness, but this only concerned him in as much as it would affect Rose. They could always live abroad after they were wed; he could leave the army and he had an inheritance he’d never touched from his maternal grandparents. It would suffice to keep them and Betsy, and any children they might have, in relative comfort. Anything was possible if they were together. They could set up a small business, another bakery perhaps or a bistro.

A few minutes later, after his coffee had been brought in and the footman had left, his father said, a little testily, ‘Am I allowed to talk now?’

‘Of course, dear,’ Arabella said before continuing. ‘You say she is a widow with a young child? I’m not aware of anyone we know in that position who lives close to here?’

‘You don’t know her, Mother. Her name is Rose and she owns and runs a bakery in Consett.’

‘Good grief,’ said his father. ‘Exactly how old is this widow?’

Alexander suppressed a smile. ‘She’s in her twenties, Father. That’s all.’

Arabella’s eyes hadn’t left her son’s face. Quietly, she said, ‘I think you had better begin at the very beginning, Alexander, don’t you?’

It took him a few minutes to relate it all and he kept nothing back, including the proposed trip to Scotland. To give his parents their due they didn’t say a word until he had finished speaking, partly, he felt, because they were both in shock. At some point during his discourse his father had got up to stand with his back to the fire, his coat-tails pulled up, and it was from this position that he now said, ‘You’ve lost your mind, m’boy. This whole thing is preposterous, surely you must see that? A working-class wench with a young child? It won’t do. And you’ve said yourself you know nothing about her background. She calls herself a widow but to my mind that’s doubtful. It’s far more likely the girl got herself in trouble and—’

He stopped as Alexander jumped to his feet, his countenance dark. ‘Don’t talk about her like that, you don’t know her.’

‘And it seems to me you don’t know much either.’