Alexander grinned. His father liked his routine at home and such disorder as there was at present would be hard for him to accept. He rather thought the invitation was in the form of an olive branch too. William had been shocked and alarmed when he’d told his parents about Nathaniel and the threat to Rose and Betsy, but they had ended up having a few words after his father had intimated that maybe the fellow had some claim on Rose she hadn’t told him about. William had apologized later, but relations between them had been a mite frosty since. ‘I’ll go now,’ he said to his mother, earning a smile of thanks in return.

Rose and Betsy followed Arabella through to the ballroom which had its huge set of three floor-to-ceiling glass doors open to the gentle evening breeze in an effort to keep the flower arrangements from wilting. The perfume of roses and other sweet-smelling flowers was heady, and a number of tables were set in the shape of an open-ended square glittering with silver and crystal and fine linen.

Rose had let Betsy choose the flowers for their bouquets, and the little girl had settled on orange blossom, pink rosebuds and clouds of baby’s breath tied with trailing white ribbons. The result was breathtaking. Rose’s bouquet would almost reach the floor when she held it, and Betsy’s little posy was delightful. After she had paid sufficient homage to the head gardener’s exquisite work and gone outside to the veranda off the ballroom where he was tending more flower displays to thank him personally, Arabella handed her a long thin box tied with ribbons which was addressed to Rose O’Leary, care of Highfield Hall.

‘It came earlier,’ said Arabella, trying not to appear too inquisitive. ‘Apparently a young boy had been paid to deliver it but he didn’t appear to know who the sender is.’ And then, as there was a loud crash from the veranda followed by some choice words from the head gardener, Arabella hurried outside, leaving Rose and Betsy together.

‘Would you like to open it, hinny?’ It was bound to be something from Amy or Daisy, Rose thought fondly, or maybe their parents. She had told all of them that she and Alexander didn’t want wedding presents – their attendance at the church and then the wedding breakfast would be gift enough – but Amy in particular had been unhappy about that.

‘No, Mam, it’s for you,’ said Betsy seriously.

Rose smiled at her daughter. She untied the ribbons and then carefully raised the lid of the box. Inside, nestled in a bed of tissue paper, there lay a single decaying rose, its petals black and shrivelled.

‘I’ll kill him. If I get my hands on him I swear I’ll kill him.’