She’d always suspected that the lovely Jerome didn’t like the kill, either, and got away from the braying hunters as soon as he knew he wouldn’t lose face by doing so. But he would join in the teasing of her, which was always done by the others in a good-humoured way. I wonder how Jerome is. Like so many others, he’d had his life interrupted by war, but thank God had come back safely, and she’d heard he was doing his medical studies at university. She’d noticed his mother and father at the graveside, and intended to catch up with them later and find out about Jerome and send him her good wishes.

The car wheels crunched on the gravel of their drive as they turned off Feniscowles Lane. When the beautiful house came into view, Mags took in the low winter sun glistening on the frosted roof and reflecting off the many windows of her beautiful manor home. But the sight spelled loneliness when she realized that never again would her mother grace its rooms.

As Harold took her hand to help her alight, he squeezed rather more tightly than was necessary. ‘I know you are under a lot of strain, darling, but please don’t be difficult. I want everything settled very quickly. Surely you do, too?’

‘Of course’ was all she could manage, for a little of her had died on the journey – the part that held hope for her future. Hope that Harold would welcome her expertise alongside his, as they steered their mills to greater prosperity; and hope that he wouldn’t quash her free spirit, but would let her grow within the marriage. A part of her wanted to call the wedding off, and yet a big part of her wanted Harold so much. Something Flors had once said to her came to her mind – that love can surmount everything. Now she wondered if it really could.

Chapter Three

‘Harold, how can you be so unfeeling? Father has said that he isn’t up to giving me away, just two weeks after my mother’s death. Why can’t you accept that? I have to; and I love you, darling, as much as you love me, and am longing to be married to you, but . . .’

Nothing Mags said made any difference. Harold’s face remained set in an expression that was unmoving.

‘I’m sorry, Harold, but that’s how it is. We will postpone everything for six months.’

‘Well, I obviously have no say in the matter. I’m your husband-to-be, and you take no notice of my wishes. When we marry, you will no longer be obligated to your father’s wishes, but to mine. I hope you understand that, Mags. I won’t tolerate his rule over my wife. Now I will do as I said I would and go back to my hotel in London. I am thinking of having my home rebuilt. I consulted an architect before I came up to this godforsaken place, and it is possible to reconstruct the building. It seems the fire was put out before too much structural damage was done to the outer building.’