‘I’m surprised she didn’t demand to have the master bedchamber.’

Rosalind left hastily. Hester knew them all so well, but she was wrong about Alex. That brief affair of the heart had been over for a long time. Piers was the man she had loved since their first encounter when they were both children. She had never forgotten the boy who had come ashore with the smugglers, and had shielded her from the hail of bullets raining down on the beach from the preventive officers on the clifftop. Next day he was gone, but he had returned many years later and now they were man and wife. She hoped that one day in the not-too-distant future they would have a family of their own, although this was not the time to think about herself.

She made her way to the largest guest room in the west tower where Tilly was adding coals to the fire. There was a definite chill in the air, but Rockwood Castle was notorious for draughts and ill-fitting windows.

Tilly scrambled to her feet. ‘It’ll soon warm up, Mrs Blanchard. I’d have lit it hours ago if I’d known your ma was coming.’

‘I didn’t know myself,’ Rosalind said, smiling. ‘Make sure they have plenty of coal and logs, Tilly.’

‘Yes, of course, ma’am. Shall I start unpacking Mrs Carey’s things? Jarvis didn’t seem to think she had brought her maid.’

‘Yes, make a start, if you will.’

Rosalind left Tilly to complete her tasks and she braced herself to face her mother again. She could only hope that Patricia would not fall prey to their mother’s less-than-optimistic view of life. There was sure to be something wrong, whether it was the fact that Alex and Bertie had not yet arrived, or the minor irritation of being allocated the second largest bedroom in the castle.

Rosalind entered the drawing room to find her mother and Patricia chatting happily about the wedding arrangements, while Claude sat by the fire, reading a copy of The Times. He looked up and she could tell from his expression that something was wrong.

‘Come and look at this, Rosie,’ he said in a low voice.

‘What is it, Claude?’

He brushed a stray strand of silver hair back from his forehead and held up the newspaper, pointing to an article on the front page. ‘That’s your brother’s regiment, isn’t it, Rosie? And Alexander’s, too?’

‘Yes, Claude. Alex was in the 32nd Regiment of Foot, but he was transferred to the same regiment as Bertie. They were due to return to England two days ago.’

Claude pointed to the small print, which swam before her eyes.

‘The 46th Regiment of Foot were on their way back from the Mediterranean when their ship ran aground in the Bay of Biscay during a storm. It says there were many casualties.’