‘We don’t know how long it took for the newspaper to get hold of the story. I’m sorry to be such a Job’s comforter, but I can’t help thinking that the groom is not going to make it for the wedding.’

‘I know, but how can we find out? Or do we have to wait until the day of the ceremony?’

‘I think we should wait for another couple of days.’

‘Even supposing they’re back in the country. The same goes for my husband. I don’t know where he is at present. He was due home a day or two ago, but the ship might have been forced to seek shelter from the same storm, and anchored somewhere along the coast.’

‘Try not to worry, my dear. There’s nothing that any of us can do. We will just have to be patient, and try to keep up Patricia’s spirits. That’s one thing your mama is very good at.’

Rosalind eyed him curiously. ‘Really?’

‘When Felicia is on stage all eyes are on her. She commands the attention of the audience. I’m sure if you confide in your mother she will rise to the occasion, and Patricia will not have a moment to brood.’

Next morning Rosalind looked out of her bedroom window and was dazzled by the brilliance of the sun’s reflections on a blanket of white snow. The storm had passed and there was a feeling of calmness in the cold air. Tilly had lit the fire but it barely took the chill off the room, and the water Rosalind poured into the flower-patterned bowl on the washstand cooled rapidly. She dressed hastily and wrapped a woollen shawl around her shoulders before she went downstairs to the dining room. To her surprise Claude and Felicia were already seated at table, tucking into bacon, eggs and devilled kidneys.

Felicia looked up and smiled. ‘It appears that the weather is on our side after all, Rosalind. The guests should be able to travel and I am ready to take charge of the wedding preparations.’ She picked up a small silver bell and rang it.

Molly Greep appeared seconds later, as if she had been hovering outside, waiting to be summoned. She looked from Rosalind to Felicia.

‘My coffee is cold and we need more toast.’ Felicia waved her away with a flick of her hand.

‘Thank you, Molly. That will be all for now.’ Rosalind went to the sideboard and helped herself to buttered eggs before taking her place at the foot of the table, noting with a wry smile that her mother was seated at the head with Claude on her right.

‘Did you hear what I said, Rosalind?’ Felicia asked impatiently. ‘I am taking charge of arrangements from now on.’

‘I don’t think that anything has been left to chance, Mama,’ Rosalind said mildly.