Aurelia dragged Martin through the throng of dancers and revellers to where her grandmother was standing, momentarily on her own. Rosalind crossed her fingers. She could only wish them well. If she had followed her own heart in the first place she might have avoided all the pain and difficulties in which she found herself now.

Alexander approached her, holding out his hand.

‘May I have the pleasure of this dance, Mrs Blanchard?’

She met his warm gaze with a smile. ‘I’d be delighted, Captain.’ She allowed him to lead her into an energetic polka. He held her firmly round the waist, whirling her around and somehow managing to avoid crashing into the other less expert dancers.

‘Your party is a great success. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves, even Grandmama. I’ll have to continue calling her that, if only for Aurelia’s sake, but one day I’ll tell my sister the whole truth as I know it.’

‘It’s a sad story, but your mother and father would be proud of you, Alex. I know I am.’

‘Really?’ He held her closer. ‘That matters to me most of all, Rosie.’

They came to a sudden halt at the sound of a disturbance outside the barn doors.

‘I’d better go and see what’s happened.’ Alexander released her. ‘Stay here. It could be a drunken fight.’

Rosalind followed him from the dance floor. ‘It doesn’t sound like that to me.’ The cold night air came as a shock after the fug in the barn.

‘What’s going on?’ Alexander demanded.

A rider, muffled by a scarf and a caped greatcoat, dismounted with a sharp command to Hudson to hold the horse’s reins. ‘I have a letter for Mrs Piers Blanchard, sir. I have to give it to her personally.’

Rosalind stepped forward. ‘I am Mrs Blanchard.’

He took a sealed document from his inside pocket and placed it in her hand. ‘I need a reply, urgently, ma’am.’

Chapter Twenty-Six

Rosalind broke the seal with trembling fingers. ‘Hudson, bring the lantern closer, please.’ She studied the spidery writing accompanied by several large ink blots.

‘What does it say, Rosie?’ Alexander asked anxiously. ‘Who sent it?’

‘It’s from Bertie, but it’s not his writing. I think he must have dictated it to someone else.’

‘What’s happened? Where is he?’

‘He’s in the Railway Hotel, Exeter. He says he was badly wounded and he can’t ride. It’s all a bit vague and I can’t read some of it for the blots and bad spelling. We must go there and bring him home, Alex.’

‘Of course, but it’s late. We won’t get there until the early hours of the morning even if we leave immediately.’

‘I don’t care.’ Rosalind turned to the messenger. ‘Please tell my brother that we’re on our way to fetch him.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ The man mounted his horse and rode away.