‘You were lucky he saw you or you wouldn’t be here now.’ Madame Planche tossed her head. ‘I have told him to light the fire in the grand dining room. With so many people you cannot eat at a small table in the drawing room. Madame de Gris would turn in her grave.’

‘But Alex can’t move,’ Rosalind protested.

‘Delfosse will carry him and we will place two chairs together to support his leg. You must set the table, but I will unlock Madame’s silver and best china. It is Christmas Eve, after all, but tomorrow we go back to normal.’

‘I’m very grateful, Madame,’ Rosalind said earn-estly. ‘I’m sure Father Laurent will appreciate the trouble you’ve gone to.’

‘I should hope so.’ Madame Planche poked her finger into the resting bread dough. ‘You need to get that into the oven quickly, Madame.’ She marched out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind her.

‘I preferred it when she only spoke her own lingo,’ Hester said grimly. ‘I don’t want to hurry you, Rosie, but I’d be grateful for a hand with the preparations for our festive dinner. Keeping busy will help you to stop worrying about your husband.’

‘I’d better see if Alex needs anything first.’

‘He’s perfectly all right. I took him hot water and he’s had a wash and shave, so there’s nothing you can do for him at the moment. There’ll be plenty of time to chat later.’

Rosalind smiled reluctantly. Hester could be relied upon for good sound common sense and sometimes it was comforting to follow instructions rather than to be the one giving them. She did as Hester suggested and threw herself into helping with the preparations for the meal.

When the table in the dining room was laid and the food prepared, Rosalind went to her room to change into clean clothes. They had travelled light, but she had packed one of her favourite shot silk taffeta gowns, which changed from crimson to blue as it caught the light. It was, after all, Christmas and they were entertaining in style, even though Piers could not be with them. She put her hair up and fastened it with a pearl and amethyst comb. Now she felt in the spirit of the season and she went downstairs to the drawing room, ready to receive their guests.

‘You look beautiful, Rosie,’ Alex said softly.

‘Merry Christmas, Alex.’ Rosalind turned away hastily and began preparing the Christmas punch exactly as her grandfather had done every year. ‘The guests will be here soon.’

‘I should be doing that for you,’ Alex said, sighing.

‘Maybe next year. Everything should be back to normal then,’ Rosalind said. ‘You will be married to Patsy, and Piers will be fit and well again.’

‘I hope we’ll all be together, but if the trouble continues in the Crimean Peninsula I’m afraid I will be sent there.’