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Peg Priddy twinkled up into his face. She’d always had a soft spot for bad boys and this bad boy just looked all the more disreputable, having returned so altered by the war. With an indulgent chuckle, she said, ‘You were just full of energy in need of occupation.’

‘I wish you’d persuaded our tutor and Papa of your view. Both thought it wickedness which only the birch could purge.’ His face became thunderous again at the memory. ‘Not even my brother could save me.’ He turned to bid farewell to Leonora. ‘Miss Appleby, I am indeed grateful for your skill today. If I can presume on your time further, I’d be pleased if you could finish the task.’

He put out his right hand to her, with a challenging look in his eye. Without hesitation, Leonora placed her own in his mutilated one and he bowed. ‘I’m afraid war makes brutes of men,’ he murmured. She was disconcerted to see a spasm of pain cross his face. Turning to Mrs Priddy once more, Lord Rokeby offered his arm and led them out of the drawing room, limping slightly and carrying the candelabra to lighten the gloom of the hall. His loping hound followed in his wake.

Stowe appeared at the front door. ‘I have asked the groom to bring your visitors’ conveyance round from the stables, my lord.’

Lord Rokeby led the two women to the gig. The last rays of the setting sun would allow them just enough light to see their way home. The Earl helped Mrs Priddy up and then offered his hand to Leonora. ‘I am in your debt, Miss Appleby. You will let me know a way to recompense you for your time?’ He bowed and calling softly for his dog, turned back towards the house. It struck Leonora that Lord Rokeby was tense with the effort of minimising his limp as he strode away.

As she drove the gig towards the drive, she thought of the only thing the Earl could give her of value: permission to swim in his lake again.

Mrs Priddy had been thoughtful during the short journey home but as they turned into the stable yard at the Manor she said, ‘Do you know, my love, something terrible has happened to that boy.’

‘’Tis cruel indeed the injuries he’s suffered.’

‘No, I’m not talking about the physical scars; there’s something heavy and dark in his spirit. He was such a mischievous and naughty boy, so full of life and laughter. That has gone.’

‘He said to me that war makes brutes of men. Is that perhaps what you mean?’

‘We cannot imagine what happens to our brave men sent to the Peninsula. So many injured, too many killed. So young, too. And his brother dying in his arms.’ Nanny P’s voice was quiet with emotion. Leonora knew she was thinking of her own father, killed when she was eighteen, fighting in the American Revolutionary War and left to die on the battlefield at Lexington.

She leant across and squeezed her old nanny’s hand. ‘I know these experiences are beyond us. But Lord Rokeby has such a forbidding look and manner, he holds himself apart.’

‘It was his brother Charles who held himself apart. Very honourable but conscious of his place in the world. I like to remember Master Alistair as the sparky boy he once was. Those boys had a cruel, unforgiving father and their mother, ailing and dying young. It was life’s harsh schooling.’ Mrs Priddy regained her brusque demeanour and stood up, bringing the bleak conversation to an end. Leonora picked up her skirts, sprang down from the gig and quickly walked round to help her down.

‘Could you chaperone me again, tomorrow afternoon? Just for the few hours it’ll take me to finish the tuning.’

Mrs Priddy smiled. ‘Of course. I can get on with my knitting.’

They entered the Manor just as George Lockwood came stamping through the back door from the stables. He had been in the saddle all afternoon surveying his inheritance, and was dusty and dishevelled. Leonora noticed how comfortable he seemed, his face flushed from exposure to the weather. He came towards her, smiling. ‘Miss Appleby, I have had such a capital time. I do commend you for the fine estate. I’ve so many ideas to improve it.’ He called for his valet to remove his boots and turned to her. ‘I’ve asked Miss Blythe to join us for dinner. I hope that is to your liking?’

‘It’s your house now, Mr Lockwood. You can ask whomsoever you will.’ In fact she was always pleased to see Charlotte, but the realities of the passing of ownership to this new heir would continue to jar. She dashed upstairs to change, aware that her clothes appeared old-fashioned and dowdy next to George Lockwood’s fine tailoring. Leonora’s spirit, usually so optimistic, was unsettled by the sense of some momentous shift in the tectonic structure of her life since she had made the acquaintance of these two previously unknown men.

Charlotte Blythe arrived for dinner in an excited mood. Her youthful imagination was energised by the possibilities of change. She had enjoyed being the one to introduce George Lockwood to Sir Roderick Fopling, and her love of horses meant she helped too with the selection of a large hunter for him to borrow. Riding her own mare and accompanied by her groom, she had even joined the new heir on his initial exploration of the Manor lands and had been interested in his evolving plans. The thought of her dearest Leonora having to move down the lane to the Lodge seemed less tragic if such an amenable person was to take her place at the Manor. Change was not always to be so deplored, she assured herself.

Charlotte’s most consequential news, though, she could not keep to herself for long. As she and Leonora, Mrs Priddy and Mr Lockwood gathered in the drawing room before dinner, she took her friend aside and in a low voice confided, ‘Mama and Reverend Mildmay have had a note delivered from Rokeby Abbey. The new Earl has summoned them to an audience the day after tomorrow. Probably just to make their acquaintance, but poor Mama is in a fuss about what she should wear. She doesn’t feel up to snuff at all.’

Leonora laughed and patted Charlotte’s arm. ‘Tell Mrs Mildmay not to trouble herself. From what I’ve seen, the Abbey is full of spiders, vermin too, no doubt; it’s a sorry, neglected sight and Lord Rokeby is almost as unkempt. He’s certainly no fashion plate like our own Mr Lockwood.’ She gave the younger woman a conspiratorial smile.

Leonora asked George Lockwood to carve the roast chicken while she passed the dishes of braised cabbage, carrots and a plate of pickled cucumbers around the table. The Manor servants were minimal; Jack Clegg was willing to do most things, from opening the front door to visitors to waiting at the table, but it was all effected in an informal way which was considered totally lacking in appropriate style and deference by servants used to working in the great houses of Mayfair. Similarly, while Milly was a general housemaid who helped Leonora dress when necessary, she was not skilled in arranging her hair or embellishing gowns and bonnets. These were skills Leonora had been taught by Nanny P; she was wearing her favourite old yellow muslin with the silk primroses round the neckline and ribbons binding the bottom of the puff sleeves, appliqued by herself during the long winter evenings.

Leonora looked across the table at Charlotte who was attentive to Mrs Priddy, her pretty face inclined towards her as the elderly lady regaled her with tales of her mercy dash to the Abbey when the Rokeby boys were young. Charlotte’s family relied on even fewer servants at the Vicarage, and Leonora recognised her blue muslin gown as one they had worked on together in the spring, plaiting cream silk ribbons then sewing them round the neck and hem to provide extra definition to its modest simplicity.

George Lockwood was less immaculate than when he had first arrived and the disarray of his hair and the outdoor colour on his skin suited him. He turned to Leonora and said in a cheerful way, ‘I have had such an interesting day. I’m sorry I have to return to Town before the week is out. Wintering at my Oxfordshire estate, you know. All kinds of sporting weekends are booked with my friends.’ He put a piece of chicken breast on her plate. ‘I intend to move here more permanently after the London Season is over.’

Leonora smiled. ‘I thought you were only released from the purgatory of London life once you’d found yourself a suitable wife?’

He let out a bark of laughter. ‘That’s the plan, or rather my stepfather’s plan. Frankly, I don’t think I could face a further Season. I’d rather spend my time working out a system of land management at Hasterleigh, new wife or not, than hang about any more London drawing rooms!’

Charlotte Blythe had overheard the end of the conversation. ‘You have ideas for a new irrigation system too, using water from the river.’ Her face was bright as she looked at him. Then turning to Leonora, she said, ‘I suggested Mr Lockwood dam a part of the river to make a swimming lake.’

Leonora frowned at her. She did not care to have her love of swimming bruited to all.

Charlotte realised her unguarded tongue had displeased her friend and coloured, then with deftness, changed the subject. ‘When we called on Sir Roderick to borrow a hunter, he was in the most irascible tweak. Poachers had been spotted with their dogs. He was foaming at the mouth, wasn’t he, Mr Lockwood?’

‘I don’t think it was quite that theatrical, but he wasn’t in a very welcoming mood, ’tis true.’

‘He was yelling for his gamekeeper to dust off and grease the extra snares and mantraps! It’s so wrong; people only seek to feed their families.’ Charlotte’s face was full of outraged feeling.