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‘He’s next in line as laird!’

‘Precisely. Do I really want to be lumped off to Ben Nevis, Mother?’ Alex hated how dismissive she sounded. These men were at the Front, fighting for their lives, fighting for her privileged life to continue.

‘Duncan has a tremendous affection for you.’

‘Of course he does. His choice is limited. It’s me or a sheep, really, isn’t it?’ Sometimes her thoughts were voiced before her mouth could catch them. Even through her shame she felt a helpless spike of triumph that her father guffawed over his second pikelet.

‘Charles, really!’ Charles’s amusement vanished as the tone of disapproval was now turned his way. ‘I despair of you, Alexandra Frobisher. Duncan deserves better.’

‘Mother, I know he’s your first choice, but be fair. Duncan doesn’t want a woman to love. He wants a wife to show off, to run his household, to keep him warm in bed on those barren highlands,’ she said, unable to hide her irritation.

‘If it gives us heirs, so be it.’

Alex sighed, letting her shoulders visibly slump. ‘You can imagine that the Camerons would consider any son as their heir, rather than yours.’

‘I don’t care. The sooner you get going at the business of making family the better. Then I know there are children growing up around you who will look after you in times to come.’ Her mother raised her voice in deep exasperation. ‘We need grandchildren . . . grandsons would be lovely.’

‘Any son’s surname would be Cameron, not Frobisher. How does this help us?’

‘Don’t be deliberately obtuse. I find it most vexing.’

‘Minerva.’ Her father finally finished his second pikelet. ‘Don’t, my dear. You know your blood pressure is high enough.’

‘Charles, I need your support in this.’

He nodded, put down his cup and saucer and sat next to Minerva, taking her hand in a sweet show of affection. Alex loved her father for it, especially as she knew all he craved was harmony: his daughter happy; wife content.

‘It’s all very well for you both, Charles. You live in a tiny world of two sometimes, Alex every inch a daddy’s girl . . .’

Alex let her mother say her piece, congratulating herself that she didn’t leap in and object that unlike all the other spoiled daughters of her mothers’ circle, she didn’t call her father ‘Daddy’ any more, but the more modern and urbane ‘Dad’.

Her father smiled awkwardly and then finally nodded and turned back to address her. ‘Alex, darling,’ he began, and she gave him her full attention because Alex knew his word would be final. ‘This discussion began because you courageously shared with us that you wish to help out in the factory where they’re calling for volunteers.’

‘I do, Dad. And being around the Rowntree’s business is a place to get ideas too.’

She watched the familiar crinkle of her father’s eyes as he smiled at her, dimples deepening in his cheeks. In that moment she was a little girl again looking into the face of the only man she adored. She didn’t glimpse his unguarded smile often enough . . . later this year it would be two decades of sorrow they’d endured. She shook off the gloom, watching her father throw a look of gentle pride at his wife.

‘And of course living in York, who could blame you wanting to be involved in its main industry?’ he said. ‘What your mother is conveying rather baldly is that what we need you to do – as our only and much-beloved daughter – is to follow through.’ He nodded to himself, liking this choice of expression. ‘We are not chocolate makers like the Rowntree family and —’

‘We’re not even Quakers,’ Minerva observed, as though tasting something stale.

Charles shook his head. ‘There are many other ways to volunteer your time. And as for you dreaming of your own business, while I won’t flatly discourage it because you’ve always been an ambitious child . . .’ He hushed Minerva at her intended interruption. ‘Let me speak, Min, dear. Alex has been an independent girl with strong opinions and I think we can both agree that she has firm morals. She won’t let down anyone she loves, least of all us, so I think we have little to worry about.’

She thanked her father with a nod and affectionate smile.

He lifted a finger of warning, though, and a pit opened in her belly. ‘However, women do have responsibilities right now to their men, to family, to helping keep the country safe and ticking over through war. Avoiding your responsibility as the only remaining child in this family is breaking your mother’s heart.’

‘You could, of course, marry a Rowntree . . . even a Cadbury would do, and make your father and me happy,’ her mother interjected.

She ignored the remark. ‘Dad, I think learning about business could inspire me. Please, I want to do more than have the sum of my life being organised into a sound marriage.’

Her father took a deep breath to indicate that he understood. Alex opened her hands in appeal to hide her frustration, hoping it wouldn’t show in her voice. ‘Everyone we pass in the street is connected to chocolate, and I can learn, Dad. Don’t you see? Just being around it would be enlightening.’

Another gasp of horror from her mother punctured Alex’s thin balloon of hope and her plaintive statement died in her throat. She tasted instant bitterness instead of sweet joy.

Charles Frobisher looked back at her with tenderness in his gaze, making it worse, but she fought against turning sullen on him. ‘No, my darling girl, you cannot. Association with the factory floor will not do – not for a Frobisher girl.’

Alex tried not to hear the clear dismissal. ‘Give me a chance, Dad. I think I can build a career for myself, be a woman of independent means.’