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appallingly.” Her French accent was quite noticeable now. Looking at Burford, she said, “You. Fetch me some Madeira. And have my boxes taken to my room.”
    “I do not imagine you still have a room after all this time,” Connie said, before Burford had had time to open his mouth. “And Mr Burford is not a servant. He is the new tenant of Willowbye.”
    Cousin Vivienne looked at him fully for the first time. “He should still offer me refreshments, unless he is quite devoid of manners.”
    “I will find a servant,” he said, and rushed from the room.
    “Why does he not ring the bell? Is he brainless?”
    “Not at all,” Connie said. “He knows that it would be pointless to attempt, when the bell ropes are all rotted away. And I expect he wanted to escape from you. He is too polite to express his opinion of your manners.”
    “But you are not, I suppose? Ha! Who are you, child? You are not Mary, I am sure of that.”
    “I am Constance Allamont, Cousin Vivienne, and I am not a child. I am three and twenty.”
    “High time you were married then, child . I should be ashamed to be a spinster still at such an age.”
    Connie was tempted to reply in like manner, but she bit back her retort, for it occurred to her that Cousin Vivienne had the intent of angering her and she therefore determined to deprive her of the satisfaction. She smiled instead and sat down, although not too near the visitor.
    “I trust you had a good journey from France,” she said, in her most polite voice. “Were you staying in Paris?”
    “France? Paris?” Cousin Vivienne hooted with laughter. “Whatever gave you the idea that I was in France? No, I have been living in Manchester, in a very poor neighbourhood, since my husband keeps me so short of money. It is a wonder I have not been forced to—” She clucked, with a shrug of one shoulder. “Well, never mind that. Ah, Henri! There you are!” Her gaze passed rapidly over the faces  of those who accompanied him, lingering for a moment on Mary, before passing on. “Who are all these people, and why are they in my house?”
    “Not your house, Viv,” he said. “This has not been your house since the day you walked out of it, fifteen years ago.”
    “Not yours either,” she shot back. “You have a tenant now, I hear. So where are we to live?”
    “ We ?” He gave a rueful smile, and shook his head. “ We are not living anywhere, Viv. I shall be living at the Dower House, with Mary, Mark and Hugo. Remember Mark and Hugo? Your sons? And James — your other son — is living at the lodge cottage with his wife and son. I neither know nor care where you live.”
    “But I am your wife! ”
    There seemed to be no answer to that, and Cousin Henry wisely attempted none.
    The servants had already laid out refreshments for the visitors in the dining room, and without further discussion, the party made its way there and settled down to eat. Connie had a thousand questions, and she could see the speculation in the faces around her, and hear the whispers, but neither Cousin Henry nor Cousin Vivienne said another word, to each other or to anyone else.
    Not long afterwards, Ambleside deemed it appropriate to draw the visit to a close. As the carriages were being brought round, he said to Connie, “Will you ride with us, Miss Connie? Miss Allamont has already agreed to give us the pleasure of her company. Mrs Ambleside would appreciate it, I know. We will take you all the way to the Hall, so you need not have the inconvenience of changing carriages in the village.”
    Connie agreed with relief. At least she would not have to watch Jess Drummond flirting with the Marquess. As she was handed into Ambleside’s carriage, she caught a momentary glimpse of the Marquess’s displeased face watching her. Good! Let him be disappointed, if he would.
    The four could talk of nothing but the return of Mrs Henry Allamont.
    “Even Mary was astonished to discover that her step-mother had not been in France