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‘But not for me, Leonora. I thought it would be better if you married him, then you wouldn’t have to leave your childhood home.’

Leonora put down her needle and thread and said with a smirk, ‘Miss Charlotte, you’re reading too many romance novels. I’ve told you, I’m past marrying, and I’m quite reconciled to leaving my home.’ She paused, then decided to confide her thoughts. ‘But it would warm my heart if you were to live here instead. Then I could visit all the time. As you do now!’

Charlotte gasped and a blush suffused her neck and cheeks. ‘You can’t mean that. Like you, I’d rather not think of marriage at all, but just go on as we do.’

The light was beginning to fade when there was a commotion at the back door and the sound of men’s boots and the shuffling patter of animal paws. Leonora sprang to her feet and dashed into the corridor to see Achille disappearing into the kitchen and George Lockwood standing in his stockinged feet, having just removed his muddy boots.

There was a scream from Cook. ‘Get this great clumsy cur from my kitchen!’ And she ran into the utility room carrying a leg of lamb above her head.

‘He followed me back. I think he’d been hunting on our land.’ Mr Lockwood looked apologetic as he tried to grab the hound by his collar.

Charlotte had also joined them. ‘He’s huge,’ she said, her eyes wide.

Leonora called, ‘Achille, come!’ and the dog trotted out of the kitchen to her side. ‘This is Lord Rokeby’s dog. Was Ned Fleming with you while you explored the estate?’ She looked at George Lockwood. ‘I’ll ask him to take him back to the Abbey.’

‘I’m sure he’ll find his own way home.’ George Lockwood looked at Achille speculatively.

‘No!’ Charlotte’s voice was urgent. ‘The Fopling gamekeeper shoots any dog he finds on their land, and they abut the Manor estate. You can’t risk it.’

‘I left Ned investigating a broken fence in the lower field.’ Mr Lockwood’s face assumed an amused, put-upon expression. ‘I suppose I’ll have to take this preposterous animal home.’ Achille stood patiently by Leonora’s side, looking from one face to the other. George Lockwood struggled back into his boots and called the dog’s name and together they stepped into the twilight.

Cook resumed her preparations for the evening meal and the young women returned to the drawing room where Leonora’s piano-forte stood expectantly in the far window. ‘You have your lesson tomorrow. I hope you’ve been practising that variation on Logie O’Buchan.’ Leonora looked at her young pupil who nodded, an uncertain smile on her lips. They sat on the piano stool side by side. Leonora said with a twinkle, ‘I thought it may be a good idea to give a small concert here to entertain our friends in the winter months. I’ve found a composition by Mr Field arranged as a duet for four hands and it would be amusing for us to play together, don’t you think?’

‘Oh no, I don’t think I’m skilled enough.’ Charlotte flushed at the thought.

‘You will be. And everyone will be delighted. There’s so little to divert our neighbours in the dark months. It also gives us something to work towards in our lessons.’

‘Will it be the last winter you will enjoy at the Manor?’ Charlotte looked at her friend, her face full of sympathy mixed with her own sorrow.

‘It will. And I’d like to mark the end of this stage of my life and the beginning of another.’ Leonora could not hide the emotion she felt. She was alarmed by how featureless the future seemed, but knew she had yet to discover what awaited in that hazy void.

Charlotte fixed her mischievous gaze on her friend’s face. ‘If we do have a concert, will you ask the Earl?’

‘I very much doubt he will come. Even his staff say he eschews company. Though music seems to be important in his life…’ Her voice faded as she remembered the fleeting sight of him riding away on his horse.

Charlotte sat on the sofa and opened her book, and Leonora returned to her sewing. When Charlotte finished her chapter, she looked up. ‘Perhaps I’d better get practising.’ With her book in her hand, she headed in the direction of the garden door. Again, the usual quiet of the Manor was shaken by the banging of the back door and both women turned to see George Lockwood enter the stone-flagged corridor a second time, stamping the mud from his boots.

‘He’s insufferably rude!’ he expostulated. It was surprising to see such a usually phlegmatic man so discomposed. ‘You’d think that doing a neighbour a good turn might have elicited some gratitude. But no! Lord Rokeby almost accused me of stealing his dog!’

Leonora started forward. ‘Did he know that you’re the new owner of the Manor?’

‘He didn’t give me a chance to introduce myself. Just took the hound, gave me back the bridle rope I’d fashioned into a lead, and stalked off.’

‘I’m sorry I suggested it, Mr Lockwood. Apparently, Lord Rokeby’s not the same after his experiences in the war. We had all heard he’d been so badly injured he had died at Corunna along with his brother. Then he suddenly arrived home, scarred as you see.’

‘From his behaviour, the worst scars are not what we see,’ Mr Lockwood muttered, still put out by the high-handed treatment he had just endured. He then caught sight of Charlotte on her way out. ‘Miss Blythe, while I’m still in my boots, may I escort you home?’

Charlotte coloured slightly at this unexpected offer. ‘I go via the garden. There’s a convenient clicket gate Leonora and I use, so we don’t need to use the lane. So I thank you, Mr Lockwood, but it’s quite unnecessary.’

He bowed and Charlotte Blythe curtsied quickly and left.

Excited by the idea of creating a winter concert for their neighbours, Leonora opened the piano-forte and began to play the various compositions she thought may prove entertaining. Her mind ranged over who might be prepared to sing a few country songs, accompanied by her if necessary. Just as the new heir was about to disappear up the stairs, she called to him, ‘Mr Lockwood, do you sing?’

He paused by the drawing room door. ‘I can do. Why?’ He looked wary.

‘I’m thinking of organising a concert at the Manor and I wondered if you would attend. Better still, take part?’

He walked into the room and said in a ruminative voice, ‘Well, I’m not averse to singing. But I’d have to come across from my estate in Oxfordshire. When would this be?’