One of Eleanor’s favourite times of day, when they were in London, was after the afternoon callers had left, and before she had to prepare for whatever entertainment the evening would bring.

When they were in residents at one of her husband’s country estates, the pace of life was quite different, with earlier mornings, far fewer evening engagements, and callers only a few times a week. Or not at all, if the weather was inclement.

But in London, the late afternoon was one of the few spaces of time in any day that she and James could be alone. Alone or, as now, with a very special visitor. Only their grandchildren were allowed to intrude on their special time together. Twice a week, they would invite one, or at the most, two, of the growing tribe of offspring, from both her family and his.

Today’s guests were the two daughters Ruth had accepted as her own when she married Val, the Earl of Ashbury. The shy demure little misses Eleanor and James had first met during Val’s tempestuous courtship of James’s daughter were much more confident now, and they adored their Grandpapa. And their Grandmama, but especially their Grandpapa. And no wonder, Eleanor thought, as she watched James gallop the girls around the room, first Mirrie and then Ginny. He adores them. He adores all our little ones, and I adore him all the more for it.

Should she point out that the girls were growing a little large for pig-a-back? No, for James, excellent though he was, was only a man, and would ring the room three more times each, just to prove how strong he was. “When you are done, my loves,” she said, instead, “I have tea and cake, and after, a new book to read to you all.”