Lord Lansbury's Christmas Wedding. Helen Dickson

Jane stared at him. ‘You envy me? But—how? Why? You are the Earl of Lansbury. You live in this beautiful house. You have everything here you could ever want.’

      He gave a brief, humourless smile. ‘It must seem that way to you. You are right, to a point. I have a certain amount of power, but I do not have the freedom to do as I wish.’

      ‘I do not understand.’

      He met her gaze. Henry Chalfont, Christopher’s father, had died leaving him with a mountain of debts. His grandfather had been the third Earl of Lansbury with a successful head for business. His running of the estate was crowned with success. On his death Henry had inherited the title and the estate. Henry had committed the grievous sin of believing that the wealth he had inherited would last for ever, with no need on his part to improve or even keep in good repair the estate. He had a talent for one thing and that was how to spend the most money on himself in the shortest possible time.

      ‘My father died before Octavia was born. I was nineteen when I took over Chalfont, old enough to appreciate all that it means. The estate was almost bankrupt—which, to a certain extent, I managed to overcome. Thankfully things are beginning to improve, but they could be better. Had I the means, as the Earl of Lansbury I could have done all sorts of things—the Grand Tour—all the adventurous and exciting things you have done. But Chalfont was at the core of everything.’

      Jane was moved by what he said. His voice was soft and warm to her ears. ‘You must love it very much.’

      He nodded, his gaze slowly sweeping the beautiful green acres. ‘Chalfont never changes,’ he murmured. ‘It smiles, it beckons, it invites and welcomes. I have loved it since I was a child. There is nowhere quite like it.’

      ‘I know what you mean,’ Jane answered. ‘I am a stranger here, yet I feel it, too. Who could resist it?’

      ‘Who indeed! The estate has to be run,’ Christopher went on. ‘I get to London from time to time and I have bailiffs and managers to oversee the different aspects of managing things, but I have to be here. I consider running the estate a full-time job and the concerns of my tenant farmers are my own concerns.’

      ‘And is that what all earls do?’ Jane asked, her ignorance showing through.

      He shook his head. ‘Most of my fellow landed aristocrats consider my work habits unseemly and highly eccentric—no way for an earl to act, they say, and that I set a very bad example.’

      ‘And what do you say?’

      ‘I don’t care a fig what the rest of the gentry think, but the welfare of my tenants is most important to me. And then there is Octavia. With Octavia being the way she is—both my mother and Octavia depend on me being here.’

      ‘Were you like your father?’

      His face hardened and he shook his head. ‘No. When you were growing up, were you ever lonely?’ he asked, quickly diverting the conversation away from her question.

      She shook her head. ‘No. We were always with a team of archaeologists and such like. There were times when I was the only English girl for hundreds of miles, with only monkeys and stone statues for company. But I was never lonely.’

      ‘Why did your father take you with him? Why not leave you with Mrs Standish?’