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Before France he had held patriotic feeling lightly, considering it more in terms of his love of his community, the place he had been born, and a boyish, far-away sense of doing right for a benevolent sovereign.

The reality of basic training and war had been a jarringly ugly awakening.

Jeering classism among officers and pat jingoism as a bandage for terrorised men pushed beyond all limit dimmed Silas’s youthful belief.

He had acted to protect his family, to keep Blackwood from punishing Ophelia, to defend the home that he feared would disappear in the fog of mortar blasts and gas.

In the hospital, he had plenty of time to pick at the memories, to dissect each decision, to wonder whether he might have been better to stand up to Blackwood, take the chance that his threats were all bluster.

In the end, no matter which way he turned it, he couldn’t imagine there had been a way to solve the puzzle of protecting the people he loved any differently.

“The nurses were true marvels,” he said, returning to the conversation.

“Caring and knowledgeable. I’m one of the lucky ones, really.

I roomed with men who were injured beyond anything I could imagine.

” He paused, his mind filling with the men still living at Hartwood House, some who might never recover enough to leave.

“It was difficult to be there ... at the estate ... it, uh, reminded me a great deal of a place where I was once very happy.” He finished abruptly, self-consciousness overtaking him.

Ophelia was watching him, her eyes unreadable, spots of colour high on each cheek. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and Silas wished to be her fingers, caressing the satiny lock.

“I intended to volunteer as a nurse,” Bess said. “But I heard Hannah speak and knew the WLA was for me, and as it turns out, I’ve found me feet with dairying.”

She laughed easily, her dark eyes merry, a small dimple appearing in her chin. Silas liked her and was glad of the good company Ophelia had around her.

“It’s no mean feat to be good with animals,” he said by way of a compliment. “They’ll nose out a false person faster than most humans.”

“True enough, the dairy herd over at Mr. Bone’s are suspicious of anyone who approaches in a rush.

A calm mind is the only way to get anything done with them.

In a funny way, I’m glad I’ve been working under Mr. Bone; he seems unfriendly, but ’tis really just a very quiet man. He’s gentle as a lamb with the herd.”

“Have you been with him long?” asked Silas.

“About six months, now. He’s agreed to take me on as manager when the war is finished. It’s a chance I never imagined before all this,” Bess said seriously.

“He’s lucky to have you,” Hannah said before scooping another serving of potatoes onto Mrs. Darling’s plate.

They finished their dinner slowly, picking away until there was nothing left of the ham and potatoes, and only the smallest crust of bread still on the cutting board.

Silas couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so satisfied or sleepy.

It reminded him of home, which made him think of the telegram he still needed to send.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have an errand to do in the village first thing tomorrow, so I think I’ll turn in,” Silas said.

“Right you are,” said Mrs. Darling. “Best get things cleaned up here and into bed, everyone.”

Ophelia watched Silas rise from the table, carrying his plate to the sink, speaking quietly to Mrs. Darling and offering to wash the dinner dishes.

“Ah, away with you, now, Silas! A man offering to wash dishes, pssh! That’s a sight more charming than good table manners.” She laughed.

“Just want to lend a hand,” Silas replied quietly. “Only where it’s wanted, of course.”

She had the strangest feeling that she was dreaming this moment; Silas standing in the kitchen, plate in hand, the softness of his stockinged feet on the flagstones suddenly unbearably domestic, intimate.

Something was amiss though; she had seen it on his face during dinner when, for a second, his eyes had filled with anguish.

It was there and gone, his green eyes clear, forehead smooth, but a sad, tight line had bracketed his mouth for the rest of the meal.

She felt cross and out of sorts at how his change in mood made her feel; his arrival had already thrown her confidence into disarray.

She considered the possibility that what she had said to Bess was untrue; perhaps they would not get used to working together.

If Silas’s strength and experience was more than enough to help Mrs. Darling meet the production quota, would she still be of any use on the farm?

The thought felt like ice in her chest, but she couldn’t deny that things had suddenly gotten more complicated with his arrival.

Working here was the only thing of her own she had ever had, and Silas’s arrival made her want to clutch it harder to prevent it from slipping away, keep it for herself.

But the most important thing was securing the harvest; her feelings about the farm, her friends, Silas . .. they couldn’t come into it.