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She frowned, embarrassed for him.

‘Hear me out. Us not knowing each other does help because it allows us to be objective and not cloud the issue with any sense of obligation that knowing each other well might bring.’

‘Dare I ask what you get out of this arrangement?’

She noted the hesitation and the fact that he thought he’d disguised it with a smile.

‘Apart from having a beautiful wife, it provides me the perfect reason to stay up north – a new life especially. It’s a chance to start again and not be third son of Chetwin Britten-Jones of Somerset but Matthew Britten-Jones of York.’

‘And we live like strangers?’

‘Not at all! We shall learn to love one another. I think you’re splendid and I’ve known you hours. I suspect over time we’ll enjoy one another exceptionally well. We can be the perfect companions and I will always, always look after you. I will not judge you and I will not let you down.’

‘Extraordinary,’ she muttered. ‘Matthew, I find myself back to my original question of what if I want to be in love? What if I want the whole glorious romantic circus of falling for a man and never wanting to be with anyone but him?’

‘No one’s stopping you.’ He grinned, opening up his arms slightly as if to invite her to make it him but somewhere in that gesture was awkwardness, although it was gone in a heartbeat and he was giving her his bright smile, which was genuine and open.

‘Look, don’t answer me this moment,’ he assured. ‘It’s a proposal for you to consider, although I realise the clock is ticking for you.’

She nodded with an unhappy grimace. ‘I don’t like the vagueness of it either but it was the only bargain I could strike.’

‘Well, now you have another hat in the ring, if you’ll pardon the cliché, and I’m betting mine’s a safer option than any of the others on Minerva’s list. Come on, let’s go meet Arnold Rowntree. You can volunteer at the hospital afterwards.’ He offered his arm again and Alex had no choice but to take it, her thoughts darting madly like busy midges of a Scottish summer.

4

Arnold Rowntree, MP for York, was every bit as genial as Alex had heard. She knew only a little about him, particularly his Quaker background, learning his father’s trade as a grocer, and the fact that he’d lost his mother to a carriage accident while on holiday when he was still an infant. That snip of information alone had endeared him, as Alex knew about loss in one’s childhood.

He took her hand gently and gave a little bow from his great height. ‘Enchanting to meet you, Miss Frobisher. Always happy to take new guests and show off our factory. I’m very glad Matthew has brought you.’

‘The pleasure’s mine, Mr Rowntree. Actually, we have passed each other many times on horseback on the Knavesmire.’

‘Good gracious, I do hope I haven’t ignored you?’

‘No, our paths haven’t properly crossed but I do admire your fine stallion.’

‘Ah yes, he needs to be a big boy,’ he said, tapping his prosperous girth. ‘I know your father very well, of course. How are your parents?’

‘They’re both in good spirits, sir, despite the times.’

‘Yes.’ He blinked and she felt immediately embarrassed for mentioning the war. ‘A tragedy for the world.’

Quickly making amends as best she could, she leapt to where her interests lay. ‘Indeed, but I’ve heard the wonderful news through Mr Britten-Jones that the company is producing another chocolate tin . . . it’s such a lovely gesture from the firm.’

He smiled in his kind way, pale eyes gleaming like shards of aquamarine and voice sounding as richly mellow as the chocolate he manufactured. Rowntree gestured for her and Matthew to accompany him and a guide he introduced as Helen down a corridor brightened by sunlight streaming through windows that ran along the top of the walls.

‘We want to do our utmost to contribute. We’ve called it the King’s Tin in order to remind our soldiers what they’re fighting for. It is going to be very special. We’re encouraging the people of Britain to save up tokens from packets of Elect Cocoa and then we ask them to post us those tokens with the name and address of the soldier they want to send a chocolate tin to, and the firm arranges for its delivery to that man.’

She looked at him astonished. ‘How wonderful.’

He grinned. ‘We think so. It’s not perhaps as generous as the original gift from the royals because the families of servicemen and women are essentially driving it, but there’s significant costs that we’re covering. Anyway, let me walk you through how we run our business.’

‘Splendid,’ she said. She glanced at Matthew and instinctively knew he understood how this thrilled her. It was like sharing a special secret, a glittering thread of pleasure that bound them . . . that only they knew was there. This notion made her feel suddenly closer to him and she was aware that her initial impression had perhaps been harsh. Increasingly there was much to like about Matthew, not least his collusion in her plans. Had she just been ridiculously suspicious of a man earlier who was laying bare the truth?

‘Miss Frobisher is interested in the new Quaker hospital as well, Arnold,’ Matthew joined in.

‘Excellent, excellent! Well, I’ll make sure that Helen takes you through that building across the road too. I think you’ll find the dining hall and social activities area most fascinating, mainly because of the number of people who pass through each day. There are times I scratch my head that we have so many employees.’

Alex was sure her eyes were widening with each new department they moved through and every minute in Chocolate Jumbo’s company seemed to intensify her desire to be in business as successfully but also as generously as he was. The Quaker’s socialist ideals flew in the face of her family’s conservative way and yet Alex was inspired by the care and investment in staff through better conditions. As she learned about the Rowntree business, a tingling of awareness quickened that maybe in this part of England, with all of its knowledge about the product, chocolate could be her focus too. There was no sign of the British losing their joy in chocolate – if anything, it was increasing. Salons like Betty’s and even the grand hotels in London were offering afternoon teas with delicious pastries and treats. In her experience it was usually the chocolate-based fancies that won the greatest sighs of admiration and pleasure. And she’d noted that the wealthy were prepared to pay handsomely for a fine box of chocolates to gift to those they loved, or hoped might love them. Alex smiled. Chocolate is so suited for lovers, she decided, and perhaps that was where she might fit in. She could learn from the families of Rowntree and Terry and their close ties with the Cadbury family in the Midlands.