Chapter 10

10

IS AN OFFICER A GENTLEMAN?

Leonora could barely sleep. Old impulses of fear of loss had not yet given way to this new certainty of where her heart belonged. Instead she was restless, locked in fevered jealous dreams. Only as the thin light of dawn seeped through the curtains did she fall into sleep at last. She woke late and drowsy as Flora knocked and entered with a steaming jug of water. ‘Good morning, Miss Appleby, may I draw the curtains?'

Leonora struggled to sit, puzzled that Flora was still working in Lady Bucklebury's house. ‘Is Amy recovering?'

Flora walked back from the dressing room. ‘Her sickness has receded but she still needs rest.'

Leonora watched her. ‘Flora, do you remember seeing me at the Manor when you lived in Hasterleigh? Did we ever meet?'

Flora had a newly washed and ironed chemise in her hands and turned away to fold then refold it, not meeting Leonora's eyes. She answered in a neutral voice, ‘I think I saw you a couple of times in the lane, Miss Appleby. You were just a girl.' She then placed the chemise on the bed and at the doorway turned to say, ‘Miss Charlotte needs help with her hair. If you need me, I'll be with her.'

Charlotte had also had a troubled night, occasioned by Captain Ormonde's note. She knew the sole purpose of the Countess sponsoring her for the Season was to find her a suitable husband, and Guy Ormonde was a most unsuitable match. He lacked a fortune and Lord Rokeby nurtured an old animosity against him that was close to contempt. But she thought him attractive and attentive, admirable too with his tales of military exploits. Her susceptible heart found something thrilling in his roguery, but she could not understand why he was so set against the Earl of Rokeby when she, and the world, considered him the most admirable of humankind.

While she struggled with the conundrum of Captain Ormonde and his motives, her mind returned, like a ship to harbour, to the comfortable figure of George Lockwood. His height and breadth, his cheerful good humour, made her feel safe and at ease. She knew by the way he looked at her that he found her attractive too, although he was warm and civil to all in his orbit, and Charlotte wondered if perhaps everyone had the benefit of his generosity of spirit. She had newly come to the thought that as the daughter of a hero, perhaps she had been born for braver things than comfort and safety? The idea of Mr Lockwood had an even more troubling aspect; if she were to marry him, she would then move into the Manor, Leonora's home, while her friend was displaced to the Lodge. That thought made Charlotte recoil; she did not wish to feel an imposter and a thief.

A light tap woke her from fitful sleep and Flora entered bearing a jug of hot water for her morning's toilette. ‘Good morning, Miss Blythe.'

‘Good morning, Flora. Would you accompany me to Bullock's Museum this afternoon?'

‘Yes, miss, I've been there before. It's full of wonders.'

‘I'd forgotten you've lived in London for years.' Charlotte rubbed her eyes and yawned.

‘Is Miss Appleby not going with you?'

Charlotte had climbed out of bed and sat at the dressing table where she gazed in dismay at the birds' nest that seemed to have arrived on her head. ‘No. I'm meeting a friend who is a captain in the army.'

Flora stood behind her and began to gently brush out the tangles of fine fair hair, a slight frown on her usually serene features. ‘Is it Captain Ormonde?'

Charlotte turned to face her. ‘Yes, how do you know?'

‘I've heard talk of him. Nothing much escapes us maids you know.' Her usually equable face had turned grim as she continued the delicate untangling.

‘What do the maids say?' Charlotte's heart lurched with foreboding.

The women caught each other's eyes in the looking glass and with a sudden determination, Flora said, ‘I will pass on what the maids say as I don't wish you to be ill-used or compromised. We all warn each other about the men who cannot be trusted. And Captain Ormonde cannot be trusted.' She looked down, embarrassed yet defiant. She continued in a firm, quiet voice, ‘It's also rumoured his debts are so extensive and pressing he's threatened with prison or exile.'

Charlotte knew that Flora had broken a golden rule that separated Upstairs from Downstairs; she had offered an opinion on one of her betters, and Charlotte was grateful for her courage. Shocked by both revelations, she accepted that, if true, Captain Ormonde was no longer such a heroic figure, but the news could not deflect her purpose. She had to play the hero now.

‘Thank you, Flora. I appreciate your frankness. But I'm afraid it's a matter of my family's honour that I must go.' Flora's clever fingers had just finished sculpting Charlotte's hair into a charming chignon with ringlets round her face, set in rags the night before.

‘Just beautiful,' Flora said, almost to herself, and then blushed when she realised she had uttered it out loud.

‘You've worked your magic, Flora. Thank you. Shall we meet in the hall at half past the hour of one?'

Leonora and Mrs Priddy had already left for Hookham's Library when Charlotte dressed carefully in her new walking dress of primrose yellow French cambric, with a pleated collar and a girdle with a clasp of glittering cut steel. She picked up her purple pelisse and new Leghorn bonnet and ran down the stairs to meet Flora. The maid was wearing a pretty dark blue pelisse which looked surprisingly well on her. The garment used to be one of Charlotte's that she had refurbished in the winter with velvet ribbon: when Flora had shown such evident appreciation for her work, she had given it to her.

The afternoon threatened rain, so Lady Bucklebury's butler pressed a large furled umbrella into Flora's hand as they set out to walk to Piccadilly. Charlotte's heart was quickening with anxiety at what may lie ahead. The walk was always interesting and settled her emotions a little; down through Berkeley Square where the children with their nurses bowled hoops and played hopscotch on the paving stones, on through Albermarle and, as they approached the area of St James's, gentlemen in their curricles and on horseback became more numerous. Charlotte felt her beautiful clothes were a form of armour but they also drew attention to her, making her fear she was but an imposter. They turned into the busy throughfare of Piccadilly and there was the unmistakeable Egyptian Hall which never failed to astonish. Charlotte stared with wonder at its incongruity amongst the plain brick fa?ades on either side. The exotic grandeur of the great semi-naked statues above the portico and the ziggurat detail round the windows were so suggestive of an excitingly different culture and an earlier age.

Charlotte paid a shilling each for their tickets and they slipped into the dim interior. It was the perfect place for an assignation, seething as it was with visitors intent on the glass cabinets of curiosities lining the walls, or peering at the exotic stuffed animals in an artificial jungle in a central compound.

Out of the shadows emerged the handsome figure of Captain Ormonde, dressed in his civilian clothes and looking dapper. He bowed over Charlotte's hand and nodded at Flora before drawing her mistress away towards the cabinet on a nearby wall filled with large shells and the skeletons of sea creatures. Flora remained at a discreet distance, but her eyes were intent upon them and her ears strained to hear.

He was formal. ‘Miss Blythe, I am pleased to see you. I think what I have to say will be of importance to us both.' Charlotte nodded, her eyes serious as he continued. ‘As you know, I've led a soldier's life and did not think it right to ask a wife to make the same sacrifices of absence that I had willingly made.'

Charlotte felt her heart lurch. Was he about to ask her to marry him? she wondered, but he seemed in no hurry to progress that conversation as he began to stroll round the central exhibition, her hand laid on the crook of his arm. Flora walked on the other side of her. He pointed at a giant turtle shell and then stopped by a stuffed mermaid that looked suspiciously like a seal in a wig. ‘Captain Cook brought much of this back from his voyages.' Captain Ormonde turned to look at her with his charming smile. ‘My travels in Wellington's army introduced me to the world too. I have sought adventure. But now I am back home, you have made me want to live in a different way.'

Ignoring Flora's presence, the Captain grasped Charlotte's hands and said in a low, intense voice, ‘Miss Blythe, my sleep has been troubled since I met you. My nights are haunted by dreams of you.' That distinctive smile was lurking even as he spoke, and Charlotte wondered if it was a spontaneous outpouring of feeling or instead had been rehearsed. But despite all her reservations and suspicion of his motives, she could not but be struck by how attractive he was, and how unexpectedly exciting it was to have such unsought power over someone as much a man of the world as the Captain.

She was aware of Flora hovering with a sense of anxiety. Her maid fell back slightly, sensing perhaps what was to come. In a conversational tone, Guy Ormonde said, ‘Do you think, Miss Blythe, you could make me the happiest man in the world by consenting to marry me?'

For a moment, Charlotte's breathing stopped. She had been half-expecting this but to actually hear the words was startling to her. ‘But sir, we barely know each other.'

‘War has taught me that happiness must be grasped where it can.'

‘You do know, as I'm underage, Lord Rokeby's permission would be necessary?'

He turned away, his face set hard, a muscle in his jaw pulsing. ‘We would never attain it,' he muttered under his breath.

‘Then you would have to wait until I was of age.'

‘Miss Blythe, I cannot wait.' His voice was low and harsh with urgency. ‘There is another way. You can accompany me to the border with Scotland where they have no barriers against love.'

Charlotte was alarmed at the idea. ‘I cannot repay my family's generosity with such shameful behaviour!'

His eyes were suddenly narrowed and hard. ‘I think you could if it meant saving their honour.'

Charlotte pulled away and looked defiantly up at him. ‘How so, sir?'

With a glitter in his eyes and a smile more chilling than charming, he withdrew a piece of paper from his inside pocket. ‘Here I have the proof of the Rokeby brothers' treasonous dealing.' He walked over to the waxwork of a pygmy warrior that was particularly well illuminated so that Charlotte could better read. Her heart was pounding as she perused as best she could the paper in his hand. At the head was an official-looking insignia and an engraving of the Napoleonic Imperial Eagle. Below, in black handwriting, were the words: Les services rendus: 100 Napoléons. At the bottom of the page was a signature Charlotte could not decipher, and the word Corunna .

She looked up at Captain Ormonde, dread tightening her chest. ‘What does this mean?'

‘This is the receipt for the payment made to the Earl of Rokeby, for services as a spy for Napoleon's army at Corunna.'

In an involuntary protective gesture, Charlotte's hand flew to her throat. ‘But he and his brother were exploring officers for Wellington's army,' she weakly protested.

‘Exactly! They were dealing with both sides, loyal to neither. As agents for Lord Wellington they were particularly trusted, and so this behaviour was especially treacherous.'

Charlotte could barely comprehend what he was saying. Such crimes even in times of peace were treasonous and demanded the most swingeing of punishments. In a small voice she asked, ‘What do you intend to do with it?'

‘I will give it to you as a wedding present, to do with as you will.' He gave a sly smile.

‘And if I don't agree to accompany you to the Scottish border to marry?'

‘Then I will take this to the Secretary of State for War and the Colonies before your father is awarded his posthumous Army Gold Medal for gallantry. I doubt they would wish their highest honour besmirched by a traitor, or indeed the brother of a traitor.'

Flora had been watching from afar this impassioned conversation. Although she could not hear the words above the hubbub of the visitors' voices, it was quite clear that Charlotte was shocked and distressed. The Captain's demeanour too had altered from flattering suitor to something more menacing.

Charlotte realised she had to think fast and remain calm even though her hands were shaking with emotion. Above all, she desired to protect her father's reputation. She wondered if this was a chance for her to prove her bravery, to live up to her Rokeby name. In a voice stronger than she felt she said, ‘May I ask, Captain Ormonde, if your determination to marry me is to do with my fortune?'

He looked disconcerted by her frankness then, recovering his sangfroid, responded in a drawl, ‘Surely, Miss Blythe, you are not so naive as to think we can live by love alone? Indeed, should love even be necessary? I find it quite gets in the way of rational thought. Instead, you'll find the world revolves around money. I have none, which is really rather a nuisance, and yet you could make us both a good deal happier by sharing what you will have on marriage.' His striking dark eyes had narrowed with the thought and he said under his breath, ‘In fact, things have come to such a pretty pass that debtors' prison or exile is my fate.'

Charlotte's heart plummeted. Here was proof of what she had always feared. It was only her fortune he desired, and he had found the perfect way to blackmail her into giving it to him. She determined she would even marry him, if it came to that, and hope for an annulment. Knowing she must do what had to be done, she was prepared to relinquish her chance of love, and her fortune, in the process. ‘So, what do you propose?' she asked in the smallest of voices.

Captain Ormonde was suddenly business-like. ‘The medal is being awarded in a week. We have no time to lose. I have hired a coach, ready to leave at daybreak from my lodging. Number twelve, South Audley Street, at the Grosvenor Square end. I'll be waiting for you at five in the morning.' His eyes did not leave her face. ‘Bring a portmanteau and don't tell a soul, otherwise I'll go straight to the Colonial Office.'

‘Can I trust you, Captain Ormonde?' Charlotte looked up into his eyes.

He put out a hand. ‘You have my word as an English officer and a gentleman.' Charlotte was glad he did not ask if he could trust her as she had every intention of being as untrustworthy as it was possible to be. The Rokebys were known for their valour and ability to act righteously, without demur or complaint. Their motto after all was Pietas et Fortitudo , Duty and Courage. How well she intended to live that now.

Charlotte nodded. ‘I will see you tomorrow.'

His charming smile had returned. ‘You also have my word that I will treat you as a gentleman should. I will only take you to my bed once we are married. At the posting inns you will be my sister, to allay any suspicion.'

He tipped his hat to Flora who was feigning deep interest in a neighbouring glass cabinet, then took Charlotte's gloved hand and kissed it before turning to go.

Having returned from Hookham's Library, Leonora and Mrs Priddy walked up the front steps of Bucklebury House and into the antique grandeur of the great hall. Leonora was hoping to see Charlotte in the drawing room but only Lady Bucklebury was there in her chair by the fire. ‘My dear, Charlotte has retired to bed looking very peaky.' Leonora started as if to go to her but Lady Bucklebury put a hand out. ‘Flora is with her. She has been a godsend to us with Amy so indisposed, but now Amy's recovered, Flora will be able to leave tomorrow. I know dear Lady Dundas is missing her.' She looked intently at Leonora. ‘I hope you are well?'

‘Lady Bucklebury, thank you, I'm feeling well, just a little tired. I hope you are not too fatigued by having us here?'

The Countess patted the sofa beside her. ‘Come, sit. You and Charlotte have added a great deal of interest to my days. I find my painful limbs are eased when I have news of your lives to entertain me. I like to hear the piano-forte played by you both, too.' She then turned to Leonora. ‘Tell me, Miss Appleby, is there any young gallant who has captured Charlotte's regard?'

Leonora was unprepared for the question and not wishing to confide too much of Charlotte's affairs, tried to be truthful but vague. ‘There are several young men but I'm not certain whether she returns their interest.'

‘I hope she's not being too particular. Young gals today talk of love. How jingle-brained they are!' She looked pensively into the fire. ‘That other relation I'd like to see settled is my wayward grandson. He's returning to the country soon.' Lady Bucklebury's bird-bright eyes were on Leonora, who attempted to erase any reaction from her expression. Lady Bucklebury put down her embroidery. ‘I wish that obstinate boy would settle the succession and beget himself an heir. I know his ruined looks and stormy character make him a challenging choice for a delicately nurtured young woman.' She picked up her canvas again and started stabbing her needle in and out of the fabric, creating a colourful representation in wool of a soaring fish eagle, a salmon in its talons. She continued, ‘But now his brother is dead, Alistair is the head of an ancient and noble family, has the Abbey and all those valuable acres. It's not such a bad bargain, I should think?' Her wrinkled old face broke into a smile that combined pride and mischief as once again she caught Leonora's eye.

For the first time Leonora wondered if grandmother and grandson were not more alike than she had first thought. She excused herself, mounted the stairs and knocked on Charlotte's door. Entering, she found the curtains half-drawn and Charlotte propped up in bed, looking pale and rather distraught. ‘My dear Lottie, what's caused this?' Leonora took her hand and perched on the edge of the bed.

Charlotte was as evasive as Leonora had been with Lady Bucklebury and it puzzled her to find her young friend so uneasy. ‘Has something happened on your walk, or at the museum?'

‘No, no. The museum was fascinating. So full of improbable things. There's even a mermaid!'

‘Yes, I've heard about that. I think it most likely remains an improbable thing.' Leonora laughed and was relieved to see Charlotte smile.

‘I'm just inordinately tired. I think too much excitement.'

‘Well, our noble hostess has been asking me about your gentlemen admirers.' Leonora saw Charlotte's startled expression and put out a reassuring hand. ‘Don't worry, I was as discreet as I could be.' When Charlotte had relaxed back into the pillows, she continued, ‘Do you wish to tell me anything about your feelings for Mr Lockwood and Captain Ormonde, or indeed Lord Dearlove?'

Charlotte shook her head, a flush creeping up her fair skin. ‘I'm truly confused. If I were just plain Charlotte Blythe, I would be amazed and delighted if a gentleman like Mr Lockwood showed an interest in me. But now I am part of an eminent family, I feel I have to act for the family's benefit rather than just for my own.' Her voice tailed off.

‘Lottie!' Leonora's voice was urgent. ‘Just because you now know who your father was does not mean you must deny your own wishes and compromise your happiness. Don't try and please some imaginary arbiter of noble behaviour!'

Charlotte's eyes were bright with tears and she looked away. In a quiet voice she said, ‘What of you, Leonora? I think you are in love?' She had been bold in saying such a thing and gave the older woman a shy glance.

‘Perhaps I am, but it is of little consequence. Love needs to be returned for it to matter.'

‘No, no! How can you say so? You of all people deserve happiness. You're as generous and beautiful as the sun. None of us could live without your warmth.'

‘Oh, Lottie.' Leonora felt unexpectedly tearful herself. ‘That means much to me, but I'm not certain anyone other than Nanny P and you would agree.'

Charlotte turned serious, her eyes sad in a pale face. ‘If I should do anything that shocks you, I hope you'll know it's because I am only trying to do the right thing.'

Leonora wanted to ask her what she meant but as Charlotte turned her back and rolled onto her side, Leonora knew she did not wish to pursue the subject further. Bending over her, she kissed her cheek. ‘Dearest, sleep well. And if there's any way I can help, please don't hesitate to ask. I love you as a sister and only want what's best for you.' She heard a small intake of breath, perhaps a sob, and Charlotte's hand sought hers amongst the folds of the coverlet.

Charlotte could not sleep. Her nerves were strung out with anxiety, not least about having to rise before dawn. She lay amongst her tumbled bedclothes counting the chimes as the clock in the hall struck the hours. She was not certain that what she intended to do was right, but she felt honour-bound to try and get that incriminating piece of paper from Captain Ormonde, at any cost to herself. Most distressing of all was the thought that she was deceiving Leonora. Charlotte had not even begun to consider the enormity of the change in her life if she actually had to marry Captain Ormonde in order to protect her father's reputation. It was a future she could not comprehend and would not consider. Instead, she tried to plan.

She had packed a minimum of clothes and was taking her whole allowance with her so she could pay for a carriage to bring her back to London once she had stolen and destroyed the evidence. Drawing back one curtain so she could watch the darkest hours of night recede, at last she saw the sky grow luminous beyond the trees and rooftops.

She dressed hurriedly, twisted her hair into a loose chignon and tied an everyday bonnet on her head. Her portmanteau was not heavy and she tiptoed down the staircase, careful to avoid the creaking floorboards. Barely able to see in the half-light, she reached the great hallway and slowly eased back the bolts on the front door. Birdsong and the fresh air of morning met her as she stepped into the street. Already the occasional cart was rumbling over the rutted road, horses' hooves clopped and delivery boys clattered down the front steps to the kitchen basements, carrying their deliveries of firewood and vegetables from the country.

Charlotte ran over the cobbles, feeling vulnerable in a world with neither companion nor chaperone beside her. Honour the purpose , she exhorted herself. Looking up, she saw the almost-full moon hanging low in the sky, her guide as she reached Grosvenor Square. Here the mansions of the rich still appeared to be slumbering, dark and shuttered as she sped on towards Audley Street, the great moon still lighting her way. Not wanting to draw attention to herself, she slowed her pace to a purposeful walk, keeping close to the railings, slipping in and out of the shadows.

Ahead of her was a dark coach, with a team of four horses, restive in their traces. A man in his long coat stood in the road, alert; Charlotte saw his teeth gleam and knew at once it was Captain Ormonde. They did not embrace. He had promised her he was a gentleman and would not importune her before they had married. Instead, he took her arm. ‘Miss Blythe, I'm glad that you have come. You told no one?' She shook her head and he handed her into the carriage. They set off immediately at quite a pace.

Sitting on opposite seats, Charlotte glanced across at Guy Ormonde. His handsome face was brooding, his body tense. He seemed anxious as he glanced at his pocket watch and rapped on the roof to urge the coachman to go faster. For the first time Charlotte realised he was risking his career in the military and the heavy hand of civil law for abducting an underage woman.

This realisation gave Charlotte courage. Like her father, she was behind enemy lines to gain essential information. Valour was in her blood and she was determined to embody it. She sat across from Captain Ormonde and wondered where he had stowed the precious piece of paper. His redingote was double-breasted and tightly buttoned across his chest and he seemed disinclined to relinquish it. Beneath, she suspected his fine-tailored coat had many inside pockets, but he would only remove that when he went to bed at night. She noticed he was watching her with narrowed eyes. ‘Are you regretting your decision?' he asked with a sly smile.

Charlotte was uncomfortable under such close scrutiny and turned to look out the window at Sadler's Wells Theatre, busy even at this early hour with cleaners bustling in with their pails and mops, as the horses toiled up the hill to The Angel Inn at Islington. ‘No, I'm not regretting anything, apart from deceiving Miss Appleby.'

‘Well, we have four days' travel before we arrive at the Borderlands, so I hope you allow yourself to relax more than this. We could play whist?'

‘I have my book.' Charlotte withdrew the third volume of The Heroine from her reticule and made an attempt to look more settled by sitting in the corner by the window.

‘I hope that novel's not putting ideas into your head.' He smirked. ‘You know, I like you, Miss Blythe. And you're certainly pretty enough to love. I think you'll make an excellent wife, and I shall contrive to be a good husband to you in return.'

‘How much that warms my heart to hear, Captain Ormonde,' she said with a hint of sarcasm. He flashed one of his charming smiles and Charlotte realised his anxiety had receded as they left London behind. He settled back in his seat and tipped his hat over his nose as if he intended to sleep. ‘Oh, by the way, don't forget we are travelling as brother and sister. We'll change horses at Barnet; you can get out at the inn there and have a cup of hot chocolate and a bun, if you wish.'

It was seven in the morning and Leonora was still deeply asleep when she was roused from her dreams by an urgent rap on the door. ‘Come in!' she called out in a drowsy voice.

Flora entered the room and even half-asleep, Leonora recognised she was distraught. ‘Miss Leonora, my apologies for waking you but Miss Charlotte has gone!'

Leonora sprang upright, all lassitude fled. ‘What do you mean, gone?'

‘Her room's empty and her portmanteau and a few gowns and under-garments are missing, one of her bonnets too.' The maid stood before Leonora, her hands tightly clasped together, her voice hollow. ‘I feared this would happen. I should have slept in her room and stopped her!'

Leonora was out of bed and grasped Flora's arms so that she had to meet her eyes. ‘What did you fear would happen?'

‘That she would listen to the blandishments of the Captain and run away with him to Scotland to get married.' Flora had tears in her eyes and was trying to hide her face. ‘He seemed to put her under some duress. He showed her a piece of paper when we went to the museum.' She walked towards the window and busied herself with the curtains while her shoulders heaved.

Leonora's tumultuous feelings as to what to do next were quelled by a thought so obvious it reverberated in her brain like a clarion. ‘Flora, you're Charlotte's mother, are you not?' Her words seemed to shock both women. For a moment time had stilled as Flora stood motionless. Slowly she turned, her face aged with grief. The answer was clear to Leonora. She realised the full poignancy of a young woman, really only a girl, forced to give her baby away, never to see her or contact her again. Leonora could only put out her arms and Flora crumpled into them. When she had stopped shaking with sobs, Leonora asked her, ‘Does she know?'

‘No. I'm afraid of her knowing.'

‘But she'll be so happy to understand who her mother is after eighteen years of wondering. Do not be afraid.'

‘Would you tell her, Miss Appleby? I would prefer that, if you could.' Leonora nodded. ‘Did you marry, Flora? Has your life been good?'

She nodded. ‘I'm married to a good man, Jack Lacey; he's a gardener for Lady Dundas.'

‘I'm glad, as will be Charlotte.'

Reeling as she was with Flora's news, unable yet to think of the ramifications, Leonora was overcome with the urgency of saving Charlotte from her fate. ‘I must get dressed immediately. We have to be discreet, and certainly cannot tell Lady Bucklebury of Charlotte's disappearance. But I will go to Grosvenor Square to Lord Rokeby who will know what to do. He's her uncle after all.'

Flora's ashen face turned even paler. ‘Amy's back to her duties. Shall I ask her to accompany you? After breakfast I must return to Lady Dundas.'

‘I'm glad Amy has recovered but we'll miss you, Flora, now more than ever. And I promise when the time's right, I'll tell Charlotte. But most urgent is to stop the scandal of her possible elopement. Can you ask Amy to meet me in the hall in ten minutes?'

Leonora dressed in yesterday's morning gown, quickly plaited her hair and coiled it under her bonnet. She had no time to waste. As she ran down the stairs carrying her shoes, the household was still quiet, except for the murmur of voices from the kitchen. Amy arrived looking pale and flustered. ‘Good morning, Amy. I'm so glad you're better. We have to hurry, and to take care we keep this to ourselves.' She looked sternly at the maid's flushing face.

‘Yes, Miss Appleby. Haven't said nowt to nobody.' Leonora nodded in approval as they slipped out the door into a different bustling world. She led Amy, threading their way through the delivery carts, and soon they were outside the Rokeby establishment in Grosvenor Square. The shutters were closed and it looked uncared for and unwelcoming. Leonora knew no gentleman could be visited before eleven in the morning, and even that was too early for most. This was the uncouth hour of half past seven when only working people were up, but fear and urgency gave Leonora the temerity to knock on the front door.

She was about to knock again when it swung open to reveal a diminutive housemaid who bobbed a curtsey. ‘Could you tell your master Miss Appleby is here to see him? It's a matter of urgency.'

The girl looked doubtful. ‘His lordship don't like to be disturbed, specially not this early.'

Leonora felt her chest tighten with anxiety; time was of the essence. ‘This is a matter of life and death,' she said with some asperity. She was gratified to see the young girl's eyes widen as she indicated they could wait in the front morning room while she went in search of his lordship's valet. Leonora knew it took hours for most gentlemen to dress and half an hour would be just about sufficient for a slapdash presentation. She was amazed that within ten minutes, the door opened and Alistair Rokeby came into the room followed by Achille. Given that their last meeting had been fractious, Leonora was gratified to see him looking concerned, but also really quite pleased to see her. He was fully dressed, his snowy cravat tied to a passable standard and only his hair still damp and tousled, showing the speed of his dressing.

Leonora looked up, startled and immediately shy. She found his physical presence distracting. ‘I didn't expect you so soon, my lord. Apologies for this early intrusion.'

‘Turning oneself out in a matter of minutes is one of the advantages of my army training.' His smile was rueful then disappeared as he became business-like. ‘You said a matter of life and death propelled you here, Miss Appleby. I'm glad to see you very much alive and well. To what emergency do I owe this unconscionably early wakening?'

‘It's Charlotte. She's gone, early this morning. Her maid thinks she may have been persuaded under some duress to elope with Captain Ormonde.'

The effect of her words on him was electric. Colour flared into his cheeks and he strode to the wall as if to punch it. He spoke through gritted teeth. ‘That devil-dog, Ormonde! He's a scape-gallows who deserves nothing less than death. My poor little Charlotte.' He slammed out of the room, calling for his groom and valet. ‘Saddle up my fast chaise! Pack my portmanteau for one night. Ten minutes is all you have!'

When his lordship returned to the room, his dark hair was standing up, his hands raking through it as if this might ease his fury. He glanced at Amy, and Leonora knew in the heat of his distress he was about to say something he did not want a servant to hear, and so she asked Amy to wait for her in the hall. Lord Rokeby stood against the fireplace. Almost to himself he said, ‘Secrets are always better out. What damage they do.' He turned to look at Leonora, his face anguished. ‘This is my burden of guilt. Charlotte is my child. For the first time in eighteen years I utter these words which quite confound me. To protect me from our father's wrath, my brother took responsibility for my indiscretion, and he was sent away to war as punishment.'

Leonora felt physically rocked by this latest revelation and sank back on her chair, but Lord Rokeby was so seized with remorse he barely noticed, and continued in a rapid low voice, ‘Charles rightfully should have stayed at the Abbey and husbanded the estate. He was the heir and I the expendable one. I was the wild and reckless son, and I should have paid the price. But he stepped forward to protect me, as he always had. It was he who went to the Peninsula instead of me. To be killed on foreign soil.' His voice had dropped with the terrible weight of it. He cast an intense look at Leonora. ‘How can I live with this guilt and grief? How can I usurp his destiny and live the life that should have been his?'

Leonora said softly, ‘But you have been given by him the gift of a life.' He nodded. ‘And Charlotte deserved the truth about her father.'

Alistair Rokeby sighed, ‘I know, I've only just realised this now. Only now I'm overwhelmed with the realisation she is my daughter . When you live a lie for so long it becomes a kind of truth.'

‘And what about her mother's maternal feelings too?'

He looked startled. ‘Have you seen her?' When Leonora nodded, he asked, ‘Is she well?'

‘She is, but she is afraid to tell Charlotte and wants me to, when we find her.'

He shook his head in sorrow. ‘We were all so young, she and I were but sixteen, and Charles and I swore to take the truth to our graves. Charlotte's mother agreed to it too. I'm afraid we did not think beyond safeguarding the child's happiness and welfare by placing her with the Reverend and his wife.'

‘Well, she could not have been more loved, even while she longed to know something of her family.'

‘I know. Now at last I can take up my role as Charlotte's father. But first I have to find her.' He leapt up and strode for the door, followed by Achille. He turned back. ‘Miss Appleby, I am grateful to you for bringing your suspicions to me. It's a full moon tonight and I will take advantage of that. For find my daughter I must!'

As he saw Leonora and Amy to the door, his coachman and chaise drew up, harnessed to a team of four gleaming bays. Riding towards them was a large man on a very large horse. ‘Mr Lockwood!' Leonora called out.

‘Miss Appleby, good morning. Titan demands his exercise, but what are you doing out so early?'

Leonora knew that Lord Rokeby had returned to the house to collect his portmanteau. She took the reins of George Lockwood's horse, looked up into his face and said quietly, ‘I'm afraid Charlotte left with Captain Ormonde, possibly under some duress, probably heading for the Scottish border.' She spoke quietly and with feeling.

Mr Lockwood's usually benign face turned thunderous. He jumped down from his horse and stood close to Leonora so he could speak without the whole Square hearing. His words burst out of him in a ferocious whisper. ‘That scoundrel! I always knew he was a white-livered whipster, a sneaking hell-born rake. My darling Miss Blythe! I must rescue her. How many hours have they been gone?'

Lord Rokeby emerged from his house and greeted George Lockwood with a brusque tip of his hat. Lockwood immediately understood that at this early hour, with a fully harnessed team of four, the Earl would be in pursuit of his niece. ‘Sir, I wish to help catch this hellhound. I think we could manage quite well together, you with the carriage to bring Miss Blythe home, while I with a fast horse can travel more quickly.'

Lord Rokeby frowned. He always preferred to act alone but after a few moments' thought, agreed it might be a good plan and make it possible they could catch up with them before dark. ‘They have perhaps three hours' advantage on us but due to Ormonde's embarrassed finances, they are probably travelling by hired chaise, changing mere hacks at the posting inns.'

‘My horse is strong and powerful with good stamina, but we'll both need to change horses for the journey.'

Lord Rokeby had already worked out their route. ‘Ormonde is bound to take the quickest road, the Great North. I have my own horses stabled at Barnet, Hatfield, Baldock. I doubt they can get farther than Alconbury today, where I wager they'll spend the night. We have to catch them there.'

‘By God, we will. I don't want that wonderful sweet being in his hands for even one night!' George Lockwood's voice was quivering with outrage and emotion.

Lord Rokeby sought to console him. ‘I think Ormonde's treachery is vile enough with his activities during the war. But I hope, when it comes to well-born women, he remembers he is still a gentleman.'

‘You have more faith than I, my lord. What dastardly man as he could resist the charms of Miss Blythe if she were in his power?'

Alistair Rokeby was impatient to begin the journey. ‘We must go. I'll see you at The George in Barnet. There's a fine hunter there for you and a new team for me.' As he climbed into his chaise, Leonora noticed he had tucked a pistol into the waistband of his breeches. Exhausted, anxious, her nerves strung out, she was reminded of Lord Rokeby's competence and of how dangerous he could be, and a thrill ran through her veins.