Chapter 3

3

SHAKING THE STATUS QUO

The tea and almond cake at the Vicarage settled everyone's nerves and in the temporary lull, Reverend Mildmay joined the women to talk about the hymns for the following Sunday's service. However, when Leonora arrived home, her heart was still in turmoil at the import and uncertainty of this unexpected news.

‘Nanny P!' she called as she entered through the garden door.

She found Mrs Priddy in the small morning room, sitting by the fire, sewing the guipure lace border to a fine linen tablecloth. She looked up. ‘My dear, what is it?'

‘I've just come from the Vicarage. They are in disarray thanks to Lord Rokeby.'

‘Not for the first time, that scampish boy! What now?'

‘It's not about him, it's his dead brother. He's Charlotte's father!' Leonora subsided onto the chair opposite her old nanny. ‘The Mildmays and Lottie are distressed by what this might portend.'

‘I've always wondered about that girl's parentage.' She nodded in a way that suggested she knew more than she was saying.

Leonora leant forward and said with urgency, ‘What? You mean you knew all this time?'

‘No, I didn't know , but I thought it significant that Lord Rokeby was sent off very quickly to the army, and at such a young age. I always thought his inclination was to manage his estate. But his father was a hard man who, despite his own profligate ways, would brook no scandal attached to his heir.'

‘Why didn't you tell me?' Leonora's face was aghast.

‘Because it was only rumour and I don't like tittle-tattle.'

‘But it's not tittle-tattle when you tell me ,' Leonora protested.

‘If I'd told you my suspicions, then that would have altered your friendship with Miss Charlotte. How could it not have been a secret that burdened you? No, I was right not to speak of it.' Mrs Priddy had put down her sewing and folded her hands in her lap, a serene expression on her face.

‘It will alter my relationship with her anyway. This is what upsets me; how can we go on the same?'

‘Well, you have yet to know what, if anything, the Rokeby family will suggest. She will always be the same person you know.'

‘Is that true, Nanny P? People are altered by their circumstances, are they not?'

‘Just wait and see. Charlotte is not a giddy girl, and not about to become one.' Then Mrs Priddy continued in a ruminative way, ‘How often the quiet ones surprise us most! Charles was at heart the responsible heir, and Alistair, the boy who continually kicked over the traces.'

Leonora answered, ‘Well, the younger son is now Earl, and the Mildmays want me to act as Charlotte's chaperone when she goes to see him the day after tomorrow.'

‘That's good, then you'll know for yourself what, if anything, will change.'

Leonora's heart was agitated in the most disconcerting way. All her certainties seemed to be shifting. Charlotte's astonishing news was not the only thing that threatened to dislodge one of the props supporting her life. Even though she did not wish to entertain Mr Fopling's proposal – for that was surely the purpose of his visit tomorrow – it was vexing to have to think about things that had been so long out of mind. She reached out to take one of Mrs Priddy's small plump hands. ‘Early this morning, Richard Fopling surprised me in the garden. He had come with a note, hoping for an audience tomorrow afternoon. Will you chaperone me?'

Leonora's face was glum and her old nanny, who loved her better than anyone, squeezed her hand and smiled. ‘Nora my dear, it's not so gloomy being courted by a personable young man, surely?'

‘He's perfectly amiable, I'm sure, but I prefer my life with you, able to please myself with my friends, my music, and the garden. Why would I trade that for life with a man whom I might grow to esteem but never love?'

‘For children and a family of your own?' Mrs Priddy said in a voice soft with emotion.

Leonora knew what her nanny had given up to care for her, how much she would love to see her with her own children and be central in the care of them. ‘Oh, Nanny P, you know if there were a man who would love me and whom I could love in return, I would happily unite my life with his. As I longed to do with Captain Worth. But my chance of love and the hope of a family died with him.' She broke off, overcome by a stab of memory. All she had of his was one letter that survived the journey back from the camp in Spain, and she clung to it as the last connection with the man she had loved.

Leonora turned back to address Nanny P again. ‘I am content with my life. I'm luckier than most women, as long as you are happy to live with me.' She smiled into the wise eyes of the woman she had known all her life, disconcerted to see a shadow of sadness cross her face.

Mrs Priddy was not one to dissemble and said, ‘I know you for your passionate heart, my love, and I think you need more than mere contentment.' Leonora hugged her, tears suddenly springing to her eyes as she realised the truth of her old nanny's words.

She walked briskly into the library and was surprised by a man sitting at her father's desk, a large sheet of paper spread in front of him. ‘Mr Lockwood, I thought you were still exploring the estate.'

He looked up, his face alight with enthusiasm. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, and Leonora was taken aback to see just how broad and beefy his forearms were as he leant forwards, a stick of drawing charcoal in his hand. ‘I'm really interested in your splendid trees in the field that abuts the river.' He had sketched out a plan of the area and had drawn in representations of the oak, elm, willow and maple that already existed in the space. ‘My father was a friend of Lord Greville. They were at school together and Uncle William, as I called him, often had me to stay at Dropmore Park where he began planting every type of tree that would thrive in our temperate land.'

Leonora was intrigued. She had loved trees ever since she was a child climbing into their canopies to hide or dream, but not many people she knew thought of them beyond their utility as shelter or timber for building and fuel. ‘That big oak in the middle of the field has a platform built amongst the branches. My father had that made for me, and then added a rope ladder. I spent many happy hours high up with the birds, with no one aware of where I was.'

‘Miss Blythe pointed it out to me on my first ride. But she said the rope ladder had rotted away.'

‘When she was little, I taught her how to climb trees. I don't think she needs a rope ladder any more.' Leonora chuckled and then noticed George Lockwood was watching her with amusement.

‘She speaks of you with much admiration, you know.'

‘She's been as close as any family could be.'

‘I heard the servants chattering; what's this revelation about her parentage?' He had a querying expression on his face.

Leonora's surprise turned to amused resignation, for she realised nothing much escaped the servants' notice. ‘Mr Lockwood, I know you wouldn't expect me to engage in gossip. Surely it's for Charlotte to tell you herself?'

‘She's rather shy in my company.'

‘She's young. And I think she is regretful about not having me living next door when you take over the Manor.' Leonora's frank gaze met his more ambivalent one.

He looked away. ‘I realise that my inheriting your father's estate causes all kinds of anxiety and some distress to those who would like things to remain as they were. But I assure you that any changes will be for the good of the estate and for the good of those who work here.'

‘I believe that.'

‘This morning, whilst exploring the village, I came across Hasterleigh Lodge and it appears a commodious dwelling.' His voice was expressionless, but he looked to her for some response.

Leonora spoke with composure. ‘I shall be very comfortable there, I'm sure.'

He turned to gaze out of the window and seemed lost in his own thoughts. ‘After my father's death, my mother married Beau Beacham and I had to leave my family home. I found that difficult.'

‘How old were you, Mr Lockwood?'

‘I was fourteen, enduring Eton, longing for home.'

‘Had you not inherited the house and estate you loved on your father's death?'

‘I had, but was too young to live there.' He let out a great gust of laughter. ‘But I would so much have preferred to be there on my own with the old servants than with Mama and the Beau in Davies Street.'

Just at that moment, the door opened and Charlotte stood on the threshold, swinging her bonnet by its ribbons. She had expected to find Leonora reading in her favourite chair in the window and was startled to see George Lockwood sitting at Mr Appleby's old desk, as if he owned the place. She coloured when she remembered that he did in fact own the place and suddenly felt an intruder. ‘Oh! My apologies, Mr Lockwood. I thought I'd find Leonora alone.' She looked ruffled and distracted and Leonora walked towards her with concern.

‘Lottie, I forgot. Are you here for our lesson?' She took her arm.

‘Yes. I thought we should practise that Field duet you want us to play at your musical evening.'

They nodded to George Lockwood and walked through to the drawing room where Charlotte blurted out, ‘Everything I've taken for granted has changed. I was content, living with Mama Mildmay and the Reverend, next door to you. Now I may be about to know more about who I am, but not where I belong. And you're having to move, and things just cannot be the same ever again!' Her speech ended in a wail.

Leonora hugged her and led her to the piano-forte. ‘Come now, I'm just moving down the lane, I won't be far away. The Mildmays aren't going anywhere and will always love you, whatever transpires. We'll learn more when we go to Rokeby Abbey and see the Earl.' She opened up the lid of the Broadwood and they sat together on the stool.

Charlotte hung her head. ‘But you're going to marry Mr Fopling and move to his new parish, so we won't even be in the same village.'

Leonora was shocked. ‘Where did you hear that? I've certainly got no plans to marry anyone or go anywhere, I assure you.' She began to run her fingers over the keys to ease her own agitation.

Charlotte answered quickly, ‘I was passing the Reverend's door and Mr Fopling was discussing his curacy and hopes to move to Wetherleigh parish to be in charge of his own church. He said he intended to go with his wife.' She was shy at mentioning it, not wanting to be thought an eavesdropper, but her eyes were defiant and bright with tears.

‘Well, I can assure you I will not be that wife Mr Fopling intends.'

In a rush Charlotte continued, ‘You've been everything that a sister could be and I don't want to lose you.' Her words ended with a sharp intake of breath.

Leonora stopped playing and placed her hand on Charlotte's, clasped tightly in her lap. ‘And you have been everything that a sister could be to me too. Nothing will alter that.'

Both young women sat together, their heads bowed, shoulders touching, Leonora's loose bun of glossy chestnut brown contrasting with Charlotte's fine fair hair, naturally straight and teased rather inexpertly into curls. They began to play, with hesitation at first and then more fluently, the balm of music calming their feelings. Soon they were swaying together, laughing at their mistakes.

Aware of a change in the atmosphere, they both looked up to see George Lockwood's large frame leaning against the door jamb. He was watching them, a smile on his face. ‘I didn't want to interrupt you.' His light brown hair was in natural disarray, so different from the pomaded dishevelment of dandy fashion, and it suited him greatly, as did the informality of his loosely tied neckcloth. ‘I think I'll go back to the field where I hope to plant the trees. Have to check the lie of the land. I'll be back for dinner.'

Leonora awoke the next morning to the sound of rain. It was soft and light but enough to make the climbing rose round her bedroom window rustle and sigh. She lay in her bed listening to the sounds of birdsong in the garden beyond. The creaking wings of the pair of swans added their own rhythm when they took off from the river and flew overhead. The rain made her feel cosy, enveloped as she was in a feather bed and a mound of bedclothes. This had been her room since childhood and Leonora loved the sprigged wallpaper of buff and pink flowers, unchanged in all these years.

She rose, washed, and dressed for the chilly day, pulling on for extra warmth a fur-trimmed woollen spencer over her morning dress. She was aware that Mr Fopling was due in the afternoon and felt shamefaced at knowing little about him, despite his being the curate in the village for three years. His manner was so quiet and unassuming that he was easily effaced by the crass bonhomie of his father, Sir Roderick, or the more obvious charm of virtually everyone else in the room. But on the few occasions when Richard Fopling had spoken, Leonora was surprised by how beguiling his meditative view of the world was.

She hurried through breakfast. Mr Lockwood was already out, making the most of his last full day before returning to Oxfordshire, and Mrs Priddy was busy with Cook planning the week's menus, so Leonora settled down with her old friend, the piano-forte. Exploring the repertoire for her musical evening was a welcome distraction that even reading her current novel could not supply.

Realising how quickly time had flown and that the hour of three approached, Leonora ran upstairs to put on her afternoon dress of pale primrose cambric with long tucked sleeves. She flung her best India shawl over her shoulders, slipped her feet into pale pumps and paused for a moment to gaze at her reflection in the looking glass. She had always liked her face, not pretty like Charlotte's but handsome with an elegant nose, and distinguished by large intelligent eyes and a wide mouth expressive of her wit and warmth. Her hair was her best feature, waving round her face and luxurious enough to fashion into a number of flattering styles without much effort or expertise from her or her maid. She had not the time now to brush it out and redo it but replaced her combs in an attempt to look passably tidy.

Glancing out the window at the rain that had begun to fall again, Leonora was surprised to see Richard Fopling standing under the maple tree, listening to the resident blackbird's mellifluous song. Even without an umbrella, he seemed oblivious to the weather. She called to Nanny P to chaperone her as she descended the stairs and hurried to the front door to open it herself. Mr Fopling turned from his rapt attention and, seeing her, tipped his hat. ‘Miss Appleby, each little bird sings in its own Latin.'

‘That is a nice conceit, sir.'

‘It is indeed, but not mine, I confess. I have been reading the great poetry of William of Aquitaine.' He stood on the doorstep, in no hurry to come in from the wet. ‘What a blessing, this rain.' He looked up, even as it fell on his face. ‘You can almost hear the earth cleave as the tree roots stretch ever outwards.'

‘Mr Fopling, your hat and coat are drenched!' Mrs Priddy took his redingote and hat to hang by the range in the kitchen while Leonora led him through to the drawing room.

‘Can I offer you any refreshment?' she asked as she gestured to the chair by the fire. He shook his head as he sat down, crossing his legs. Leonora perched on the edge of the seat opposite just as Mrs Priddy entered the room to take the window seat, her book in her hand.

Richard Fopling met Leonora's eyes, his face made lively with the cold and the rain still on his cheek. ‘Miss Appleby, I have admired you ever since I first met you. Your kindness to the Reverend and his family flows as a constant spring which far surpasses the measured offerings of others.'

This disarmed Leonora. He had obviously paid more attention to her than she had to him, and it touched her heart. ‘I thank you. It is no hardship to care about them, as you can imagine.'

‘I watched the pair of swans fly over the Manor this morning. High, just below the clouds, they seemed like two angels streaming across the sky, their wings outstretched, in perfect synchrony.'

The curate looked towards the window and Leonora saw Nanny P glance at her, a puzzled expression on her face. Leonora thought it fell to her to respond. ‘I heard them pass over the roofs this morning. I wondered if it was the young ones forced to leave and claim their own piece of river.'

Richard Fopling's grave regard alighted on her face once more. ‘I have been offered the parish at Wetherleigh. The vicarage is prodigious fine with many rooms. The parish too has souls hungry for the kindest touch…' His voice trailed off.

Leonora came to his aid and said, ‘Wetherleigh village is upstream from here, is it not? I wonder if the swans were headed there.'

‘You are perceptive, Miss Appleby. I did identify with them, 'tis true.' He took a breath and continued in a voice quiet with emotion, ‘But they were a pair. I have known loneliness. I have known disregard, but with God as my guide and a wife beside me I believe I can make a difference in this world.' His refined symmetrical face softened with a tentative smile as he leant forward to take her hand. ‘There are angels who visit us, if we have an open heart to receive them.' His fingers held hers with a lightness of touch that tingled.

Leonora's heart was beating faster; how to turn him down without hurting his fragile sense of self? She was touched by his poetic sensibility and did not wish to trample on his feelings. Luckily, a more robust individual was about to intervene. The door swung open with a crash and both looked up, startled to see George Lockwood, his hair wet and wild from the blustery rain, still wearing his muddy boots, a thunderous expression on his face. ‘That damned dog!'

Both Leonora and Richard Fopling disentangled their hands as they sprang to their feet. ‘Which dog?' Leonora came towards him with concern.

‘The damned Earl's great hairy hound!'

The curate gasped in disapproval at his swearing and Mr Lockwood coloured.

‘My apologies, ladies, Curate Fopling, for my intemperate language, but that dog is a menace.'

‘What happened?' Leonora took his arm, her voice urgent.

‘Our herd of red deer was grazing peaceably under the copse of oak when suddenly that infernal cur burst out of the woodland that separates our land from the Abbey's!'

‘None were mauled?' Leonora's face was drawn as she wondered whether she should get the gun used to despatch any grievously wounded animal.

‘No. They scattered in fright and that galumphing hound appeared to want to chase rather than kill. But fright can kill a deer.'

‘Indeed. Terror alone can make a deer's heart burst.' Richard Fopling's voice trembled with feeling. ‘We too can die of fright, until we learn how to survive.' And in that moment, Leonora understood that here was a man whose childhood had instilled such fear in him that he passed through the world as inconspicuously as possible. He walked towards Leonora, his face haunted by some memory she could not know. He took her hand and bowed. ‘I'll leave you to deal with the disturbed herd and I'll return to my restive flock.' He managed a slight smile. ‘Forgive me, Miss Appleby. I have made a mistake in troubling you. I fear I have nothing to offer.' He saluted Mrs Priddy and Mr Lockwood and left as unobtrusively as he had come.

George Lockwood recovered his good humour. ‘I do apologise for bursting in like this: my manners are deplorable. I hope I haven't hastened away your visitor. It is still your home. Forgive me.' He took Leonora's hand and squeezed it in a friendly manner.

But Leonora's mind was on the incident in the field. ‘Is there anything to be done? Are the deer settled? Where is Achille now?'

‘I chased him back into the woods. Probably returned from whence he came. And good riddance, I say! After I did his lordship the courtesy of returning his dog yesterday and was greeted with such insolence, I'm disinclined to do him any more favours.' He stamped off to the back of the house to remove his boots, and then extracted from the inside of his coat the folded plan of his tree-planting scheme which he had sought to protect from the rain.

Nanny P took Leonora's arm. ‘Well! What a to-do. That dog seems as intractable as his master.'

‘If the occasion arises, I might mention his roaming hound to the Earl when I accompany Miss Charlotte to the Abbey tomorrow.'

‘Oh, Master Alistair never liked being chastised for anything. He was the most stubborn of boys, only really respected his brother.'

‘And you too, Nanny P?' Leonora looked at the elderly woman with a mischievous smile.

‘Oh, tush now!' As Mrs Priddy drew Leonora back into the drawing room and closed the door, she asked the one pressing question on her mind. ‘Nora dear, was that a proposal from the young curate, do you think?'

‘Perhaps he was just strengthening his resolve to do the deed,' she said with a wry smile. ‘But I don't know if in his mind that pair of homing swans included me or whether he was happy enough to fly alone.'

‘He's a good man. My dear, he would treat you well, you know. Don't dismiss him out of hand.'

‘I think Mr Fopling's full of sympathetic feeling, but he doesn't seem equipped for the hurly-burly of the world.'

‘That wicked father of his had any spirit beaten out of him. He was the same with his dogs.'

Leonora's heart contracted with horror at the thought, but she was then distracted by her name being called. Charlotte dashed in through the garden door. Mrs Priddy grumbled, ‘This house has become like a well-oiled turngate, so many alarums and excursions, comings and goings.'

Under her breath, Leonora protested, ‘Nanny P, Charlotte has every reason to be unsettled after the recent turn of events.'

‘Well, you'll know more tomorrow, so there's no use in awful contemplation.' Mrs Priddy smiled and nodded at Charlotte as she turned for the kitchen in search of Cook.

‘Oh Leonora! I saw Mr Fopling walk past so lost in thought he didn't even see me. Did he propose?'

‘Come through to the morning room. Mr Lockwood's in the library completing his arboreal planting scheme.' Once they were sitting together on the sofa in the window, Leonora answered her friend's anxious question. ‘I think he was about to when Mr Lockwood burst in complaining about the Earl's dog upsetting our deer herd. In that second of distraction, he thought better of it.'

‘The Earl seems to have a capacity to upset everyone! He banned us from swimming, he's visited grief on my family, his rudeness has made an enemy of Mr Lockwood. Only Nanny P looks on him with kindness.'

‘Lottie!' Leonora laughed. ‘It's not that bad. Don't get yourself into a state about him. I like the fact he cares for his piano-forte and plays well and is a fine swimmer. Rumour has it, like Lord Byron, he's crossed the Hellespont.' Her eyes were sparkling at the thought of such a heroic swim.

Charlotte's eye fell on her copy of Belinda still open on the table by the fire. ‘Oh good, 'tis here. I've been missing it. I love her character. She makes me think of my own life and how I want to live.'

‘I'm reading Mrs Burney's Camilla and the antics of what I call the Typhoid family.'

Charlotte gave a gasp of laughter. ‘They're the Tyrold family, not the Typhoids!'

‘That's better. I like to see you laugh.'

‘In Belinda there's a character who is very like you, Miss Appleby. She spreads light and warmth wherever she goes. Mama Mildmay could not have been kinder but she is timid and afraid of the world, and you are not. You encourage me to be brave. Since reading Belinda I have lost patience with the idea that women exist at the mercy of men's wills.'

Leonora was surprised at her young friend's growing independence of thought and chuckled as she said, ‘See, there are good reasons to read! Thus we inhabit other lives and begin to think in new ways.' Charlotte had been a reluctant reader, preferring the outdoors in summer and attempts at dressmaking and bonnet trimming in winter, but her view of life and relationships were very much moulded by the Mildmays' careful nurture. Leonora was pleased to see her horizons expanding.

Charlotte was looking at her hands when she said, ‘Mr Lockwood leaves tomorrow. With his schemes and enthusiasm, he's brought extra interest to our daily lives at Hatherleigh.'

Leonora suspected a growing restlessness in her friend and said, ‘He has indeed. Life in the village is a bit tedious for someone as young and full of spirit as you, is it not?'

‘No, no!' Charlotte was quick to demur. ‘It's just it's been pleasant to hear about his plans. I don't feel as sad about your moving to the Lodge.'

‘Well, that is a good thing, wouldn't you say?' Leonora's hopes that Charlotte and George Lockwood might discover a love for each other were very much alive. ‘Would you like to join us this evening for his last meal with us?'

‘Thank you, but I think I should dine with Mama and the Reverend as they're so anxious about what will transpire when I meet the Earl with you tomorrow.'

‘Mr Lockwood is due to leave at noon, so come by and wish him farewell.'

Leonora was matter-of-fact but Charlotte's voice was less certain. ‘Then we'll have to go to Rokeby Abbey in the afternoon. But why am I full of foreboding?'

They were walking towards the front door, Charlotte's pretty face tight with anxiety. Leonora gave her a quick hug. ‘Now remember how much you like the character of Belinda in your novel. How she rises above adversity and thinks the best of things. Borrow some of her cheerful spirit and let's just wait and see what the Earl has to say.'

‘Belinda would tell us change brings opportunities undreamt of.' Charlotte's face had cleared, and she was smiling again.

Leonora looked surprised. ‘Would she, indeed?'

‘Well if she didn't in the book, she would in real life!' They both laughed as Leonora embraced her young friend at the door and waved her off to walk the few paces to the Vicarage porch.

The next morning, Leonora found Nanny P and a letter waiting for her amongst the toast, eggs and pastries on the breakfast table. She didn't have the range of clothes or social occasions to support changing her costume three or four times a day, but was aware that she needed to look more sophisticated than usual when she accompanied Charlotte to Rokeby Abbey; so she dressed in her best gown of lilac twilled sarsenet embroidered with tiny sprigs of cream flowers. Leonora had added a close-fitting spencer in a soft purple with cream frogging and felt at her most attractive and confident.

‘Goodness, my dear! What a treat for my old eyes.' Mrs Priddy got to her feet to kiss her cheek. ‘Look! A very distinguished letter has arrived for you.'

Leonora picked it up. The thick paper was folded and affixed with dark red wax impressed with a very important-looking seal with a coronet. The black writing was distinctive and Leonora recognised it immediately. ‘Oh! This is from Lord Dearlove.' She felt a small skip in her heart as she opened it. ‘Look, Nanny P, he's expecting his friend Captain Ormonde to spend Christmas with him at Monkton estate.' She looked up, her face shining. ‘I can ask him and the Captain to attend my musical evening. It will be so good to see him again.'

‘Was the last time you saw Lord Dearlove when your young Mr Worth was killed? He was your beau's best friend, was he not?'

As Leonora read the letter to the end, her expression grew less ecstatic. ‘Oh no! He's with his sister, Lady Livia. She's so haughty and grand she'll freeze any party spirit we might manage at the Manor.'

‘Is she the lady your dear Captain Worth used to call the Honourable Livid Ne'er Loved?'

Leonora gulped with surprised laughter. ‘I had forgotten that!' With a small shiver she turned her attention back to Mrs Priddy's question. ‘Yes, she's the Honourable Livia Dearlove, with an inheritance large enough to make prospective suitors overlook her disagreeable temper.'

Her old nanny enclosed her hand in her small plump ones and said, ‘I recall her visiting with her brother when Captain Worth was courting you, my love. She was a Mistress Princum-Prancum to be sure, so set on being treated with the deference her rank demanded.'

‘Well, if they all come, it will add a certain excitement to the evening.' Leonora was suddenly fatigued by the emotion that had sprung up from the past and subsided onto a chair.

Mrs Priddy poured out a cup of coffee and handed it to her. ‘The fact tragedy denied you happiness once doesn't mean you have to deny yourself happiness again.'

‘Oh, Nanny P, I'm not going to argue the case. But just look at you, we don't all need to marry and have children to be happy and useful. In fact, you have been most precious to me in ways which would not have been possible if you were married with your own family.' Leonora suddenly realised how selfish that sounded and grasped both the elderly woman's hands and kissed them. ‘You have made all the difference to my happiness, even before Mama died.'

Mrs Priddy brushed a tear from her eye, then became once more her sensible self. ‘Enough of that, dear Nora. Eat your breakfast and then we have to bid farewell to Mr Lockwood.'

‘Has he already breakfasted?'

‘Yes, and he has taken his borrowed hunter back to Sir Roderick Fopling's stable. He wanted to thank Sir Roderick himself for the loan of his horse.'

George Lockwood walked back along the lane from the Fopling mansion and caught up with Charlotte as she was leaving the Vicarage, tying her bonnet strings. ‘Miss Blythe, I'm so glad to see you before I leave.'

She blushed. It was only a short walk to the Manor but she was aware that she was unchaperoned. She glanced up at him, so tall in his driving coat, the capes ruffling from his shoulders making him seem even broader. ‘Oh Mr Lockwood. I'm on my way to see Miss Leonora and bid you farewell.'

‘It has been an unexpected pleasure to get to know the Hasterleigh estate and the neighbours. You have added to that pleasure immeasurably.'

Charlotte was glad to be walking beside George Lockwood as he spoke rather than being addressed face to face. In the time she had grown to know him better she recognised his frank nature and lack of artifice and how a compliment from him mattered more than from a practised charmer.

‘I have been pleased to make your acquaintance too. I no longer feel quite so sad that Miss Leonora will have to leave her home now I know you will care for the Manor as she does.'

Before he could answer, they had walked down the short drive to where the honey-coloured manor house seemed to rise like a dream in its well-established parkland. The herd of deer could just be seen in the distance cropping the grass in the protective shade of the mighty Hasterleigh oak, its ancient branches almost reaching to the ground.

Jack Clegg had opened the great front door and Charlotte walked into the cool stone-flagged hall. She undid her bonnet and, as she had for years, placed it on the carved Elizabethan coffer that had stood black and solid since time immemorial in the alcove where the oak stairs curved upwards. Everything for her was now filtered through an elegiac light. How much a part of her life this house had become; since very young she had loved coming here to see Leonora and play in the gardens, running back and forth through the lychgate between the Vicarage and Manor lands. A melancholy gripped her heart.

There was a clatter at the front door and a flash of blue as the Lockwood groom brought up the carriage and horses ready for the return journey to Oxfordshire. The handsome team of bays were fresh after being turned out into the fertile paddock and rested for a few days and were whinnying, ready to go.

Leonora with Mrs Priddy emerged from the back of the house. She came forward to greet Charlotte and take George Lockwood's hand. He said in his unaffected way, ‘Thank you, Miss Appleby, for your hospitality. I have seldom been more content than these few days exploring the estate and meeting you and the charming neighbours.' He glanced across at Charlotte with a smile.

Leonora bowed her head in acknowledgement. ‘I have been pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Lockwood, and am reassured now I know the estate's future will be in safe hands.'

‘I hope you won't move just yet. I will not be able to take up residence until after the Season, perhaps even by next Michaelmas.' Then a thought occurred to him. ‘If the Lodge needs any improvements to make it suitable for your future home you just have to let me know, either at Dracott, my Oxfordshire estate, or in Town at Beacham's house in Davies Street. Or failing that, at Brooks's, my club.'

‘You're a man of many parts, Mr Lockwood.'

‘It sounds like it, I fear, but having been introduced to Hasterleigh, I know now it's the only place I want to be.' His voice was surprisingly emotional, and Leonora looked at him and realised how the guarded expression she had noticed so clearly when he first arrived had relaxed into clear-browed bonhomie. ‘I'll see you after Christmas at your musical evening.' He bowed and climbed into his chaise with a wave.

Leonora watched Charlotte, standing on the drive waving until the carriage turned out into the lane and disappeared from view. She remained still and pensive for a moment and then turned to catch Leonora's eye. Leonora put out her hand and said, ‘We could walk to the Abbey this afternoon, it's not so far.' Charlotte looked doubtful so she continued, ‘Or we could get Clover harnessed up to the gig. It worked well when Nanny P and I went there last. Clover was very impressed by the magnificent stables.'

‘You mean you were impressed by the stables!'

‘I was indeed. They're in so much better condition than the poor neglected house. It's obvious the Earl values his bloodstock more highly than himself, or his visitors.'

Charlotte cast Leonora an anxious look as she said, ‘I'd prefer if we could go in the gig. I'd rather not arrive hot and bothered when I'm already feeling inadequate to the occasion.'

‘You are the most beautiful and charming person I know. Adequate to any occasion! The Rokebys are lucky to have you as part of their family.' Leonora hugged her, hoping to instil some confidence into her slight frame.

So it was that Charlotte, dressed in her best yellow cambric afternoon gown, pelisse and matching bonnet, was driven by Leonora in the gig to meet her destiny. She was quiet as Clover clip-clopped along the lane and then turned into the long mossy drive that led to Rokeby Abbey. For eighteen years, she had known nothing of her blood family and in her wildest dreams, could not have imagined that she could belong to such an ancient and noble line. As the drive swept towards the house, the imposing ruins of the Abbey loomed ahead, the soaring arches, marking the ancestral might of the Rokeby dynasty.

‘Oh, Leonora, I've not seen it before. We've never trespassed this far. The size of it! Look at those huge windows glinting like diamonds. The ruins make it quite forbidding.'

‘Don't be alarmed. I was at first but even the ruined Abbey has a welcoming feel once you enter. The house is just sleeping.'

‘To be kissed awake?' Charlotte's mischievous cast of mind could not be suppressed for long.

‘I think it might take a lot of kissing!' Leonora had clambered down from the gig, careful not to mark her fine dress on the dirty wheel. She pulled her pelisse close and walked with Charlotte to the front door. The clang of the bell echoed in the deep recesses of the house and the heavy oak door swung open to reveal Stowe.

His expression lightened at the sight of Leonora. ‘Didn't expect you to come too, Miss Appleby.' He took the women's bonnets and pelisses and with little ceremony, cast them onto the great hall chair.

Leonora smiled. ‘Good afternoon, Stowe. I'm accompanying Miss Blythe. Would you be so kind to ask one of the grooms to take Clover to the stable yard?' He bowed and led the way. The last time Leonora had been to Rokeby Abbey, the hall had been ill-lit and gloomy with every door closed against prying eyes. Now light spilled from the long gallery on the right where one of the lofty windows spangled shafts of sunlight onto the dusty wooden floor.

The neglected, unloved atmosphere had lifted as the distant sound of music echoed through the empty hall. Achille emerged and padded along in their wake. The two young women followed Stowe and the music became louder as they approached the drawing room. Leonora did not recognise the melody but it was slow and elegiac. Stowe opened the door and sound and light washed like a wave over them. The music stopped abruptly. ‘Miss Appleby and Miss Blythe, my lord.'

The Earl stood up, his face in shadow. In contrast, the garden and the lake through the window behind him were brilliant with sunlight which bounced off his shoulders and caught the curling fronds of his dark, undressed hair. His scar and eye patch were barely visible and Leonora was surprised at how fine-looking, even noble, he appeared.

Lord Rokeby approached them with a faint smile of welcome and as the light fell more harshly on his face, Leonora heard Charlotte's intake of breath. The raised jagged line that crossed from temple to lip was unmistakeable, as was the leather patch. Leonora had warned her young friend the Earl had returned wounded and scarred from the battlefield, but seeing the damage in the flesh for the first time was still difficult. So much death and destruction were wrought by the years of war against Napoleon, yet the higher echelons of the beau monde were shielded from the full horror of disability and disfiguration. Most of their injured officers did not appear much in polite society.

Leonora noticed again how Lord Rokeby attempted to minimise his limp as he walked towards them. He put out his right hand to take hers in greeting.

She smiled. ‘Good day, sir. This is Miss Charlotte Blythe.'

He turned to Charlotte and noticing the shocked expression in her eyes, took her proffered hand with his undamaged left hand instead.

‘Welcome to Rokeby Abbey.' He was formal in his manner and Charlotte, slightly cowed by the situation, bobbed a curtsey.

‘Thank you, my lord.'

He inclined his head. ‘Come to the fire. May I offer you some refreshments?' Charlotte declined but Leonora said, ‘I'll have whatever you're drinking,' nodding towards the amber liquid in a decanter that sat on the sideboard with a couple of handsome rummers beside it.

Lord Rokeby cast her an amused expression and poured out two glasses, handing one to her. ‘It's my best French brandy. That and Achille were the only good things I salvaged from the war.' He gestured to his dog stretched out on his sheepskin rug by the fire.

The women sat together on the sofa and he in the wing chair opposite. It looked well-worn and comfortable but Lord Rokeby did not settle into its depths. His voice was intense. ‘I owe you an explanation of your birth, Miss Blythe.'

Leonora took a tentative sip of her brandy and coughed as its fieriness hit the back of her throat. Charlotte clasped her hands together in her lap and waited. ‘Charles was two years older than me, a hero figure in many ways. He was brought up with the knowledge he would inherit this ancient title and the extensive estate that gilded his name. I will show you the portrait of him afterwards.'

The Earl took a gulp of brandy and looked at Charlotte with a keen eye. ‘You are fair where he was dark, but you have the Rokeby look in your eyes. I hope you have been spared the Rokeby temperament though!' He looked down into his glass, lost for a moment in thought. ‘Father was proud of Charles. Less so of me.' His face grimaced for an instant. Then he glanced at Charlotte. ‘You have every reason yourself to be proud of your father, despite the irregularity of your birth.'

Lord Rokeby took a deep breath. ‘When Charles was eighteen, he had a liaison with one of my mother's maids. I don't recall her name but when she was with child, no one knew. Both she and Charles were afraid of the consequences. I think my brother really cared about your mother and, in a romantic moment, thought he might be able to marry her and legitimise you. But future Earls of Rokeby were not allowed the indulgences of the heart afforded lesser mortals.' He gave a rueful smile.

Charlotte's quiet voice cut through his reverie. ‘So my mother was loved by my father?'

Lord Rokeby looked at her and a fleeting softness suffused his features. ‘I believe so, Miss Blythe.'

‘That means a great deal to me. Thank you.' She smiled. ‘Do you know where she is now? I hope to find her too.'

He shifted in his chair and Achille raised his head from the footstool at the Earl's feet. ‘Your birth was unexpected and there was quite a stir in the servants' quarters. As your presence could no longer be kept a secret, the butler thought it his duty to tell my fierce papa. I'm afraid the old Earl decreed that the infant should be left on the Vicarage doorstep and that Charles should be immediately despatched to the army. He purchased a commission for his son and heir in the 15th King's Regiment. Your mother was dismissed and placed in another noble house in London, and my brother went to war.'

‘So in one fell swoop you lost your brother, and Charlotte lost her mother and father.' Leonora shivered.

‘Indeed. But with a family like mine, the individuals are not important; it is the family, its name, history and land that matter. And no one is allowed to risk that, even such a favourite son as Charles.'

‘So, after eighteen years of silence and ignorance as to my parentage, why tell me now?' Charlotte had recovered her poise and forgotten her shyness, so great was her desire to know.

‘I followed my brother into the regiment as soon as I could.' His face darkened with the memory. ‘Then five years ago, mortally injured in the field of battle, Charles imparted to me his most urgent wishes. I had to find you and tell you the truth.' He was watching Charlotte's face closely. ‘He had intended to do so when you were grown but of course never returned. I was then captured and only now have the opportunity to relay his instructions.' He got to his feet. ‘Before I continue, come and see your father's portrait.'

Leonora and Charlotte followed him to the picture gallery they had passed as they entered the house. Walking into the long room washed with light from two great Elizabethan windows, they were presented with the grandeur of oak-panelled walls hung with ancestral portraits. Pale faces loomed out of dark interiors, stiff complex ruffs giving way as they moved through the centuries to waterfalls of snowy lace for the men and sumptuous silk and creamy bosoms for the women. The sunlight filtered through in bands, dust motes dancing in the air, and the atmosphere was heavy with history and the past lives of those who had gone before, a great continuum of Rokebys watching their progress down the room.

They stopped in front of a life-size portrait hung over the grand fireplace. Leonora and Charlotte gazed up into the proud face of Charles Rokeby in full Light Dragoons uniform, mounted on his black charger. They could not suppress a gasp of surprise and wonder. The young man was indeed handsome, a certain swagger in his inky eyes, his dark hair mostly covered by an impressive Tarleton cap of black silk and fur, chained in silver with a snowy white plume of feathers. His dolman was blue and also braided in silver, his fur-lined pelisse slung over his left shoulder. He looked magnificent, as the artist intended, a young man astride not just his war horse but the world he inhabited, a misty vision of Rokeby Abbey, its ruins and parkland behind him.

Leonora looked from the portrait to the new Earl and said, ‘It's clear he's your brother.'

A swift grimace crossed his face. ‘I'm glad you think so, Miss Appleby, even after the depredations of war.'

Lord Rokeby then led the way to the library where he gestured to the chairs on the other side of the desk while he withdrew some papers from the central drawer. Leonora was not immune to the attractions of the room. It smelt of leather, dust and woodsmoke. The walls were lined in dark oak shelves interrupted with regular reeded piers surmounted by carved heads of horses. Serried ranks of leather spines added their fascination. So many worlds, so many lives contained within their pages, within this room. She felt a flutter of excitement. How she longed to explore its treasures, but Lord Rokeby's voice returned her to the momentous matter in hand.

‘Miss Blythe, I am pleased to welcome you to the Rokeby family; in fact, as my niece – as novel a thought for me as it must be for you.'

He sat down and passed a document across to her. ‘Charles's dying wish was that you should be introduced to our grandmother, the Countess of Bucklebury, who has a house in Brook Street in Mayfair. He wanted you to have a Season in Town, sponsored by her. He was her favourite and she is keen to meet you.'

Charlotte was overwhelmed with the thought of being presented to London Society. Nothing had been further from her mind and she felt utterly ill-equipped for such an ordeal. She stuttered, ‘Sir, I am so unprepared. I never dreamed of such a future.'

Lord Rokeby looked at her closely. ‘Can you dance, and engage in light inconsequential conversation? It would help if you can play the piano-forte passably and sing a little.'

Leonora was less shocked than Charlotte by this suggestion. Once she knew of her friend's noble parentage, she had expected that she would be launched on Society in some way as befitted her family's rank. She leant forward and said, ‘Miss Blythe is a fine musician and can both play and sing. I have been teaching her these last five years.'

His dark gaze settled on Leonora's face. ‘Then I am confident she will be most proficient in the drawing room arts.'

‘I have had dancing lessons too. Mama Mildmay has been scrupulous in her care of me.'

‘I'm glad to hear it. My brother assured me he left instructions with his banker, Drummonds, to send the Reverend a yearly sum for your upkeep. Drummonds are noted for their discretion in such matters.' He then pushed the piece of paper across the desk towards Charlotte. ‘I would like you to read this and if you agree, I will ask the local attorney to attend. This too is your father's wish that you should have a dowry of ten thousand pounds.'

Charlotte gasped. She had never even heard talk of such a fortune before and for it to be attached to her on the occasion of her marriage astonished and alarmed her. ‘But my lord, that is beyond imagination!' Her hands had flown to her cheeks which were rosy with the emotion of the afternoon.

‘It's a generous portion, but not too generous for the daughter of an Earl with a significant estate.'

‘But I am not his legitimate daughter.'

‘No, but I am proud to belong to a family which historically has treated its irregular progeny as if they were legitimate.'

Leonora knew that Charlotte was overwhelmed by the enormity of the situation and so felt she herself should point out certain practical considerations. ‘Lord Rokeby, Miss Blythe will need some new clothes if she is to attend the parties next Season.'

His lordship smiled at her intervention. ‘I had thought of this, Miss Appleby. My mother's modiste in Windsor is still operating her business. Mrs Marmery will know just what is needed. Just mention me to her and she will know I will honour all the bills.'

In a breathless voice, Charlotte asked, ‘When would your grandmama wish me to arrive?'

‘Lady Bucklebury has suggested ten days after Epiphany. I have a letter from her for you.' He rifled through the papers on his desk and pulled out a folded and sealed missive, addressed in an elaborate hand. ‘She can be fierce but she is not a stickler for convention. She had an unconstrained youth when social mores were less prescriptive than today. I think she's amused by the thought she has a great-granddaughter whose existence was a mystery to her. You're also her connection with her lost favourite, your father.'

Both young women looked at each other, unsettled in different ways by the unfolding realisation of just how much Charlotte's life was changing. Excitement and alarm were the salient emotions in Charlotte's breast and in Leonora's heart was a confusion of feeling. On the surface was joy for her young friend, knowing her father at last and being embraced by a family of such significance to open undreamed-of possibilities. But under the bubbling excitement was a sense of loss, of the easy balance of her friendship with the girl she had known since babyhood.

Lord Rokeby was watching both their faces, an inscrutable gleam in his eye. ‘Miss Blythe, is there anyone who could accompany you to London?'

Charlotte was suddenly animated and leant forward. ‘My lord, I have no lady's maid, but I would be much consoled if I could go to London in the company of Miss Appleby.'

For a moment Lord Rokeby looked disconcerted and glanced at Leonora with a curl of amusement on his lips. ‘What? Deprive me of my best piano-forte tuner?'

Leonora was taken aback by both Charlotte's request and his lordship's not entirely ironic reply. She was uncertain whether she wished to go to London to join the glittering social whirl, but she was nevertheless growing impatient with her life of quiet contentment and narrowed horizons. Now a voice long suppressed, a cry for adventure and the thrill of the new, quickened her pulse. She was aware of Lord Rokeby's gaze on her face. ‘What say you, Miss Appleby? Do you exchange the solid known pleasures of Hasterleigh for the meretricious diversions of the city?' He seemed amused at the dilemma.

‘If I can take Mrs Priddy then I might care to see what London has to offer,' Leonora answered carefully. ‘It would be novel to see sights of which I have only ever read.'

‘Well, I'm disappointed in you, Miss Appleby. I took you for a steadier type, but now know you are as giddy as the next feather-brained miss!' And he chuckled. Achille had walked to his side and was nudging his arm with his long shaggy snout. Lord Rokeby ruffled his hound's ears and murmured, ‘ J'arrive tout de suite, mon ami. ' Turning to his visitors, he said in a business-like way, ‘I've probably given you enough to consider for now, Miss Blythe. Take this document concerning your dowry and the Countess's letter addressed to you. We'll meet again and I can answer any more questions you might have then.'

Lord Rokeby accompanied Charlotte and Leonora to the stables, Achille loping beside him. He explained that his dog had grown used to him accompanying him as he rode out in the late afternoon, and made a fuss if this routine was ignored. ‘Jupiter will be saddled up ready. The grooms are as much in thrall to Achille as I am.'

‘I am impressed by your stables, Lord Rokeby.' Leonora's eyes rested on the beautiful horses in various degrees of activity, from grooming to being ridden out for exercise by the stablemen and rubbed down on their return.

Lord Rokeby looked across at Jupiter, his magnificent black hunter, fully saddled up and waiting with some impatience, pawing the ground. ‘My favourite warhorse was also black and called Jupiter, and he was cut down in the same cavalry charge that felled my brother and myself. A soldier's love for his charger can never be surpassed. But as my first Jupiter died, my second was being born in the stables here. He and Achille are the loves of my life.' Despite the emotion of his words, Lord Rokeby's voice was quiet and cool.

Clover was again found loosely tethered under the tree and the Earl offered his hand to help Charlotte climb onto the seat. Just as Leonora was about to climb up herself, he put out his hand to her. She hesitated then took it, and his other hand grasped her waist to assist her effortless ascent into the gig. The gesture took Leonora aback; the pressure of his hand against her hip, even through her pelisse, conveyed an unexpected strength and the fleeting intimacy of his touch sent a frisson through her. She glanced at him; had he too felt this or was it just her fancy? she wondered. His gaze met hers for a second and then he nodded in farewell. Both women waved goodbye as Clover trotted out of the stable yard towards the drive. Leonora looked back and saw Lord Rokeby spring into Jupiter's saddle. With Achille by his side, his horse's hooves clattered over the cobbles, his tail raised like a jaunty flag, as man, horse and hound headed towards the ruins and the great parterre that led to the lake.