Chapter 6

6

THE FRENCH CONNECTION

Leonora knew that her guests would not be down early for breakfast and so set off into the village to visit the tenant farmers and tell them she would be in London until the summer. Luckily Ned Fleming had been in charge of the Hasterleigh Manor estate since he was a young man, trained up by her father. He was more than capable of dealing with any immediate problem and both George Lockwood and Leonora were available by letter.

The morning was fresh and brisk and the puddles in the lane had dried to sludge. Leonora knew everyone and greeted them as she passed on her way to the Sproats' house. She had put on her walking boots and workaday cloak over one of her prettier morning gowns, with the warmth of a spencer fastened close across her bosom. Gloves and a simple bonnet completed her outfit.

The puddles may have receded, but muddy traps were everywhere. She was just navigating one when she looked up to see Rose Vazey coming towards her with her own dog and Mr Fopling's Little Grace. A moment's inattention meant Leonora slid down the sodden bank at the edge of the lane and landed in the muddy cart track she'd been trying to avoid. ‘Oh, Miss Appleby!' The girl hurried forward and offered an arm.

Leonora grabbed Miss Vazey's hand and squelched out of the mire to stand looking down at her boots. ‘Oh dear,' she laughed. ‘I now look thoroughly disreputable, and I have smart Town guests at the Manor.'

Rose Vazey laughed with her. ‘Should have put on your pattens, miss. They would have saved you from the worst of it.' She was an unusual young woman who, since childhood, had shown an uncanny understanding of animals and all living things; as Richard Fopling said, she was Hasterleigh's own St Francis. Everyone knew the uses of plants for treating ailments but for intractable problems, it was to Rose that her neighbours went for advice. She was also the person to nurse any wounded creature, and dogs gravitated to her as if they were charmed. Leonora looked into Miss Vazey's amber eyes, surprised how speckled and like a plover's egg in colouring they were. She said, ‘I'm glad you persuaded Mr Fopling to take on Little Grace.'

‘She has flourished under his care.'

‘As he seems to do under hers,' Leonora said with feeling.

‘He belongs more to nature and the empyrean air than most men. A wife would tether him to earth and teach him the pleasures of the everyday.' Rose Vazey spoke in such an emphatic and down-to-earth way that Leonora looked askance at her. The young woman smiled and explained, ‘You look shocked, Miss Appleby. But you may not know I can see the future for some people, and he is one.'

‘What a useful gift, Miss Vazey!' Her light-hearted words died on her lips as she met the young woman's eyes.

‘It can be a curse, Miss Appleby.' Then, appearing to check herself, added with a lilt in her voice, ‘But for Mr Fopling, my future-sight is a blessing. For he will marry me.'

Leonora could not hide her astonishment. ‘Does Mr Fopling know?' she asked in a quiet voice.

Rose Vazey gave a warm chuckle. ‘What man ever knew what was best for him? But he will soon. His father is not long for this world.'

Leonora put a hand on her arm once again and in an urgent voice said, ‘Now you're alarming me with your witchery, Miss Vazey.'

‘Do not fear. What people call witchery is merely being close to the other world, separated from us by our own refusal to see.'

Leonora heard the church clock strike ten and knew she had run out of time to visit the Sproats, and had to return to the Manor to care for her guests. Shaken, yet somehow consoled by her meeting with Miss Vazey, she turned to her and took her hand. ‘I must return home now, but wish you every good fortune. I'm off to London to accompany Miss Charlotte and won't be back until the summer.'

‘I think you may be back before then, Miss Appleby. The heart has its reasons which reason cannot know.' And with that, Rose Vazey had gathered her skirts and walked away back down the lane, the two dogs trotting behind her like attendant spirits. Leonora stood there startled. What was she to make of it all?

Leonora walked back to the Manor and entered to the sound of laughter from the breakfast room. She had hoped her guests would still be abed but now had to greet them without time to change. She slipped her muddy boots off in the hall and ran up the stairs to find her slippers. Glancing in the looking glass, she noticed her hair was untidy and there was a smear of mud on her hem, but she thought it would have to do.

As she caught sight of the Dearloves, her heart sank. She wished she had taken more trouble as Lord Rufus lounged in the chair, immaculately turned out for Town in his close-fitting coat of dark superfine wool, his white linen neckcloth intricately folded, pale pantaloons and onyx-black shiny hessian boots, a cup of coffee at his elbow. Neither did his sister's appearance make any concessions to country life. Livia Dearlove was dressed as if about to set off on a shopping expedition down Bond Street, in palest pink tiffany with a smart rose spencer fastened with silver braid. Leonora was relieved to see George Lockwood wearing his country clothes. He stood by the fireplace, his hair tousled, and his broadcloth jacket cut to a more accommodating fit for his broad shoulders.

When Lord Dearlove saw Leonora, he sprang to his feet. ‘Miss Appleby, we were just saying what an enjoyable evening's entertainment that was.' He offered her his own chair by the table where breakfast was the remains of the baked ham from the previous night, together with rolls and jam, bread, cheese and jugs of ale and coffee.

‘Good morning. I hope everyone slept well?' Leonora looked around the room as George Lockwood came forward to take her hand. She noticed Lady Livia's gaze travel to the hem of her gown where she was sure clung all kinds of inelegant remnants of her walk.

‘It looks like you've been round the estate already before we'd even risen from our beds.' George Lockwood poured her a cup of coffee.

‘I set out to see a few of our tenants to tell them I was off to London.' She paused, embarrassed by her presumption, now that the estate was his. ‘I meant, that we were off to London.'

George Lockwood laughed. ‘You know I have yet to claim my primacy here and until then it is for you to do and say as you like, Miss Appleby.'

Lady Livia's eyes rested on Leonora's face. ‘Where may you live, Miss Appleby, once Mr Lockwood moves into the Manor?'

‘Hasterleigh Lodge is a pretty house on the estate that Mr Lockwood has designated as my home for as long as I wish.'

‘That is indeed generous. There is some embarrassment I presume being still on the estate when the heir moves in, perhaps with his new bride, to become the master and mistress of a property that has been yours?' Her voice was soft and innocent like a girl's, but her words carried bite.

Leonora felt herself stiffen. This had touched a nerve, for indeed there was an aching sense of loss in being deposed from a house that had been her home since birth, intensified no doubt when Mr Lockwood installed his new wife to become, as she had been, mistress of the estate. But her pride and natural distrust of this lady made her hide any vulnerability. She summoned a sunny smile. ‘Indeed, it is generous, but I shall be delighted to see Mr Lockwood's plans put into action. I know he will care for the Manor estate as I have done.'

Lord Dearlove broke into this conversation in his cheerful way. ‘Miss Appleby, as you know, we set off for London and the jolly Season. When will we have the pleasure of the company of you and Miss Blythe?' Leonora understood just why he had been such a favourite of William's; she also marvelled, not for the first time, that Rufus and Livia Dearlove were siblings when they seemed to exhibit such opposing characters.

She was not looking forward with unalloyed pleasure to this departure, but felt she should hide her misgivings and mirror his lightness of spirit. ‘We set off in four days' time. Miss Blythe's great-grandmother, the Countess of Bucklebury, has invited us to stay with her in Brook Street.'

Lord Dearlove's face clouded for a moment. ‘I hope that Rokeby won't be gracing the London Season with his forbidding presence. He has one of the best houses in Grosvenor Square, which hasn't been lived in since the brothers went to war. But I trust he has no intention of removing the dust sheets; he rather throws a pall over everything, don't you think?'

Leonora was immediately defensive on the Earl's part. ‘He's a hero, my lord. He's been through a war to protect us and seen horrors and suffering we cannot imagine.'

‘I don't doubt that. But nobody wants to be reminded of the dirt and pain of battle. A gentleman owes it to Society to present his best face rather than his worst.'

‘Especially when his worst is so much worse than most,' Lady Livia said, her soft lisp masking the malice.

George Lockwood then entered the fray and to Leonora's surprise, defended the Earl. ‘He was damnably rude to me when I took his straying hound back to him, but I've since heard from my friend Gully Grantham in the War Office that they're going to give his brother the Army Gold Cross posthumously, for bravery. Both brothers were exploring officers, infiltrating behind enemy lines to glean intelligence on troop movements: the most dangerous job in the campaigns.'

This silenced the Dearloves for a moment. The rich young noblemen who stayed at home to gamble, dance and fritter their fortunes on horses, courtesans and cards were made uneasy by the contrast with the young officers who endured the cauldron of war. Rufus Dearlove frowned. He did not like this unfamiliar feeling of being overshadowed by the gilded reputations of others. He muttered, ‘Alistair and Charles Rokeby were in the same regiment as my friend, Ormonde, who accompanied us here last night. He can't countenance either of them. Denies there's anything heroic about the Rokeby brothers, despite their fame to the contrary.'

Leonora regretted the turn this conversation had taken but could not refrain from a sharp riposte, ‘Well, I think the Earl returns that disdain!' Everyone looked at her with surprise and she coloured. She did not like to be thought indiscreet or, worse still, sharp-tongued, so turned to the table of food and cut herself some ham. ‘Can I offer you anything more to eat?'

George Lockwood was by her side in a trice. ‘Let me carve some of that. I'll have a slice; anything more for you, Dearlove?'

‘Yes, please. We have a long journey ahead.' Rufus Dearlove walked to the table with his plate and George Lockwood placed two slices of ham in the middle, alongside a knob of bread and pile of pickle. Leonora was struck again by his lordship's good looks, heightened by the colour in his cheeks and his dark auburn hair, worn long and curly to the collar. His greenish eyes were habitually crinkled in amusement.

Lady Livia had also walked to the table and stood close to George Lockwood. ‘Sir, when do you head off for London, and to what destination?'

He looked down at her with a smile. ‘I too go today, after breakfast. Home for the Season is my stepfather's mansion in Davies Street.'

‘Well, with Miss Appleby and Miss Blythe in Brook Street and Livia and me in the ancestral cot in Berkeley Square, we'll be near neighbours.' Lord Dearlove was thoughtful for a moment. ‘Captain Ormonde used to live in Berkeley Square too, but he's been living too fast and flying too high.'

‘He's an Icarus, his wings melted by alcohol fumes and the heat of excess.' George Lockwood seemed unsympathetic as he dismissed him.

Lord Dearlove was more forgiving. ‘You could say that. Certainly his rackety life has caught up with him and his debts; he's now in rented rooms in Audley Street. But his charm seems to rescue him time and again.'

Lady Livia put a hand on Leonora's arm and enquired in a solicitous way, ‘I hear you're accompanying Miss Blythe during her Season. Why, pray, are the heroic Rokeby family taking such an interest in her?'

Leonora knew the truth would soon be clear once Charlotte was launched on Society and thought honesty might defuse some of the negative gossip. She turned to face Livia Dearlove. ‘Charlotte Blythe is the natural daughter of the previous Earl, Charles Rokeby.'

‘Oh yes, the daughter of a hero.' Rufus Dearlove snorted.

‘Yes, the daughter of a hero and she has been embraced by the family.' Leonora stood as tall as she could, her chin high.

‘And awarded a huge dowry no doubt so that prospective suitors overlook her dubious parentage.'

‘Lord Dearlove! I consider that comment beneath a gentleman's honour. Charlotte is beautiful, accomplished, and kind. Any man would be fortunate to win her as a wife, fortune or not!' Leonora felt blood rush to her cheeks. This was the first time she had come up against the snobberies of the haut ton , which she and Charlotte were about to enter.

George Lockwood had moved to stand beside her in solidarity as Lord Dearlove continued in his amused and suave manner, ‘Admirably said, Miss Appleby, but you cannot be so naive to think that beauty and charm alone will merit a girl a good marriage. The marriage mart is just that: a transaction where money and breeding are the necessary currencies.'

Livia Dearlove had not sheathed her rapier which now went straight to the weakest point. In her silky lisp she asked, ‘Pray tell me, Miss Appleby, who is Charlotte Blythe's mother?'

George Lockwood's good nature had been tried long enough. He stepped forward and with some exasperation answered, ‘I agree with Miss Appleby, the best of men will seek out the most affectionate and amenable of women. Should she also have wit and beauty then that is a bonus. Fortune and breeding are merely the bloom on the apple, the icing on the cake. Charlotte Blythe will make a fond husband very happy indeed.'

This seemed to break up the breakfast party, and everyone went to their rooms to prepare for their return to London. Leonora heard the jingling of harnesses as the Lockwood and Dearlove coachmen and grooms drove two coaches and their teams of horses up to the door.

Lord Dearlove grasped Leonora's hand. ‘Miss Appleby, thank you for the exquisite entertainment last night and your impeccable hospitality. My sister and I look forward to reciprocating once you are in Town.' His sunniness had returned and his face shone with the good looks and charm for which he was lauded.

His sister smiled and inclined her head as she took Leonora's hand. She had put on a bonnet of the finest Leghorn straw, and the flaring brim and Italian silk trim in a fetching shade of periwinkle blue so flattered her she had become almost attractive, animated with a sly humour. ‘Miss Appleby, I shall look forward to introducing you and Miss Blythe to a suitable set of acquaintances. Do not hesitate to call on me for any entrées into the intimate circles of the more select hostesses.'

George Lockwood was the last to leave and he took Leonora aside. ‘I will be honoured to be a cavalier servant to you or Miss Blythe should you ever need me. The Season is full of venom, and I would be sorry if either of you lost your unmannered charm.' He glanced across at the Dearloves about to climb into their coach, then continued with feeling, ‘Your spontaneous goodness of heart is rare in Society, and you will discover why I cannot wait to dust the dirt of London from my heels and become a true country gentleman at last.'

He was so tall that Leonora had to tilt her head to meet his eyes. ‘I think I too will be impatient to return to my measured life in Hasterleigh.' She smiled and he brought her hand to his lips.

‘Farewell then, Miss Appleby. I'll see you once you're settled. Now I must just drop by the Vicarage as I need to take my leave of Miss Blythe and the Mildmays. It's a most congenial community we have here. I shall miss it.'

The next two days were a hive of activity at both the Manor and the Vicarage. The gowns and accessories had arrived from Mrs Marmery. These gorgeous creations were carefully unpacked from their nests of interleaved tissue paper to cries of delight. Charlotte had the full wardrobe, and she held the gowns up against her and twirled in front of the looking glass. ‘How amazing the power of clothes!' she exclaimed in wonder. ‘I have not changed and yet with these clothes on my back I feel beautiful! I now feel undaunted by what lies ahead.'

Leonora unpacked the few new gowns that were for her, one for each time of day and activity. She held an evening dress in oyster-pink gauze under her chin and gazed at her reflection, smiling. It was true: such creative needlework made her feel beautiful too. Having tried on and discussed every garment with excitement, the clothes then had to be repacked into travelling trunks to transport to London. The rustle of tissue paper and the scent of dried lavender dominated both houses as Milly and Mrs Priddy helped their young mistresses to make sure nothing was left behind.

It had been two days since the musical soirée and Leonora was surprised at how unsettled she felt. This uneasiness increased as the day approached to visit Rokeby Abbey one last time to tune the Broadwood piano-forte and to say goodbye to Alistair Rokeby. Once again, at the designated time of two in the afternoon, Leonora, with Mrs Priddy beside her, pulled up outside the ancient oak door to be greeted by Stowe. As they entered, Achille padded towards Leonora, still with a slight limp.

They divested themselves of bonnets and pelisses and Leonora followed the old retainer, her tuning tools and protective apron in a bag. She was wearing one of her favourite afternoon gowns made of lavender sprigged muslin with pale primrose cording and ribbons round the hem and neck, newly trimmed by her. They entered the drawing room where the Earl sat by the fire, a book open in his lap. He looked up, his expression softer and more reflective than Leonora had seen before. As he rose to his feet to greet them, his face resumed its usual cast of controlled politeness. He led both women to the fire and Stowe went in search of tea.

Alistair Rokeby inclined his head and murmured, ‘I haven't seen you since your evening of entertainment. Thank you, Miss Appleby, for encouraging me to be more sociable.'

‘It was our pleasure but I'm not so sure it was yours?' Leonora smiled.

‘You are a perceptive woman. As you know I have little patience with flashy coxcombs like Ormonde, but then he has little time for prosy stiffrumps like me.' His demeanour darkened. ‘Since returning from France I feel increasingly out of step with life. War has separated me from the world of the living.' His face was so full of pain Leonora had to stop herself from reaching across to touch his arm.

Nanny P was not constrained in the same way by propriety between the sexes. She moved to sit beside him on the sofa and placed her small hand on his knee. ‘Master Alistair, you have survived against the odds. Your brother Charles would not wish you to let your life slip away on a river of grief and regret.'

‘I accept that with my mind, but my unruly heart does not obey. But do not fear, Mrs Priddy, my music, my dog and my horses secure me to life. And thanks to you and Miss Appleby, my dog and my music are restored to me in health.' He smiled as he looked across at Leonora. ‘I've been playing the Broadwood every day. Music expresses the inexpressible, don't you think?'

Leonora felt a leap in her spirit. Here was someone who felt as she did. ‘Indeed, I've come to think that music is love in search of a word,' she said, then coloured. She had not meant to say so frankly what was in her heart.

Lord Rokeby's gaze held hers for a moment then he continued in his unruffled way, ‘I would be grateful if you could wave your tuning fork once more before you go.'

Leonora finished her tea, slipped on her apron, and walked with him across to the instrument where the lid was already open. She sat down to play through the scales as Lord Rokeby leant over to watch. ‘I should learn from you how to tune it myself,' he said as he sat down beside her on the stool.

Leonora continued to play, listening for any dissonance between the notes, but acutely aware of the energy pulsing through the body beside her. The stool was narrow and his thigh was pressed closely to hers. Mrs Priddy was sitting by the fire in the old-fashioned wing chair which blocked draughts and the possibility of overhearing most conversations. Alistair Rokeby glanced across at her, intent on her complex knitting pattern, and put a hand on Leonora's. It was the lightest of touches but she felt as if she had been branded. The back of her hand was so sensitised she stopped playing and looked at him, her cheeks flushing.

‘Forgive my raising this, Miss Appleby, but I need to thank you for accompanying Miss Blythe to London. My mind is at rest knowing you and Mrs Priddy will be with her.' He sighed. ‘Sadly, the fortune I have settled upon her might attract the wrong kind of attention. I just wanted to alert you to the world you are about to enter, full of blackguards and wastrels out for their own ends, and Devil take the consequences!' His voice softened as he said, ‘I'm just concerned I may be making Miss Blythe vulnerable to these fortune-hunting mountebanks.'

Leonora looked at him with some alarm. ‘I'm sure your grandmother will protect her too?'

‘The Countess is more cynical than most. She traded her beauty for an unhappy marriage to a brute with a title and great fortune. I don't know I can trust her to protect Miss Blythe from similar predatory intent.'

‘My lord, you paint such a forbidding picture. I wonder your brother should have wished for his daughter to be exposed to such danger.'

‘Ah, Miss Appleby, you are as generous-hearted as she. But who would she marry if she stayed in the country? The pallid curate? His oaf of a father? God forbid! That misplaced dandy who's your father's heir? No! Miss Blythe is a Rokeby, if an irregular one, and as part of this noble family she is to marry someone of equal rank.'

Indignation rose in Leonora's breast. ‘Lord Rokeby! I object to your own cynical view of the curate, Mr Fopling, and indeed of Mr Lockwood. Richard Fopling is as rare a spirit as anyone I know, and my father's heir as good a man as I could wish to inherit the Manor estate.' Mrs Priddy could not but hear Leonora's voice raised in protestation and she looked up from counting stitches, smiled, then returned to her intricate pattern of scallop shells.

The Earl had been watching Leonora's face and appeared to be struggling not to smile in a patronising way. ‘I like your spirit, Miss Appleby. Indeed, you're right; I have been harsh. I'm just a sour, disappointed misanthrope in need of your flame to lighten my darkness.' He cast her a rueful look. ‘All I meant to say is the Season is the gauntlet that every young woman of breeding has to run in order to gain the life for which she was born.'

‘Well, Miss Charlotte was born into ignorance and ignominy.' She sounded more reproachful than she meant.

He was unconcerned as he laughed. ‘Ah, but her blood is half-thoroughbred.'

‘If you're thinking in terms of horseflesh then I'm just a moorland pony and there'll be no thoroughbred as a match for me in Town.' Leonora had responded without thinking in a light-hearted way but she was shocked that she had spoken thus, admitting to him, and herself, that she still harboured hopes of marriage. Embarrassed at being so frank, she began to run her fingers over the keys from the bass notes to the treble. Glancing up, she said, ‘It seems to be still in tune. Is the top octave a little sharp? What do you think, my lord?'

‘I was just thinking that there's something irresistibly spirited and sweet about a moorland pony.' Leonora cast a startled glance at him, met his mischievous gleam and laughed. Their attention returned to the piano-forte and Alistair Rokeby's voice was once again serious. ‘Perhaps it would be useful anyway to see how you alter the notes. I should learn to care for my own piano-forte.'

Achille padded over from the fireside to lay his head on his master's knee and Leonora stood up to reach the wrest-pins. As she worked, she was aware that Achille's and the Earl's regard did not waver from her face. When she had finished, she sat down again on the stool with a triumphant smile. ‘There! I think that should do. Until I'm back again or you have taught yourself, Lord Rokeby. I can leave you my tools if you would like?' Leonora met his gaze and for some moments could not look away.

He broke the tension by running his hands over the keys. ‘I feel you've begun to retune me , Miss Appleby. The jangling notes rearranged to a kind of music.' He gave a soft laugh. ‘If not yet a symphony.'

Acutely aware of the beating of her heart, Leonora looked down at their hands, and slowly Lord Rokeby started to play. She recognised the base melody that undulated like a lullaby: it was the duet they had played before. She picked up the treble part that so sinuously intertwined with his.

Sitting so close, their bodies as one, their hands moving together then apart, crossing, brushing fingers, it felt akin to an elaborate courtship. She glanced at him, wondering if their thoughts too had merged, whether he felt the same pulse of recognition, but his face was intent on the keyboard. When they had stopped playing, he said quietly, ‘It's the inner harmony that matters most; I feel that when we play.' So sensitised was Leonora, she shivered. They continued to sit side by side, silent, barely breathing. Lord Rokeby took her hands in his. He began to speak with some hesitation. ‘Miss Appleby, I cannot bear…' But before he could finish his sentence there was a discordant banging of the front door and the moment was shattered. Both looked up as a woman burst into the room, followed by a flustered Stowe. ‘Alistair, mon trésor! Enfin je t'ai trouvé! '

Lord Rokeby sprang to his feet and strode towards the visitor, his hands out. She flew into his arms and they held each other in a fierce embrace that spoke of an intense intimacy. Leonora, roughly awoken from her romantic dream, could barely believe her eyes. She and Mrs Priddy stood up; each caught the other's startled expression and looked away. Too shocked to think, Leonora placed her tuning tools in the bag and left them on the stool for Lord Rokeby. She removed her apron. Mrs Priddy too folded up her baby shawl, needles and wool, and stowed it all away as they prepared to go.

The Earl whirled round to face Leonora. ‘My apologies, Miss Appleby, and Mrs Priddy.' He looked across to Nanny P who walked to take Leonora's arm. ‘Let me introduce Madame Claudette Dupré to you. She was employed by the Grande Armée as a vivandière, running the canteen for the soldiers in the front line. She found me on the battlefield. And saved my life.'

He looked across to the young woman and translated, ‘ Tu m'as sauvé la vie .' His face was alive with feeling.

Leonora gazed with some wonder and despair at this exotic woman who stood so full of life before her. She wore a striped jacket in red, white and blue, in the manner of the Paris revolutionaries a generation before. Her skirt was a simple blue calico, and an Indian shawl was tied round her shoulders and crossed over her breast to be knotted in the small of her back. But it was her face and hair that were most striking. Strongly boned and handsome, she had a fine nose and dark lively eyes. Her olive skin appeared gilded by the sun and she wore her cloud of wavy hair in the most informal manner, merely pulled back and tied in a luxuriant pigtail that reached half way down her back.

She laughed and punched Lord Rokeby playfully on the arm, speaking in a strong French accent. ‘You know I understand Angleesh! And you, Alistair, had embrassé la mort as I drag you off that sanglant field, how you say? Blooded field!'

Lord Rokeby turned to Leonora. ‘She says I embraced death; I was in fact embracing my brother who had just died in my arms. But Madame Dupré is right, when she found me, I did not wish to live.' He then took Leonora's hand and squeezed her fingers so lightly she wasn't sure if she had imagined the pressure. Turning to Madame Dupré, he said, ‘Claudette, I want you to meet Miss Appleby who is about to go to London for the Season, la saison sociale , and her compagne , Mrs Priddy, who will accompany her and my young niece.'

Leonora and Claudette Dupré were guarded as they met each other's gaze, each uncertain of the character of the other or the nature of her relationship with Lord Rokeby. Leonora was struck by how free the Frenchwoman appeared in dress and manner, astonished by her vitality and comradely ease with the Earl. She so envied her that. Madame Dupré's courage and competence as a woman working on the front line was almost unimaginable to her and made her own life seem so small in comparison.

Claudette Dupré grasped her hand with disarming spontaneity. ‘M'selle Appleby, perhaps I see you à Londres? I go there in charge of the cuisine for the new French ambassadeur , le marquis de La Chatre. Pouf! Il est vieux but he likes parties and dancing.' She shrugged and then laughed.

Leonora was surprised yet again. Here was a woman with a job who seemed full of the kind of breezy confidence she expected from ennobled men. She found this joie de vivre immensely attractive and responded in as friendly a way as possible, ‘I should like that, Madame. We will be staying with the Earl's grandmother in Brook Street.'

‘La! He is not "the Earl" to me!' She laughed. ‘He's un vilain coquin , how you say, Alistair? A rascal, who spent too much time with his horses, the cards and les filles de la nuit .'

Lord Rokeby interjected in mock indignation, ‘Madame! Do not blacken my name.' He caught Leonora's eye and continued, ‘'Tis true, as an officer, there were certain freedoms, but not all the ones Madame Dupré suggests!'

His words were serious but his expression more roguish than Leonora had seen before. This unconventional visitor had reminded him of his spirit of old and a life Leonora could not know. She was shocked by the envy she felt of Claudette Dupré's part in this life. It had been many years since Leonora had experienced such a tumult of emotion and she was ashamed of her jealousy. Uppermost was the sinking feeling that she could never know Lord Rokeby as well. Claudette Dupré had saved his life; how could she, a naive countrywoman, with only their shared love of Hasterleigh, of music and swimming, ever compete with such a momentous history as that? How could a well-behaved Englishwoman like herself ever compare to such a force of nature with her free and easy manner, her unembarrassed passions, her animal energy and joy?

Leonora just wanted to get away and taking Mrs Priddy's arm, bade her farewells, inclining her head to Lord Rokeby. ‘Thank you, my lord, for warning of the pitfalls that await Miss Charlotte and me in London.' They collected the gig and set Clover off at a brisk trot for home. Only once out of sight did Leonora feel she could exhale. Nanny P glanced across at her and gave voice to her outrage. ‘Well, what a hoyden girl! Her hair! Her clothes! And the way she embraced Master Alistair! Who does she think she is?'

Despite her own tremulous heart, Leonora could not suppress an amused gasp. ‘Oh, Nanny P! She's French and they're all revolutionaries now.'

‘That may well be, my dear, but who is she to burst into the Abbey and treat him as if she has rights over his life and limb?'

‘Well, he owes her his life. That is a considerable bond, you know.' Her light-heartedness had receded and her voice was flat.

Mrs Priddy gave her a sharp look. ‘Nora! I understand you well enough by now to know your feelings are stirred by Lord Rokeby, but you are not to feel cast down. He's not proof against your charms, my dear; I'm experienced enough in the ways of men to know that at least!'

‘But what presumption that a no-longer-young woman from Hasterleigh could ever think such a man would love her.' The full absurdity of the idea struck Leonora with greater force as she made her thoughts public; at the same time, she was aware of the cruel irony that in the incandescence of Claudette Dupré's arrival, her own amorous heart, so long denied, had sprung to life and settled unequivocally upon Lord Rokeby. With that precious gift of clarity, however, came the pain of jealousy and fear of loss.

She pulled up the gig in the stable yard at the Manor and as she helped Mrs Priddy down, her beloved nanny said, ‘There's no accounting for the human heart. And we cannot know what life has in store for us. You are off to London in two days where every kind of adventure awaits.'

‘To believe Lord Rokeby, it's more where every kind of predator, fortune hunter and libertine lies in wait!'

The two days that remained sped by in a flurry of activity. Leonora had no time to think of what had transpired at Rokeby Abbey and what might be happening there now. She had overheard some scurrilous servants' gossip about a wild French lass but for the sake of her own peace of mind, had tried to suppress any lurid imaginings.

Her only letter from Captain Worth had been her constant companion and a reminder of how much she had once been loved. Read and reread countless times, the folds were beginning to tear, so she decided not to take it with her to London. Leonora sat at her dressing table and drew it from the drawer to read one last time before she left.

My Beloved,

Death is ever near. Bleakness everywhere and I so far from all I hold Dear. My Thoughts of You, the glowing centre of my Nights, the Reason I can face the Day. How I long for this War to be over. And at last I can hold you in my Arms to never let you go. I fear I can no longer Live without You near – my Soul's a Desert, my Heart in Flames. I long to kiss your Hands, your Lips, your Throat. Oh! how I lose my Wits in Longing.

Know that You are loved beyond Everything. May I call you My Leonora? Most beloved of Names. Wait for Me my Dearest Love.

From your own Devoted Will

As she folded the precious letter, Leonora could not suppress a sob. She had feared her heart would remain folded into this sheet of paper for ever. But Nanny P had said to Lord Rokeby – and it was as true for her too – ‘ you have survived, and it is your duty to live '.

The Friday morning they were due to travel began crisp and cold. They were lucky the day was bright and free of rain. As promised, the Rokeby coach rolled up at the portico of the Manor. It was grand, painted a smart green and boasting the Rokeby crest on the door, an eagle alighting on a turreted castle surmounting a sword in a mailed fist. The motto Pietas et Fortitudo was painted in gold on the banner flying from the turret. Duty and Courage ; for a fleeting moment Leonora wondered which quality Alistair Rokeby most embodied.

Breakfast was eaten in haste while all the trunks were stowed in the back of the coach by Jack Clegg. He bustled out with the hot bricks which he placed under the blankets on the floor. The Reverend and Mrs Mildmay had arrived early to see them off. ‘Thank you, Miss Leonora, for taking care of our beloved Charlotte.' Mrs Mildmay embraced Leonora, tears pricking her eyes. She had not been farther than Maidenhead in her life and the thought of her beautiful Charlotte in the mysterious, dangerous whirlpool of London filled her with nameless dread.

Leonora quickly grabbed her best bonnet and was just about to join Charlotte and Mrs Priddy in the coach when there was a clatter of approaching hooves. She glanced down the lane and saw Jupiter trotting towards them. On his back was the Earl with Achille running beside them. Leonora was aware of her breathing becoming suddenly shallow and fast. He dismounted and doffed his hat. ‘Good morning.' He nodded to them all in turn. ‘I hoped to catch you in time. To wish you a safe journey and a most successful Season.'

Lord Rokeby put his hand in his pocket and withdrew a blue velvet pouch. He took Charlotte's hand and dropped it into her palm. ‘I wanted you to have one of your grandmother's favourite necklaces.'

Charlotte coloured with pleasure as she looked down at the bag and with care withdrew a scintillating river of cornflower-blue stones. She gasped. ‘For me?' She looked into Lord Rokeby's face.

‘Of course. It's part of a parure with matching earrings and a bracelet too. The rest of her jewellery will go to my countess one day, if I ever find someone willing to marry me.' His smile was crooked.

Charlotte appeared quite overcome with emotion, her eyes shining and her cheeks flushed. ‘Thank you, thank you, my lord. I have never had anything so beautiful.'

He took her hand. ‘They are but your due.'

Then Alistair Rokeby turned to Leonora and lifted her reluctant hand from her side. He held it lightly in his and gazed at her downturned face. ‘Please look at me, Miss Appleby. I wish to thank you for everything you have done, and it is quite difficult talking to a bonnet and feathers, however charmingly trimmed.'

Leonora did not wish to give the impression she was sulking and lifted her head and smiled. He still had hold of her gloved hand and pressed it fleetingly to his lips. His face was serious and he did not release her. ‘I have never properly thanked you for all the work you have done making my piano-forte a pleasure to play again.'

She answered in a formal way. ‘I am pleased to be able to help.' It was hard to remain aloof when Achille was standing beside her, nuzzling her hand, waiting for her to scratch behind his ears.

Lord Rokeby was watching her face closely as if trying to understand what she really felt. Then he took a breath and said in a voice quiet and full of feeling, ‘I want you to know that Madame Dupré saved my life, but it is you alone, Miss Appleby, who has made me want to live.' Their eyes met in an intense moment of recognition. Leonora knew by the pressure of his fingers on hers that he had felt it too. It quickly flared, then was gone. He saluted them all and sprang into the saddle. She watched him trot away into the morning sun, back to the Abbey and Madame Dupré.