Chapter 9

9

THE GALLANT AND THE PRICE OF GALLANTRY

For those in the highest society of Regency England, noble blood and old money were all that mattered. This was displayed in the possession of extensive acres of parkland and fertile tenant farms encircled by great hunting forests with a magnificent house at the centre. Here resided the power. There was a hierarchy within the aristocracy of which the Duchess of Hungerford was close to the apex. Her mansion in Grosvenor Square was on the opposite terrace from Rokeby House and had been built to show off its owner's fortune and status. In a discreet display of class and long-established wealth, the Hungerford establishment was not ostentatiously embellished. As Leonora and Charlotte entered, with George Lockwood and Mrs Priddy in their wake, they were struck by the grandeur of the building and the modesty of the night's decorations. There was no gold leaf in sight. Whole glasshouses of exotic flowers had not been devastated to conjure one night's scented paradise; instead, there was ivy and the sweet smell of conifer and apple-wood burning in the grates in the many grand fireplaces.

The ballroom was on the first floor, adjoining the drawing room, and music floated down to the hallway below. Everyone was masked except for Mrs Priddy who, as a chaperone, was excused. As the Hasterleigh party joined the crowd mounting the serpentine stone staircase, Leonora slipped her arm through Mrs Priddy's and Charlotte was left to place her hand on Mr Lockwood's arm. Feeling some protection in the anonymity afforded by a mask, Leonora could not suppress a giggle as she pointed out a particularly portly old nobleman, so corseted he could not bend without creaking. ‘Beware, Mr Lockwood, what awaits you if you indulge too much in Cook's famous boeuf en cro?te ,' she said.

George Lockwood patted his trim torso and replied, ‘I'm hoping that fashions will be more accommodating by the time I get to that stage.'

Charlotte glanced up into his face and said with a serious expression, ‘By then, Mr Lockwood, you'll be deep in country life and barely concerned with what you wear and how you appear.'

He put his gloved hand on hers curled through his arm and replied, ‘What a comfortable thought indeed, but my wife may not agree.' His eyes were mischievous in the flickering candlelight.

They arrived in the ballroom to the sight of dancers in the middle of a reel, their gorgeous gowns, jewelled masks and headdresses captured multiple times in the looking glasses that lined the walls. It felt as if they had entered a kaleidoscope continually turning with fragments of every colour and shape to the exhilarating accompaniment of music. The small string orchestra was playing its heart out and there were claps and cries as the couples in each set parted and came together again.

The guests were from the grandest echelons of Society. Here the stately and elderly rubbed shoulders with the well-behaved young. Jowls and bosoms trembled, feathered caps bobbed and dipped, real jewels sparkled, some even wore their tiaras; the cream of the haut ton were out in force and determined on enjoyment.

Mr Lockwood bent his head to murmur to Charlotte, ‘Under this one roof is to be found half the wealth of the entire nation.'

The Duchess of Hungerford's guest list was so select that even in masks most people recognised each other. The advent of Leonora and Charlotte as evident newcomers caused some tongues to wag. Any news of an heiress spread like a gorse fire and the combination of unexpected wealth, beauty and noble birth, albeit of rather irregular provenance, added extra frisson to the gossip. It was the first time Charlotte felt the full beam of attention on her and she was taken aback.

The reel came to an end and the couples dispersed with much clapping and chatter. Out of the crowd appeared Captain Ormonde in his full regimentals, handsome and sleek as a panther. Nodding at George Lockwood, he bowed to Charlotte. ‘Miss Blythe, what a vision to soothe my war-sick heart. I'm hopeful you may honour me with the next dance?' Once again, his smile dazzled while his eyes remained calculating. It was a compelling combination.

‘But sir, you are not meant to be able to identify me. This is a masquerade ball, is it not?'

Her response was arch and Captain Ormonde chuckled, responding perhaps not as flatteringly as she had hoped. ‘I recognise you by your companion who appears like Gulliver among the Lilliputians.'

Charlotte turned an uncertain face to George Lockwood, whose arm she still held. A muscle in her companion's jaw twitched but he smiled and said, ‘Perhaps, Miss Blythe, I can claim you for the dance after this one?' Charlotte nodded and took Captain Ormonde's proffered hand and followed him to make up the nearest set.

George Lockwood turned to Leonora and muttered, ‘I thought the Duchess did not approve of the waltz, but it seems Lord Dearlove has persuaded her otherwise. I just hope it will be no excuse for the Captain's indecorous behaviour should he request a further dance.'

Leonora's face was grave. ‘I must admit I have my reasons to be wary of him, but it concerns me you think he may be a fortune hunter with his eyes set on Charlotte when she appears to esteem him so.'

When Charlotte returned to them, breathless and slightly flushed, Mr Lockwood said, ‘Let me introduce you to my stepfather.' He led Leonora and Charlotte towards a group of exquisites. Beau Beacham seemed to straddle both the raffish and haut ton . His presence was so distinctive that not even his black mask disguised him. Not particularly tall, he nevertheless seemed in perfect physical proportion, made more striking by the cut of his dark coat and silver satin pantaloons. His calves in his evening hose were as elegant as a woman's and his face, no longer young, was still handsome and crowned with an operatic head of grey curls, contrived into fashionable disarray. He was surrounded by a laughing group of fellow dandies, willows amongst whom George Lockwood, despite his fine-tailored evening apparel, looked like a sturdy oak.

‘Ladies, my stepfather, Beau Beacham. Sir, may I introduce you to Miss Charlotte Blythe, the Countess of Bucklebury's kin, and Miss Appleby, chatelaine of Hasterleigh Manor.'

Mr Beacham turned from his admiring acolytes and cast his sparkling gaze on Charlotte. The magic word ‘Countess' had piqued his interest. He had heard talk too of her fortune. He brought her hand slowly to his lips, his dark eyes continually holding hers. She dropped her gaze and blushed. He murmured, ‘Miss Blythe, I am grateful indeed to make your acquaintance. George will look after you, I'm sure.'

Taking Leonora's hand, a roguish look came into his eyes. He recognised her as no longer a green girl and treated her in a more gamesome way. Tucking her hand into his arm, he whisked her off into the ballroom. ‘I think I hear the strains of a waltz!' he said, and without hesitation, slipped his arm around her waist and whirled her into the colourful fray.

Leonora gave a small gasp. The waltz was a new and racy dance and still disapproved of in their country dances back home. She had learnt it along with Charlotte but had not had any occasion to practise it in public; to have this stranger clasp her body so close to his seemed extraordinarily intimate. With a pang she realised it was not Beau Beacham, but a distant lord whose arm she wished to have so insistent around her waist.

The music that poured from the orchestra was thrilling. She had never been at a ball where the musicians numbered more than three and to have this octet of harpsichord, flute, violins, hautbois, double bass and English horn made her heart swell. The ballroom itself was awash with candlelight, the walls lined with looking glasses that reflected the scintillas of light and brilliant dresses like a glittering phantasmagoria of movement and colour.

After a few moments, Leonora began to relax and enjoy the exhilaration of waltzing in the arms of a practised dancer. She did not notice Captain Ormonde watching their progress round the floor with dark narrowed eyes. Nor did she see Charlotte in the arms of George Lockwood, confident, not looking anxiously at her feet but up into his face, and managing to converse a little.

Beau Beacham was amusing and rather shocking with his indelicate gossip about various other guests as they danced past. ‘Ah, mon dieu ! That big-bellied cochon is the Honourable Lord Ponsonby and that lady in his arms is no lady. An intimate moment with him, she once told me, was akin to having a wardrobe fall on her with the key still in the lock.' Leonora was astonished that he should talk to her, a young woman he did not know, with such a lack of propriety or discretion, but his laugh at her shocked expression was infectious and she found herself laughing too. The Beau pulled her close to his hip and whirled her into a showy final spin which left her breathless. Music and dancing never failed to stir her heart, even if it was a disreputable charmer, almost old enough to be her father, whose arms held her close.

The first waltz of the night came to a halt with everyone rather giddy and excited. Beau Beacham gave her waist a final squeeze and leaning close, murmured in her ear, ‘There is something about you, Miss Appleby, or perhaps your estate, that has excited my George beyond measure. I'm afraid once he moves to Hasterleigh, London will never see him again.'

Leonora extracted herself from his embrace and responded with a smile, ‘I don't think the allure is mine, sir, but Mr Lockwood is certainly excited by the land.'

‘I find that impossible to understand.' He held her gloved fingers to his lips, appraising her with lustrous eyes, then bowed before returning her to her friends. The orchestra tuned up again just as Lord Dearlove, unmistakeable in his elegance despite a dashing black crystal mask, swept up and grasped Leonora's hand. ‘Madame, will you do me the honour of partnering me in this cotillion?' Leonora bowed, not certain if he had recognised her or was just charming to every woman he met. As he led her to the dance, he murmured, ‘Your disguise is not very effective, dear Miss Appleby; your resplendent hair gives you away.'

Leonora laughed. He was vain and frittered his life on gambling and pleasure, but he was handsome and there was something appealing about his warmth and lightness of being. They moved into the circular motion that began the dance. He was a most delightful partner, amusing in his chatter and generous of spirit. She felt entirely easy in his company. As the cotillion ended, he asked her if she needed any refreshment.

Leonora declined with a smile. She was hoping to sit out the next dance and was about to claim a chair at the edge of the ballroom floor when she felt her skin prick, a sensation she had had once before. Someone with an unsettling energy was standing behind her.

‘Miss Appleby, may I have the honour of the next dance?' The voice was insinuating and familiar; she could feel his breath on her cheek. She turned to meet the narrow eyes of Captain Ormonde, watching her as he murmured, ‘It sounds as if it's a waltz.'

Politeness decreed she could not refuse him, so she placed her hand on his arm as he led her to the dance floor. Captain Ormonde behaved with greater decorum than Beau Beacham and as the music started, they danced at the required formal distance and only on the turns did his arm draw her closer. But his conversation was not as amusing as the Beau's; there was a predatory energy about him. The flash of his legendary smile was indeed charming but always troubling when allied with his cynical manner. He murmured as they danced, ‘Miss Blythe is looking very fine tonight. What a difference when a young woman learns she's been born of aristocratic blood.'

Leonora thought this a strangely disobliging comment and changed to a more neutral subject. ‘To which regiment do you belong, Captain?'

‘The King's Regiment.' He danced them away from the window then added, ‘The same as the Rokeby brothers.'

Too late she realised this was not an uncontroversial topic of conversation. Leonora felt the fluttering of alarm. ‘I suppose your paths didn't necessarily cross?'

She felt his shoulders stiffen under her fingers. ‘Indeed. They were often out of camp. Exploring officers are mostly in enemy territory before reporting their findings back to our commanders.'

There was a hostility in every mention he made of them, and Leonora grew even more uneasy. She met his eyes as he danced her out of the path of another waltzing couple and said, ‘Knowing a little of what the Earl of Rokeby has been through has made me full of admiration of all men who go to war.'

The dance had come to an end and Leonora was keen to get away, but he clamped her hand on his arm and she did not want to make a scene. In a low ferocious voice he said, ‘I suppose your admiration for military men falls on your local Earl? I presume he told you his brother died in his arms on the field of battle?'

Leonora tried to extract her hand discreetly from his grasp. She was wary as she said, ‘He did.'

‘Well, rather than trying to save his brother, Alistair Rokeby walked away and left him to die. That way he inherited the estate, the title, everything.'

A protective outrage rose in her breast. She did not want to be heard so lowered her voice, but emotion burst out of her. ‘How dare you blacken a man's name thus. How can you say such a wicked thing?'

Captain Ormonde met her blazing eyes and answered her with deadly intent. ‘Because I was there when his "heroic " brother died and far from cradling him in his arms, Alistair Rokeby was off rutting with one of Boney's army cooks.'

Leonora felt as if she had been punched and gasped with the force of the blow. She walked quickly to the far side of the room just as the music for the next dance was beginning. Her emotions were in such miserable turmoil, she ignored the music, the dancers. Disbelief, jealousy, fear, anger and love were coiled in a deadly ferment. She had witnessed the closeness of Madame Dupré's relationship with Lord Rokeby; indeed, it had haunted her thoughts; could such a dreadful thing be true?

She was gazing sightless on the dark garden when she became aware of a ripple of consternation through the room. The orchestra slithered to a halt and everyone turned to the double doors where a dishevelled figure in black, his great wolfhound by his side, had just entered. For a moment, Leonora stopped breathing.

The Earl of Rokeby was without a mask, wearing only his distinctive eye patch and yet, even fully masked, she would have known him anywhere. His height and natural authority distinguished him. To her he was the most admirable and manly of men and whenever she saw him, her pulse quickened. The dancers had stopped momentarily and Leonora watched him scan the room. A man's voice was heard. ‘This is the Duchess's ballroom. Dogs to the stables, my lord!' But Lord Rokeby ignored the instruction, still looking from masked face to masked face, seeking the person he had come for. Leonora heard a woman next to her mutter, ‘It's such bad form to parade your wounds at a social event. Look at his face! We want to enjoy ourselves and not be reminded of the war.'

Her companion chimed in. ‘And as for his uncouth behaviour bringing his cur…'

Leonora's emotions were so close to the surface she could not stop herself turning to face the woman, turbaned in pink silk with a matching pink feathered mask. In a quiet voice filled with fury she said, ‘Madame! It is men like Lord Rokeby who sacrifice their health, even their lives, to keep us safe and able to enjoy such entertainments as these!'

Then Achille suddenly caught a scent and trotted purposefully through the crowd, followed by his master, heading into the press of dancers who parted like the Red Sea. In moments they were by Leonora's side. She felt the dog's wet nose nuzzling her hand and looked up into the tense face of Lord Rokeby. Her knees almost gave way with the shock and emotion of having him so close to her again. The music had started but everyone's eyes in the room had seen his dramatic entrance and wondered what had drawn him here with such urgency.

Taking Leonora's arm, Alistair Rokeby drew her away into the window embrasure farthest from the orchestra. She had recovered some of her equilibrium. ‘Lord Rokeby! I thought you could not stomach Town and that nothing would induce you to appear at any event, let alone one like this.'

They moved farther into the recess and he said in a bitter voice, ‘You're right, it's not my favoured habitat.'

‘Then why here? Why now?'

‘I've been summoned to receive my brother's posthumous medal for gallantry. I went to my grandmother's house to find you had left for this pantomime.' He indicated the masked throng with disdain. ‘I had to enter the lion's den to find you.' He then took both Leonora's hands and gazed deep into her eyes with an unspoken question she could not fathom. He continued with a throb in his voice, ‘Hasterleigh is not the same without you. I could not wait any longer. Achille needs you, my piano-forte has lost its harmony… And I too am strangely unstrung.'

Leonora had spent two weeks longing to see him again, yet not knowing anything about his feelings, about the truth of anything in his life or hers. His declaration of need for her could barely be understood in her current state of anxious unknowing.

Lord Rokeby's voice dropped lower and he was speaking fast, as if he did not quite believe the coup de foudre that had overtaken him so completely. ‘Before you, everything seemed black. Achille was all I cared for and the only reason to continue. And then on a muddy lane, you arrived in my life.' He dragged his hand across his brow. ‘A country maid with your basket of apples and a pink nose from the cold, but you were a flame to light me through the darkness. Just knowing you were in the world, I began to love life as you did. But it was a love too keen to bear alone.'

Leonora's heart had begun its speeding rhythm that made her tremble, her head grow light and dizzy. Alistair Rokeby squeezed her hands, his words tumbling out. ‘But with you gone this long fortnight, I realised it is not enough just to know you're in the world. I want you close to me, day and night.'

This was more than she had even dreamed she would hear from his lips. It was all she had longed for and she returned his grip with a force of feeling that overwhelmed her. But Leonora could not forget the Earl's greeting of Madame Dupré as if she were the only woman in the world for him. What did his impassioned declaration mean alongside that? And Captain Ormonde's malignant words seeped into her mind like an ineradicable stain. The ecstasy at having him close at last, declaring such feelings, became as insubstantial as will-o'-the-wisps in the shadow of the shameful suspicions she could not ignore.

‘But my lord, what about Madame Dupré?' She met his gaze with uncertain eyes.

He looked shocked then turned away, his voice short and clipped. ‘I have explained her part in my past. You have no reason to bring her into this conversation.'

‘But is it the past? She stayed with you at the Abbey, without a chaperone.' Leonora could have bitten her tongue for saying something so mean and provincial-minded, but she had not voiced her fears to anyone, and they had grown in the silence until she could not suppress them any longer.

Lord Rokeby turned back to her, his face once more contorted with strain. ‘I've told you already she saved my life. I owe her that affection and respect for eternity. But it is you ' – his voice cracked with passion – ‘who made me want to live again. And that is everything!'

His look was so intense she felt in danger of bursting into flames with the heat of emotion between them. But she had to know if there was any truth in Captain Ormonde's words. ‘Forgive my asking, my lord, but did your brother truly die in your arms?'

‘What makes you doubt me?' His brow was thunderous.

Leonora met his flashing gaze. ‘It's just Captain Ormonde said he was there…' Her words tailed off as she saw the colour flare across Lord Rokeby's cheekbones.

‘How can you give any credence to the words of a blackguard and turncoat, and trust them more than mine? How could you? I thought we understood and trusted each other. That we were as one!' Not wishing to be overheard, his voice was quiet but deadly. He was wild with disdain for Ormonde and Leonora felt his cold disappointment spread to her too.

‘What was I to think? The Captain said he was there and you left the field with Madame Dupré!' she gasped, angry tears in her eyes, mortified by words she had never meant to say.

Lord Rokeby could not know her vulnerability, the corrosive power of her fear of loss. All he heard was the terrible slur, and her willingness to entertain it. He turned away; even Achille seemed to evade her eyes. ‘That is despicable! And it is contemptible to give any credence to what Ormonde says. How can you believe such slander against me? How can you repeat it?' With that he had gone, and Leonora collapsed onto the nearest chair, unable to stand. So great was her dismay and fury with herself for such a betrayal of him that she closed her eyes, wishing she was anywhere but here.

After a while she heard the chair next to hers creak as someone sat down beside her. She opened her eyes and looked straight into the concerned face of George Lockwood. ‘Miss Appleby, I wondered if you needed some company. I'm afraid the ballroom has been agog with the Earl's arrival and precipitate departure. May I suggest we dance and look as if we're enjoying ourselves, to still the clacking tongues?'

Despite her wintry heart, Leonora smiled. He was the nicest of men and how perfect for her beloved Charlotte. Suddenly alarmed, she turned and said, ‘Where is Charlotte?' She was her responsibility and she noticed Nanny P was no longer eagle-eyed in her chaperonage, having extracted her knitting from her reticule.

‘Don't worry about Miss Blythe. She's enjoying herself greatly dancing with Lord Dearlove. He has a certain irresistible charm.' His expression was rueful as they stood up and George Lockwood proffered his arm to Leonora. ‘A new quadrille is about to begin and I would be very grateful if you would partner me.'

‘Thank you, Mr Lockwood.' Her emotions were still close to the surface and blushing, she blurted out, ‘You could not be a better friend.' She managed to put on a passable show as the dancing and chatter continued past midnight. At one point, Leonora was disconcerted to see Charlotte in close conversation with Captain Ormonde, her face unusually downcast. When she approached, both made an effort to look more sanguine and turned away to join a reel.

By the end of the night Leonora was exhausted with the effort of geniality and when she finally took refuge beside Mrs Priddy, she was pleased to see that Charlotte too was ready to leave and had collected George Lockwood to escort them home. All were subdued in the carriage as they made the short journey from Grosvenor Square to Brook Street. The horses trotted round the Square and passed Rokeby House; with a pang Leonora noticed candelabra still burning in the windows and she wondered if Lord Rokeby's spirits were as much out of sorts as hers.

Leonora awoke the next morning, heavy-hearted and nostalgic for the uncomplicated life that had once been hers. Questions and regrets circled in her fatigued brain like a whirlpool that never comes to rest. Flora brought her a cup of hot chocolate and put it on the table. ‘Good morning, Miss Appleby. Amy is unwell so if you need anything, I'll be next door with Miss Blythe.'

Charlotte's heart was also heavy but for different reasons. She was assailed with conflicting feelings about Captain Ormonde and his animosity towards her father and Lord Rokeby. Her inability to reconcile her admiration for the Captain with her pride in her father and his family held her in a painful vice of anxiety. There was a soft knock on her door and not Amy, as she expected, but Flora appeared, carrying a tray. ‘Good morning, Miss Blythe,' she said as she offered her a cup of chocolate.

‘I'm pleased to see you again,' Charlotte said sitting up, her hair a mess. ‘I'm grateful for your skills yesterday, Flora. It's the first time I've felt truly equal to the situation.' She smiled.

‘There's a letter for you.' The maid held out a folded and sealed piece of writing paper addressed with a small, neat hand. She then went to draw back one curtain so Charlotte could read.

With a delighted cry, Charlotte took it, saying as she read, ‘It's from the Reverend and Mama Mildmay.'

‘Did they care for you well?' Flora's question was tentative and barely beyond a whisper.

Charlotte, distracted by reading all the gossip of the village, answered without looking up, ‘As well as any parent ever could.' It then occurred to her that Flora's question displayed some unexpected knowledge of her life. She met her eyes, brilliant in the morning light. ‘Do you know them, Flora?'

‘I met them once.' She had turned away and was drawing the curtains fully back to reveal a sunny day.

‘Then you know Hasterleigh?' Charlotte leant forward eagerly; it was so rare to meet other people who knew the village.

‘I was very young and it was a long time ago.' She was walking towards the door. ‘If you need help with your dressing or your hair, I'll be next door with Miss Appleby.' Charlotte eventually climbed out of bed and padded through to Leonora's room.

She was already up and being laced by Flora into her stays. ‘Good morning, Lottie. I hope you slept well.'

‘I did. Can I get into your bed?' Charlotte did not wait for a reply but clambered into the mound of feather mattress, bed linen and quilt, grateful for its warmth. ‘Flora knows Hasterleigh,' she said.

‘It was so long ago I barely remember it,' the maid said hastily, bending her head to focus on lacing the stays. Leonora was suddenly alert. ‘Were you working at Rokeby Abbey? Or Oak Hall for the Foplings, perhaps?'

‘It was a big house and I was only a girl. My first job. That's all I remember, Miss Appleby.' Flora was flustered. Having helped Leonora into her morning gown she left the room in some haste.

Leonora looked thoughtful and rather troubled. She walked to Charlotte's bedside and took her hand, saying in a quiet voice, ‘Lottie, does Flora seem familiar to you? Her hands? Her eyes?'

Charlotte was deep in the folds of the bed and answered sleepily, ‘I like how she looks, but familiar, no, I don't think so. Why?'

‘I just wondered if she may have been at the Abbey.' Leonora paused; her instinct knew there was more than Flora was willing to say. ‘But perhaps her reluctance to recall the time is because of some horror with Sir Roderick Fopling. Stories were rife about his licentious behaviour and servant girls fleeing in the night.'

‘You've reminded me. I had a letter from Mama Mildmay.' She paused, aware of the shocking nature of what she was about to impart. ‘Sir Roderick was thrown from his horse while out hunting. Dead before they even got to him. A broken neck they think.'

‘That is terrible news. Lottie, you should have told me sooner!' Then more equably, she continued, ‘But I suppose for a fox-hunting man like him, death would be better than being so incapacitated that he'd never ride again.' Leonora recalled her odd conversation with Hasterleigh's own green witch, who had determined she would marry Curate Fopling. ‘Miss Vazey told me before we left for London that Richard Fopling's father was not long for this world.'

Charlotte grasped her hand. ‘Do you think she really is a witch?' Her eyes were wide.

‘I don't know I believe in witches, although I do think Richard Fopling is some kind of angel.' Leonora laughed. ‘I certainly think they're particularly well suited.'

Leonora was sitting on the bed beside Charlotte and in the moment of intimacy and confidences, Charlotte asked one of the questions that had troubled her sleep. ‘What was the business Lord Rokeby had with you? He left in such a rage all eyes were upon him.'

Leonora hung her head for a moment. ‘Since the death of Captain Worth in Spain I thought my chance of love was lost for ever.' She looked up to meet Charlotte's sympathetic gaze. ‘But against all sense and expectation I have awoken to the possibilities of love again.'

‘For Lord Rokeby?' Charlotte's eyes flashed with delight.

‘I can hardly bring myself to voice such presumption. But yes, I fear my heart is his for ever, even should he care not to receive it.'

There was a bleakness in Leonora's voice that clutched at Charlotte's heart. She put out a hand and grasped hers. ‘Why is that presumptuous? Anyone would be lucky indeed to win your affections. Why should he not feel the same?'

Leonora continued in a faltering way, almost disbelieving of the tale herself. ‘When I was last at the Abbey with Nanny P, a Frenchwoman arrived and threw herself into his arms. Apparently, she had saved his life on the battlefield and nursed him back to health.' She took a deep breath. ‘I'm ashamed to admit it Lottie, but I was filled with jealousy. As if I had any rights over him!'

‘So why did he leave the ball last night as if riding a storm?'

‘Because I was cloth-eared and did not listen to his own feelings on the matter. Instead, I allowed jealousy and suspicion to speak. I mentioned what Captain Ormonde had told me and he will not forgive me for giving the Captain's words equal weight with his own.'

Charlotte squeezed her friend's hand. ‘I sensed Lord Rokeby had touched your heart. But take courage. Love cannot end so easily – and through a misunderstanding too.'

‘I can only hope it is a misunderstanding and that his feelings for Madame Dupré go no deeper than respect and gratitude. My head is painfully confused with hope, then despair.' Leonora turned her gaze on Charlotte. ‘But tell me, Lottie, why your long face when in the company of Captain Ormonde last night? He seems to have a talent for disruption.'

Charlotte bridled. ‘I think him a war hero who has suffered much and is much misunderstood!'

Leonora looked at her intently. ‘You sound as if you're susceptible to him yourself?'

‘I don't know what I feel. I like his company, his stories are so diverting, and I think him very handsome. But I don't want to marry him.'

Leonora was startled. ‘Well then you most certainly must not!'

‘He feels ill-used, says a man like him without a fortune would not be able to consider himself a suitor for an heiress like me. That the Earl and his family would never agree to a marriage.'

‘Is this why he shows such animosity towards Lord Rokeby?'

Charlotte's fair skin flushed, her own emotions hard to fathom even to herself. She said hesitantly, ‘I think he thinks he should right a wrong. He now claims he has evidence that one of the Rokeby brothers was in the pay of Napoleon and his generals. That they are not the heroes everyone thinks they are.'

Leonora felt her outrage flare again. ‘He cannot continue to spread such calumny. One brother died for his country, the other has injuries he will carry all his life. Does Captain Ormonde know better than the generals who of their men are the gallant ones?' She leapt to her feet. ‘Lord Rokeby is in Town specifically to collect his brother's Army Gold Medal. So few are awarded; if Ormonde truly has evidence to the contrary then he should take it to the authorities.'

‘I cannot think other than that my father and Lord Rokeby were heroes.'

‘Well, that's what their commanding officers and the world considers them to be.'

‘If we were men, and proud and pig-headed enough, we could challenge Captain Ormonde to a duel.' Despite their own troubled spirits, both young women managed to laugh at the vagaries of men. ‘But I mean it, Leonora. I am proud to have the blood of heroes in my veins and I will strive to prove myself worthy of them.'

Leonora stood up. ‘That can be an onerous burden to bear. Instead, aim to fully live your life, bringing happiness to yourself and others.' She offered her hand. ‘Come on, Lottie. Get up and we'll take the horses out for a ride in Hyde Park. That will blow all frowziness away.'

Lady Bucklebury was waiting for them at the breakfast table. ‘My dears, tell me about last night. I've heard the gossip already of my disreputable grandson turning up in the Countess's ballroom with his hound. Tsk! So uncouth, but just what I would expect of Alistair. Talk had it he was in search of some unknown lady.' Her eyes were twinkling. ‘Do any of you know the identity of the young woman?'

Mrs Priddy had just entered the room and she and Charlotte glanced at Leonora, who almost imperceptibly shook her head. Lady Bucklebury continued in a peevish voice. ‘That boy was always so secretive, so havey-cavey about his doings. You recall him when young, don't you, Mrs Priddy?' She turned to where Nanny P had settled into a chair with a cup of coffee.

‘I always found Master Alistair a most interesting child, full of spirit and generosity of heart.'

‘I'm afraid his father was not as amused. He was more chastised than any child I knew. It pained poor Venetia very much. My daughter felt she had no power to protect him.'

‘But his brother could.' Leonora's voice made them all turn to look at her.

Mrs Priddy nodded. ‘True enough, but not against everything.' Mrs Priddy's soft face was mournful. ‘I counselled he should be allowed greater freedoms with more employment on the estate perhaps. He has such a way with dogs and horses.'

Leonora busied herself spreading jam on her toast but was listening intently to the conversation. Lady Bucklebury's voice became more emphatic. ‘As the second son, he could please himself when Charles was alive, but now he's the Earl he has to take his responsibilities seriously. When you inherit a great estate, your life is no longer your own, but has to be lived for the family's greater good.'

Leonora realised with a sinking heart that Lady Bucklebury might as well be reciting the warning to Ophelia against any pretensions towards Prince Hamlet:

His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own; For he himself is subject to his birth… And therefore must his choice be circumscribed.

Mrs Priddy was quick to smooth the waters. ‘I'm sure Lord Rokeby has shouldered his new responsibility already. He's most particular about his stables and bloodstock.'

Lady Bucklebury snorted. ‘That's about all he seems particular about.' Then a thought appeared to strike her and she asked, ‘Was that high-crested Livia Dearlove at the ball last night?' Without waiting for a reply, she continued in a ruminative tone, ‘Now she would make a suitable countess for him, don't you think? Before Alistair went to war, he spent much time with that ne'er-do-well brother of hers and I often wondered if the attraction was not more likely the sister.'

Leonora paused in the process of pouring everyone a second cup of coffee. This unexpected train of thought about Lord Rokeby shook her; Livia Dearlove had not occurred to her as a possible candidate for the post of Countess of Rokeby. In as neutral a manner as she could muster, she said, ‘We have entertained Lady Livia at Hasterleigh Manor. She does not seem to be someone entirely at ease in the country.'

With a jolt, Leonora realised that Lady Bucklebury was much more perceptive than she appeared as the old Countess replied with a glint in her eye, ‘Mmm, that could be a disadvantage, given Alistair's reclusive habits. Perhaps these Town girls are not ideal marriage material for such a particular bridegroom?' Her mischievous eyes alighted on Leonora's more guarded face, as she mused, ‘I certainly think he deserves some happiness after all he's been through, but only an unusual sort of woman could put up with his eccentric character and taste for excess. What think you, Miss Appleby?'

Leonora stood up. ‘I wouldn't presume to know, Lady Bucklebury.' She felt the colour rise in her cheeks and changed the subject. ‘Just after noon, Charlotte and I are hoping to ride the horses you and the Earl so kindly put at our disposal. It'll exercise them and clear our own heads after last night.'

‘Oh, I would like to accompany you, but sadly my equestrian days are long past.' Leonora and Mrs Priddy helped her walk slowly to the door. ‘Enjoy yourselves, my dears. Do not break too many hearts, especially not your own.'

The bright morning had turned into a beautiful early spring afternoon with birds singing in the crisp air. Charlotte and Leonora rode towards the Park, accompanied at a discreet distance by Davy, the Bucklebury groom, who was watchful over the behaviour of the young ladies' horses, but also wary of uninvited approaches by strange men. Leonora had never seen so many people, horses and carriages in one place before, most dressed to be admired in bright silks with gay plumes of feathers waving on their hats. The men were equally showy on their glossy hunters or driving smart painted carriages.

Both young women drew appraising glances, Leonora knew as much for the striking Rokeby horses as for themselves. Minerva sniffed the air, trembling with anticipation of a canter through the trees; Iris was more docile but aware of her beauty and trotted with a proud and easy grace. Leonora felt certain they would meet someone they knew and the thought heightened her spirits. There was excitement in having so many attractive and eligible young men and women gathered into one small space for the Season, a more varied collection of people than she would ever see in a lifetime lived contentedly at Hasterleigh. Out of the blur of distant riders, one emerged, unmistakeable for his height and the size of his horse. ‘I can see Mr Lockwood ahead.' She turned to Charlotte with a smile.

They had also been spotted and within a minute George Lockwood, accompanied by Lady Livia and her groom, trotted towards them. ‘Why doesn't he see through her artificial charm?' Charlotte muttered under her breath. Leonora looked at her sharply; was she jealous too?

‘Hallo, ladies! I had hoped I'd see you in the Park this afternoon.' His eyes met theirs as he continued in his genial way, ‘I must say you both look very well indeed after the demands of last night. You know of course, the Honourable Miss Dearlove.' He turned in the saddle to include his companion in his bonhomie.

The women bowed their heads in greeting. Livia Dearlove never failed to put pressure on a bruise. ‘My dears, what an exciting night that was,' she purred. ‘The Countess's ball has never been so eventful. You do seem to attract a certain raffish element, Miss Appleby.'

Leonora stiffened. She had hoped that her mask had ensued a certain anonymity, but it seemed not. ‘It was a most enjoyable ball,' she said in an evasive way.

‘Those are possibly amongst the best examples of equine beauty on show today,' George Lockwood said, gazing at the restive mares.

Leonora noticed on the treeline a black horse and rider galloping, with a long-legged hound beside him, slipping in and out of the shadows. Her heart was suddenly pounding in her ears as she realised this was the only person she wanted to see. Without hesitating, she turned to Mr Lockwood, Lady Livia and Charlotte and said in a rush, ‘Forgive me but I have something to tell that rider.' She gave Minerva her head and Davy spurred his horse in pursuit. She realised that Lord Rokeby was looping through the trees past the Tyburn toll and would end up at the farthest bank of the Serpentine. She set Minerva to head him off and they both arrived breathless at the intersection of paths and pulled their horses up, Jupiter stamping and bridling, and Minerva, recognising her stable mate, whinnying her greeting, and trying to fuss and nuzzle him.

Their riders were less effusive. ‘Miss Appleby, good day.' Lord Rokeby's face was stern as he tipped his hat, dismissing Leonora with a brief nod of his head and about to ride on.

‘Wait, Lord Rokeby!' The gaze he turned on her was so cold that Leonora faltered. There was too much she wished to say, but only managed the least controversial, ‘I wanted to thank you for the loan of such splendid horses.'

‘It's my pleasure, Miss Appleby.' He wheeled the mighty Jupiter round and, showing more civility to his grandmother's groom, commended Davy on the excellent condition of his horses. He was about to turn away when he paused and said in a subdued voice, ‘I should have told you sooner, perhaps. While my brother was commanding a force in Holland he had to discipline Captain Ormonde for his mistreatment of a young Hollander girl. He was flogged in front of the company as a warning that such behaviour would not be countenanced. Ormonde vowed revenge against us.'

Leonora was shocked and mortified by her own gullibility. ‘I'm sorry, Lord Rokeby. That is shameful. I did not know.'

With a hard stare he drawled, ‘I have learnt in a dangerous world that knowing who your friends are can be a matter of life and death.' He gazed over her head at some distant horizon. ‘In my experience, a friend always thinks the best of you, and endeavours to do the best by you.'

Sudden anger blazed up in Leonora's breast at the unfairness of being condemned as a faithless friend when she had not even known what his feelings were for her. She had been confused by Captain Ormonde's assertions and her own jealousy of Madame Dupré, but now his moral loftiness irked her, for Alistair Rokeby, by his own definition, was proving himself as faithless as he adjudged her to be. Her chin went up and she said, ‘Sir, if that's your ideal of friendship, perhaps I can expect you to be the kind of friend to think the best of me, and want what's best for me?'

His gaze snapped back to her face. ‘Of course I do. No faithless friend am I, Miss Appleby. Look what I have done for you. Introduced you to my Grandmama, making it possible for you to have the benefit of the Season alongside Charlotte?—'

His catalogue of good works was cut short by Leonora. ‘By your leave, Lord Rokeby. Having me accompany Charlotte to London has not been in my best interests. If you knew me and were a true friend, then you would have left me to my own contentment in Hasterleigh. That's where I'm happiest.' She could feel her cheeks flushing with emotion as she spoke.

‘But what about the chance to marry? All women surely want that?'

With tears pricking her eyes, Leonora said, ‘The man I loved who wished to marry me was killed at Fuengirola; why should I choose to marry anyone else? Certainly not a Town dandy who disdains the country and all who live in it!'

His face softened into a smile. ‘As you can see, I could never claim to be a Town dandy, but give us gentlemen a chance, Miss Appleby. It's hard to compete with a dead hero.' He caught her eye. ‘I should know.' Leonora was surprised by the unexpected tenderness of his expression as he continued, ‘We both have unhealed wounds and should treat each other with care.' Then, with the lightest touch, his great black horse leapt forward and the Earl of Rokeby sped away.

Leonora watched him canter around the distant shore of the Serpentine, Jupiter's long tail streaming behind him in the sun. He was right. She should never have doubted him. How clear it was now that Captain Ormonde was out to destroy the Rokeby brothers and she had wielded his perfidious sword for him.

Charlotte trotted up on Iris, closely followed by George Lockwood. ‘Leonora, why the haste? His lordship is making a habit of leaving your company at speed. You seem to have an inflammatory effect on him every time you meet.' Her expression was full of mischief.

Leonora could not reveal her mortification and managed a rueful smile, then looked at Mr Lockwood. ‘Where's Lady Livia? We haven't chased her away I hope?'

His expression clouded. ‘Not at all. I said I must escort Miss Blythe until you returned from your business with the Earl, and she said she had urgent matters to attend to back at Berkeley Square.'

‘Well, I have to apologise to you both.' Leonora was shamefaced at how impetuous her behaviour had been, and how discourteous to her companions. She continued, ‘I wished to thank Lord Rokeby for the loan of these mares from his stables and I didn't know when I would see him again.' She did not see Charlotte and George Lockwood exchange a knowing glance but leaning forward to pat Minerva's neck, she added, ‘I'm getting rather chilled. Would you mind if we turn for home?'

They were trotting in a sedate manner and were approaching Grosvenor Gate when they heard a cry. Turning in the saddle, Leonora saw an outlandish figure cantering towards them. She was obviously a woman, dressed in a striped coat but wearing her full skirt, divided so she could use a man's saddle to ride astride her horse. Her long curling hair was tied back and Leonora recognised her as the woman who haunted her jealous dreams. ‘Madame Dupré!'

The Frenchwoman pulled her horse up in a flurry of gravel and grass and leapt off its back as athletically as if she were a man. She approached Leonora with her hand outstretched and a smile on her face. In her heavily accented voice, she cried, ‘ Ah! Quelle co?ncidence, Miss Appleby? I had seen Monsieur Alistair's horses and hoped to find it was you.'

Leonora was surprised to be excited to see her again, and yet full of dread; although Alistair Rokeby had declared his love for her, he had never denied that Claudette Dupré was his mistress. She turned to George Lockwood and Charlotte. ‘May I introduce you to Madame Dupré. She saved the Earl's life at Corunna. Madame, this is Mr Lockwood and Miss Blythe who both live as neighbours to Rokeby Abbey.' They all bowed their heads in greeting. Then Leonora added, ‘Charlotte, if you're happy to be escorted home by Mr Lockwood…' She looked to him for a response on the matter. ‘It's such a short ride I hope the absence of my company will not outrage any proprieties. I just need to talk to Madame Dupré.' They waved and set off for Grosvenor Gate.

Davy put a hand up to help Leonora dismount from Minerva and then followed the women at a discreet distance, with the reins of all three horses in his hands. Leonora's cheeks were flushed with emotion as she turned to meet Claudette Dupré's dark eyes. ‘Madame, I did not expect to see you in London?' Her heart was hammering at the thought that Claudette Dupré had come in the company of Lord Rokeby and was still living under his protection at Grosvenor Square. Then Leonora noticed the Frenchwoman's mount was closer to a farm horse and not akin to the fine-boned steeds from the Earl's elite stables.

Madame Dupré laughed in her merry, unselfconscious way. ‘Ah, I am with the new ambassadeur to the Court of King George, le marquis de La Chatre. I manage la cantine for him.'

‘So you didn't come with Lord Rokeby's entourage?' Leonora could not stop herself blurting out, colouring all the more at how revealing of her deepest hopes and fears this must be.

Madame Dupré recognised her anxiety and grasped her hand with sisterly feeling, saying, ‘Miss Appleby, do not fear. Alistair is a brother for me. C'est vrai, I've seen him in extremis and he has no secret for me, but we are not amoureux . This is important, so how you say? We are not the lovers , I promise.'

Her frankness made Leonora gasp, but then relief flooded through her and she was suddenly dizzy with happiness. ‘Can you tell me about when you saved his life?'

‘Oh! Quel désastre ! I was busy with the wounded when I see this English with his face sabred, pouring blood, his leg twisted under him. In his arms was another English, but he was close to fini . The wound of his stomach was mortal. He could not live. I gave him brandy to suffer less. But this English would not leave. " Mon frère , my brother," he said again and again. "Leave me here with him."'

Leonora was immersed in the vividness of the scene and she squeezed Madame Dupré's hand with the force of her feeling. As they walked on in silence, she asked in a quiet voice, ‘How did you get Lord Rokeby to safety?'

‘We have men with carts to collect wounded and morts . They pick him up and put him with the other bodies. He was an officer, so they did not let him to die with the rest of the English but make him prisoner. He was lucky the surgeon see him and save his leg, sew his face too. Bof! Quel carnage! ' She had stopped, as if overwhelmed with the memory. ‘Then I take him to a house to be nursed.'

The clock in Grosvenor Chapel struck three and Madame Dupré was suddenly alert. ‘I must go!' She took the reins of her horse from Davy's hands and without help from him, swung herself up into the saddle. Looking into Leonora's upturned face, she said, ‘Alistair, your Earl, is special. When they discover he was one of Wellington's espions who send information back to the English, they want to shoot him, but he escape to live like a wild animal. That is when he found Achille.' She wheeled her horse around and over her shoulder said, ‘Alistair need a special woman to love. I hope you are that one, Miss Appleby, to love him as he deserve.' The extraordinary Frenchwoman then cantered off towards the trees.

Leonora's heart was like the sun which had suddenly emerged from a bank of cloud. She felt her body filled with light. Surely its radiating warmth could be seen in her face? Leonora thought with gratitude of the force of nature that had arrived to upend her life. Madame Dupré had not only saved Lord Rokeby from the battlefield, she had also illuminated Leonora's own life. Blazing like a comet from a different world, she had shown Leonora where her heart belonged. Returning today, she brought the gift of truth and clarity. Leonora knew she must hold this revelation close as she dared to open herself again to love.

Charlotte arrived home safely and unremarkably in the company of George Lockwood. ‘Well, what an eventful afternoon!' she said to him as they pulled their horses up outside the Bucklebury mansion. Mr Lockwood jumped down from Titan then walked round to catch Charlotte as she dismounted. She slipped down into his hands, so large they spanned her waist. He held her in his warm grip and placed her on the ground with deliberate care; even then he did not hurry to release her. Charlotte looked up into his face. ‘Thank you, Mr Lockwood.' Then she added, tilting her head, ‘Do you think love is in the air?'

Mr Lockwood's half smile made him look as if he knew more than he was admitting. As he led her to the door he said, ‘Are you thinking of Miss Appleby and the Earl, perchance? Or more generally? It is spring after all, and the sap is rising.' Then he turned and tipped his hat to her, sprang into the saddle and rode away into the sun, his large silhouette seeming mysterious, yet also consolingly familiar.

There was a letter waiting for her in the hall, addressed to Miss Blythe in a distinctive spiky hand she did not recognise. A mixture of excitement and anxiety gripped her as she read.

Dear Miss Blythe,

Would you do me the honour of meeting me tomorrow at Bullock's Museum, the Egyptian Hall, in Piccadilly. At 3p.m.

Bring a maid as chaperone rather than Miss Appleby.

Yours,

Guy Ormonde

Charlotte's mind was reeling as she ran upstairs to her room, and cast off her bonnet and pelisse before flinging herself on the bed. Why did Captain Ormonde ask her to meet without Leonora? Was this more business to do with her father's honour? She determined she would be independent and make her own decisions – prove herself a Rokeby in courage and spirit. Considering herself sensible and old enough to go alone, except for the necessary accompaniment of Flora, she scrawled an answering note of acquiescence, sealed it and asked Lady Bucklebury's butler if he could arrange to have it delivered. She did not want to deceive Leonora and was relieved to hear her come in and dash straight up the stairs to the drawing room. In moments, music filled the house, a passionate interpretation of Clementi's Etude played allegrissimo and at full volume. No one could ignore the emotion in her playing.

Mrs Priddy understood Leonora well enough to know that when she heard this cascade of notes played so emphatically, her young charge was in the grip of a tumult of feeling. She entered the room unseen and walked behind Leonora to put a hand lightly on her shoulder. The music stopped abruptly and Leonora leapt up and into her arms. ‘Oh, Nanny P, I love him, I love him!' she sobbed. ‘I can't believe I am saying this out loud, but my heart is too full. What am I to do?'

Mrs Priddy patted her back. ‘My love, why so anguished?'

‘Because anyone I love is taken from me. First Mama, then Captain Worth, then Papa. I'm so afraid. To love is too dangerous. There's only you and Charlotte left.'

‘Life rushes on and can't be stopped. We have to continue too, Nora; we cannot protect ourselves from sorrow by closing our hearts to love.'

‘But I can't bear any more loss.'

Mrs Priddy lifted Leonora's head and looked intently into her tear-stained face. ‘If you're worried about losing Lord Rokeby, you must stop now. He's been snatched once from the jaws of death. Now it's his turn to live.' Leonora nodded as Nanny P added, ‘And you have no excuse not to live as bravely as he does.'

‘But what if I'm not as loved by him as he is beloved by me? I have treated him so ill, have doubted his word. What an insult to a proud and honourable man! What if he despises me after showing such a mean and jealous aspect of myself?'

Mrs Priddy shook her. ‘No more of this talk, my dear. We are all fallible before God and all is forgiven by Him!'

Despite her tears, Leonora laughed. ‘Now you're sounding just like Curate Fopling!'

‘Well, he's a fine young man and you could take some lessons from him.' Mrs Priddy's pale blue eyes twinkled.

Leonora hugged her again. ‘I am happy that Charlotte will marry and leave me, but I don't want you to ever leave, my dearest Nanny P.'

‘Oh, come now! You know, my love, I won't leave you until you have your own family.' She kissed her on the forehead. ‘Now play that lovely tune.'