Page 25

‘Oh, Miss Angelica, it seems spring has arrived, let’s take advantage of it.’ Mary emerged from the domestic quarters at the back of the house and greeted Miss Fitzjames’s maid. All four young women descended the front steps and turned south towards Berkeley Street heading for Piccadilly and the Park. They crossed the busy thoroughfare and entered Green Park near the Queen’s Basin where the water glinted in the sun.

‘I’m surprised to see it so busy.’ Angelica looked at the fashionable crowd promenading down the Queen’s Walk. Men and a few stylish women were on horseback while curricles and phaetons harnessed up to teams of glossy horses drove sedately through the throng. Mostly people were on foot, strolling, hailing friends, standing in small groups in circles of sunlight between the trees, catching up on the latest gossip.

‘It certainly lifts the heart. All the colour and gaiety.’ Isobel Fitzjames barely managed a smile.

Angelica turned to look more closely at her friend, and said with some concern, ‘Are your spirits very much in need of lifting?’

Miss Fitzjames met her eyes with a slight frown. ‘I left my stepmother talking business with Lord Fulsham. I couldn’t bear to be in the same house as them both.’ In a rush of sisterly feeling, Angelica took her gloved hand in hers and squeezed it fleetingly. She wished she had something consoling to say.

At that moment they were approaching Earl Spencer’s imposing town house, eight pillars across and dominating the eastern border of Green Park, its Portland stone bright in the afternoon light. People were streaming down the imposing flight of steps and onto the grass. Two handsome young men stood at the top, shading their eyes against the sun as they surveyed the milling crowd.

‘Oh, Miss Angelica, look! Aren’t those your friends?’ Isobel Fitzjames’s voice grew animated.

Angelica recognised Lord Latimer and Dante Locke just as they too saw her and waved, beginning to weave their way towards them through the promenaders.

‘Oh, Miss Leigh. What a treat to find you here after the dullest afternoon.’ Lord Latimer grasped her hand, his amused eyes gazing into hers. He turned to her companion and murmured, ‘And it’s Miss Fitzjames, if I remember rightly.’ She too had the benefit of his charm and her face relaxed and looked almost merry.

‘It’s good to meet you again, my lord. And Mr Locke.’ Angelica proffered her hand to the young man who was standing slightly to one side, with an abstracted expression on his face.

‘Oh, Dante’s been unsettled by the execrable poetry we’ve been exposed to at the Earl’s assembly.’ Charles Latimer laughed. ‘He objected to the new Poet Laureate being there.’

‘I don’t disapprove of his early work. I do deplore, however, Mr Southey’s apostasy in turning from fire-eating radical to supporter and supplicant of a corrupt government.’ Dante Locke glowered into the middle distance as he muttered, ‘’Tis unconscionable that poets should dishonour the Muse by accepting the Crown’s lucre.’

‘Come, come, Mr Locke. Surely a poet has to eat too? He cannot live on ambrosia alone.’ Angelica spoke in jest as Lord Latimer took her hand and tucked it into his arm.

They were walking together, the maids trailing behind, when Lord Latimer expostulated, ‘We’re so in need of a restorative drink. Rather than go to St James’s may we repair instead to Berkeley Square with you?’

Angelica squeezed his arm companionably. ‘Of course. I’m feeling rather fatigued and would be happy to turn for home.’

Charles Latimer peered into her face with a worried frown. ‘I must say, Miss Leigh, you look a trifle peaky. Not your usual self.’

‘Talk about my health is tedious, my lord. Do tell us what you were doing at the Spencers’ this afternoon.’

‘It’s all my uncle’s doing. The old Earl is a friend of Ivor’s and a leading light of the dull tribe of Whigs.’

‘At least he’s not a Tory,’ Dante Locke said sulkily. Most young hotheads blamed every ill on a government in power too long.

Angelica turned with a wry smile. ‘So what did Mr Asprey think would be to your benefit?’

‘Oh, Spencer’s very proud of his extensive library and has regular meetings at his showy mansion when ancient texts are read out to an admiring audience. All raging bibliomaniacs, I fear.’

Dante Locke, walking with Isobel Fitzjames on his arm, interceded, ‘And don’t forget the music, Charlie. Some second-rate Handel songs sung by a querulous, elderly castrato. Despite being Italian, he made the afternoon unendurable.’

Angelica could not hide her curiosity. ‘You have yet to tell me, Lord Latimer, what your uncle hoped you would gain by this afternoon’s diversion.’

‘Diversion is the word. Under orders from Mama no doubt, he was attempting to counter the wastrel occupations of young noblemen and turn my interests to something more worthy.’ He snorted with derision. ‘Society has become so monumentally insufferable for anyone with spirit or heart. ’Tis formed of two mighty tribes – the bores and the bored!’

Angelica said with a laugh, ‘And you of course are neither.’ She understood exactly the Duchess and her brother’s intention. They had hoped to distract the son and heir from the company of actresses and gamesters, and the dangers of racing other wild bloods in curricles on the public highway. ‘And did your concerned relations’ plan succeed?’ she asked mischievously.

Dante Locke glowered and took up the plaint, ‘Miss Leigh, there was nothing there to attract a red-blooded young Tartar. Now if you or Miss Fitzjames had graced the gathering we might have had a sparkier time.’ He brought Isobel Fitzjames’s gloved hand to his lips and cast her a dark glance through lowered lashes. Angelica smiled. She was very close in age to these young men but had already lived a more varied life and felt much the older and wiser.

The bright afternoon was fast retreating as a thunderous dark cloud loomed up from the west. ‘Luckily, we’re home before the deluge,’ Angelica said as she led the way up the steps of number seven, Berkeley Square.

Martin opened the door with a low bow and addressed her in his sonorous voice, ‘Mrs Leigh asked me to let you know she’s out shopping.’ As he took the pelisses and bonnets, his eyes appraised the two young men who had turned up unexpectedly with his young mistress. ‘Well, Miss Angelica, didn’t pick these out of the gutter, did ye!’ he said appreciatively.

Lord Latimer looked astonished at Martin’s familiarity, verging on insolence. His mother ran a very formal ducal household in Grosvenor Square where servants glided about their duties without comment and never intruded or drew attention to themselves. Angelica replied in an amused voice, ‘Tush, Martin! Would you bring some ale and ratafia to the drawing room, if you please?’ She led the way up the grand serpentine stairs. Taking Charles Latimer’s arm she explained, ‘I’m so sorry, my lord. My mother’s butler has a thespian way about him. It seems you can extract the man from the theatre but not the theatre from the man.’

‘Well, he’s very lucky to have your mama rather than mine as his employer.’ He gave a grim smile. As they entered the drawing room, all eyes were immediately drawn to the glowing Lawrence portrait above the fireplace. ‘And is this your mama?’ Lord Latimer stood looking up into the sitter’s inviting gaze.