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‘Don’t worry, I’ll work out something clever and water tight. Don’t forget she’s only ever seen you on stage. She won’t suspect a thing.’

Isobel Asprey stood up too. ‘You look in need of rest, Miss Angelica.’

Lord Latimer grasped Miss Fitzjames by the arm. ‘Before we go, don’t forget your remarkable good news!’ Angelica looked up with a question in her eyes.

Her friend could not stop herself beaming. ‘It’s the most extraordinary turn of fortune. Some well-wisher sent me the deeds for the Fitzjames House in Berkeley Square. This was part of the family fortune lost by my father to Lord Fulsham.’

This piece of news startled Angelica. ‘That is wonderful. How extraordinary.’ She stood up to take both Miss Fitzjames’s hands in hers. ‘Could Lord Fulsham have taken pity on your plight?’ Her mind was in turmoil with questions and fragments of theories.

‘Oh no. It wasn’t him. He was fretting and fuming when he arrived to tell Mrs Fitzjames. He lost at Hazard it seems, something so rare, he was quite discomposed. But no one knows who his challenger was, as they were gaming in a private club where everyone is sworn to discretion. The Honour of Gentlemen.’

Lord Latimer interrupted, ‘The remarkable thing: the deeds are made out in Miss Fitzjames’s name, so her stepmother cannot dispossess her. And most of her father’s bonds were part of the bet, so she will have income too. She will be independent.’

‘Oh, such good news.’ Angelica clasped her friend in a hug. ‘Does this now bestow some freedom on you? To marry if and where you will, and to live as you choose?’

Isobel Fitzjames looked shy and glanced at Lord Latimer. ‘I only heard this news yesterday and I haven’t thought of the full meaning of the change in my prospects. I’m freed from the imperative to marry Lord Fulsham to restore the family fortunes, ’tis true.’

Angelica accompanied them to the hall and having bade them farewell returned to the sofa. She felt so deathly tired she lay full length and fell asleep.

* * *

The young visitors had been gone for barely an hour when Goodall was summoned once more by a peremptory rap on the front door. The man he considered an Irish pirate stood there, with all the swagger of Punch. Goodall did not like him any the better on second acquaintance. ‘Could you let Miss Leigh know I’m here to see her?’ Without being expressly invited into the hall, Prosper Crowe sauntered in and put his hat and elaborate Frenchified coat into Goodall’s reluctant hands.

‘The master’s not here,’ he said icily.

‘I know that, my man! He’s at Parliament doing what his constituents elected him to do. And I hope he gets round to Catholic emancipation too!’

‘I wouldn’t know ’bout any of that, sir.’ Goodall’s manner was lofty. As a proud butler, he did not appreciate being called ‘my man’ by someone as apparently disreputable as this visitor.

‘Never mind. I would like to see Miss Leigh, I presume she is here?’ The butler knew that the last time this person called, his master had sent him off after only a few minutes’ curt conversation and so went in search of Miss Stafford to ask her what he should do.

Miss Stafford approached from the back of the house and inclined her head with courtesy. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Crowe. May I help you?’ She drew him to the far reaches of the hallway where their conversation was less likely to be overheard.

‘Yes, indeed I hope you can.’ Prosper Crowe’s hybrid of a French-Irish accent became more marked as he set out to charm this good-looking young woman. He bowed elaborately low and met her surprised gaze with a twinkle. His looks were familiar; the russet hair and lively green eyes reminded Miss Stafford of Angelica’s striking looks. He continued in his engaging way, ‘Here from Paris for a few days. I’m Angelica Leigh’s father. Mr Asprey asked me to return with proof, and here it is!’ He flourished a letter from his coat pocket. ‘Her mother wrote to me about our daughter when I was in France. And the girl was about sixteen.’

Miss Stafford did not know that Lord Latimer had confided to his uncle that Angelica’s father was a naval hero killed in a sea battle some fifteen years before; she thought it unremarkable that this exotic stranger would want to see his daughter. ‘She’s still recuperating. I shall see if she’s well enough. Please wait here, Mr Crowe?’

She entered the small sitting room just as Angelica was waking. Struggling to sit up, Angelica put out her hands. ‘Miss Stafford, I’m sorry I fell asleep. It’s so warm by the fire.’

‘Rest is good for you, Miss Leigh.’ She straightened the cushions on the sofa. ‘You have a special visitor. Are you feeling able to receive him?’

Despite her weakness, Angelica felt a jolt of excitement. ‘Special? Who could it be?’

‘Your father, just over from Paris and keen to see you!’ Miss Stafford’s voice betrayed some of her own excitement. She was quite unprepared for the shriek and Angelica’s hand grasping hers.

‘No! You must be mistaken. No, no. no.’ She put her face in her hands as her shoulders shook.

Miss Stafford sat down beside her, concern and incomprehension etched on her face. ‘What is it, Miss Leigh? I can always send him away.’

‘It’s just my father is dead. He was killed at sea when I was five years old.’

‘Could you be mistaken, my dear?’ Miss Stafford’s voice was quiet as she put her arm round Angelica’s thin shoulders.

‘Why do you ask? Does he look like me?’

‘He does. And he has a letter from Mrs Leigh referring to you, written only five years ago.’

‘What does this mean?’ Angelica’s tear-stained face was anguished. ‘Is he an imposter? And if so, why?’ It was all too much for her to process. It seemed so unexpected, so unlikely. But then the alternative was equally unsettling. ‘I can’t bear to think my mother and father have been lying to me all these years.’