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Goodall answered the knock of the liveried footman. The Duchess herself, in a striking pelisse of dark blue bombazine, sailed into the hall. She was a tall woman with a large upholstered bosom and her appearance was made all the more imposing by a turban in matching blue, with a purple ostrich feather bobbing at the crown. Lady Linus’s willowy figure followed her, her fine symmetrical face set off by an up-to-the-moment Parisian redingote with its tight bodice and flaring skirt. Pale grey eyes flickered over Miss Stafford and her charge as she managed a fleeting smile.

‘Good morning, Miss Stafford, Elinor, I’d like to see my brother.’ The Duchess of Arlington’s conversation tended to be a series of statements and orders.

Miss Stafford gave a slight curtsey. ‘Good morning, your Grace, and Lady Linus. I’m afraid you’ve just missed Mr Asprey. But may I get you some refreshment?’ She led them into the small sitting room, followed by a subdued Elinor.

‘We’re shopping for various costumes for the masquerade at Cloudberry Court. I do enjoy a masquerade. It reminds me of my youth.’ For a moment the Duchess’s face lost its imperious cast and she looked almost mischievous, but soon resumed her manner of exasperation at the intransigence of the world, not least her brother’s. ‘I wondered if Ivor needed me to pick up anything. He’s so provoking. He says he has too much work to come.’

Elinor Asprey sat down on one of the upright chairs and folded her hands in her lap. On tenterhooks she watched the two women, aware it was the time to practise her good manners to please Miss Stafford. ‘What might you choose to go as, Lady Linus?’ she asked in a polite voice.

‘Oh Elinor, unlike her Grace, I don’t really approve of disguise. But if I were to attend, I think I might go as Hypatia of Alexandria. And carry an astrolabe.’

‘But wasn’t she cruelly murdered?’ The girl looked questioningly at Miss Stafford.

The Duchess of Arlington’s bosom swelled as she tutted, ‘Young girls should not know about such things. Miss Stafford, I trust she hasn’t learnt this under your tutelage.’

Elinor was quick to protect her governess. ‘No, Ma’am, I read about Hypatia in a book in Papa’s library.’

‘And which book might that be, Elinor?’ Her aunt’s smirk revealed her disbelief in her niece’s explanation.

‘Monsieur Voltaire’s Philosophical Dictionary.’ She could not erase from her voice the faint lilt of triumph.

‘Surely your father does not allow you free run of his library?’ The Duchess’s handsome face creased with a frown.

Lady Linus appeared to want to change the mood and produced a small book from her reticule. ‘Elinor, I think this would be helpful to your education, written by Mr Gisborne, a man of God.’ She opened it with care. ‘It’s on the duties of young women and how best to conduct themselves, indeed most useful in guiding our way.’

Elinor sat, uncertain as to what was to come. Miss Stafford had left to ask Cook to make tea for the visitors and the girl felt exposed. The Duchess settled back in her chair, with an expression composed for an improving sermon. Portia Linus leant forward, her pale eyes shining with evangelical zeal.

‘I’m going to read you my favourite passage. If you listen carefully, you can imagine Curate Gisborne bestowing on you the benefit of his thoughts and prayers.’ She turned to the bookmark and began in reverential tones, ‘Where is to be found the most amiable tendencies and affections implanted in human nature, of modesty, of delicacy, of sympathising sensibility, of prompt and active benevolence, of warmth and tenderness of attachment; whither should we at once turn our eyes?’ She paused for dramatic effect and looked towards Elinor Asprey’s bewildered face, as if expecting some kind of answer. She then continued with emphasis, ‘To the sister, to the daughter, to the wife. These endowments form the glory of the female sex.’ She closed the book with a smart clap.

There was a self-satisfied smile on both women’s faces, as if they assumed these glories for themselves, but they looked at the girl with an air of expectancy. Elinor wondered what she was meant to say or do, other than applaud and answered in a puzzled voice, ‘I am a daughter, but I have no sister and do not want to be a wife.’

‘Stuff and nonsense, my dear! What else is there for a young woman to do with her life?’ Edwina Arlington did not have much patience with missish ideas of independence or romance.

‘Well, I thought I’d like to be an actress.’

These simple words fell like a capital sentence on the room. The sense of shock and outrage rolled towards Elinor like a wave and she looked round anxiously for her governess. Miss Stafford had just re-entered carrying a tray with a tea pot and bowls and a plate of macaroons. She was just in time to hear the Duchess of Arlington’s stentorian tones. ‘Elinor! No girl from a family like ours can even consider such a thing. What are you thinking?’

‘It’s just that I like the idea of being someone else, the imagination and feeling…’ Her voice trailed off.

‘No, no, Elinor. Such women are beneath society’s consideration. The sensibilities you mention lead to unsteadiness of mind, a fondness for frivolity and dissipation of the energies with trifles.’ Miss Stafford had moved to stand beside her charge under this rhetorical onslaught from her aunt. So exercised was the Duchess that she drew herself up to her full height and started pacing the room. ‘An excess of sensibility leads to rejection of graver studies, and an unreasonable regard for superficial wit and meretricious accomplishments.’

She turned with a swish of her stiff skirts and continued in the most withering tones, ‘Actresses embody this excess of sensibility with their thirst for admiration and applause, full of vanity and affectation. As long as I breathe you will never become an actress, my girl!’

Miss Stafford broke in, ‘Might I pour you some tea, your Grace?’ The Duchess sat down heavily, her face pink with emotion. Lady Linus was the still centre of this storm, a cooler, more intellectual woman who fixed her eyes on the young girl and asked, ‘Elinor, is there a particular person you are thinking of when you say you’d like to become an actress?’

The girl sensed her governess stiffen beside her. Danger lurked and she realised she had to be careful never to mention Angelica’s name. She glanced round the room and her gaze alighted on the book their guest had brought with her, left on the floor and half-hidden by the sofa. ‘No one in particular. But I have been reading The Heroine and it has made me think about other ways of living.’ She sensed Miss Stafford relax and she hoped she had navigated her way well enough through this storm.

Her aunt harrumphed again. ‘Your reading habits give me a great deal of concern. I shall have to speak to your father. Miss Stafford, surely you should be checking on the suitability of the girl’s reading matter? Her mind is at a tender stage and has to be marshalled within the bounds of ladylike virtues.’ Miss Stafford had poured the tea and put a bowl and saucer on the table beside the Duchess, together with the plate of macaroons. This broke her Grace’s concentration and she started to drink the hot perfumed liquor.

‘Lady Linus, do have a macaroon. They are rather fine. Did Cook make them, Miss Stafford?’ She passed the plate to her companion, who appeared deep in thought.

‘She did indeed.’ Miss Stafford gave her ward a meaningful look.

Elinor Asprey took this lull in the inquisition of her moral education as a chance to escape. She stood up and curtseyed to her aunt and Portia Linus. ‘Forgive me, Aunt Arlington, Lady Linus, I have to return to my Latin composition. I bid you farewell.’ She bobbed and left the room as quickly as decorum allowed.

‘That girl needs a mother,’ the Duchess said, brushing a crumb from her lap.

‘I could not agree more, m’lady. Women are the moral centre of any family. If Elinor had a mother there would be none of this nonsense about becoming an actress!’