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Looking up from the hall, Miss Stafford’s serene face also registered a look of wonder at the ethereal vision that led her charge down the stairs. ‘Miss Leigh!’ she said with a gasp. ‘You look wondrous. I would not have recognised you.’

Angelica came forward and took her hand. ‘It has been so good to see you and Miss Elinor again. Thank you for accompanying her. We can spend longer together next time when we both have more time.’

The girl shyly gave Angelica a quick hug. ‘Don’t crush that lovely dress, my dear,’ Miss Stafford said with concern.

‘It doesn’t matter. I think the silver thread in it makes it quite robust.’ Angelica was reassuring as she hugged the child back.

‘Enjoy the ball, Miss Leigh,’ Elinor Asprey said and Angelica put her finger to her lips with a mischievous wink.

* * *

It was mid-afternoon when Angelica threw on her cloak to protect her striking dress and hide her blue hair, and she and Mary were handed into Mr Breville’s best chaise. They were staying the night at Cloudberry Court and leaving before the household was up the following morning. Their portmanteaus of luggage had been stowed at the back by Robert, now sitting on the box beside the coachman who set the horses’ heads north, towards Grosvenor Square. They entered through Charles Street and the grand Square with its gardens opened out in front of them. The trees in full leaf cast a fitful shade over the neat flower beds already bright with calendula and geranium.

This was the first time that Angelica had seen the Fitzjames mansion that had been restored to her friend after the mysterious gambler had extracted it from Lord Fulsham’s grasp. The house was the central one on the east side, with pillars above the ground floor extending to the attics. As the carriage drew up outside the grand portico, Angelica gazed out on the embodiment of the difference between their stations in life. She could never own a house like this with all the privilege that accompanied it and for the first time realised how much freedom wealth brought in its train. Perhaps, due to her intervention and the reckless gamble of Mr Asprey – she felt sure now it was him – Miss Fitzjames could live her life as she chose. With an uncharacteristic wistfulness, Angelica realised such precious liberty could not be hers.

Robert knocked on the door and Miss Fitzjames emerged with her maid carrying a portmanteau. She waved, and descended the steps wearing her cloak, with just a glimpse of a floaty pale dress which Angelica surmised was her costume as Columbine. Both young women were handed in, with Isobel sitting beside Angelica, their maids on the seat opposite with their backs to the horses.

‘Good afternoon, Miss Angelica.’ Miss Fitzjames took her hand. ‘You look beautiful indeed.’ The front of Angelica’s cloak had opened to reveal the skirt of the dress and she had removed her hood for the journey so her hair was displayed in all its silvery-blue intricacy.

Isobel Fitzjames had also thrown back her hood and her glossy brown hair was ringleted and curled in a charming confection of controlled disarray. She opened her cloak and revealed the pretty small bodice embroidered with traceries of green vine and lilac columbine flowers interspersed with embroidered butterflies and bees.

‘Your gown is lovely too. What an adventure this will be. But you do know, Miss Isobel, my identity cannot be revealed to anyone.’

Her friend was wide-eyed. Her sensibility was such that the idea of a beautiful heroine’s clandestine entry into the enemy stronghold compelled her imagination with its potential for tragedy. ‘You must be so careful, Miss Angelica. Dangers lurk when and where we least expect them.’

Angelica’s spirits were more naturally buoyant and she had never thrilled to the idea of the suffering gothic heroine of so many popular novels, nevertheless, since her father had entered her life, a small trickle of unease had become her constant companion. She still did not know if he was safe, neither did she know how much others had been implicated in his unlawful doings.

Isobel Fitzjames looked at Angelica’s unadorned neck and décolletage and fingered her own necklace, a festoon of natural pearls with garnets. ‘Miss Angelica, does the Fairy Queen wear any jewellery of any kind? If you’d like something of mine, I have a fleur-de-lis of blue topaz that would look very fine with your hair.’

Angelica smiled. ‘That’s very kind, Miss Isobel. I do have my grandmother’s necklace in my reticule. I thought I would only put it on when we arrived.’ She extracted the velvet pouch and slipped her fingers in to withdraw a small section of the sparkling river of stones. Isobel’s eyes widened and Angelica returned the pouch to her reticule. ‘It’s the only family heirloom I have and I’m surprised how much it means to me to have something my grandmother loved.’

‘Yes indeed. These pearls were my mother’s and I feel especially close to her when I wear them.’ Angelica noticed how the melancholy settled on her friend’s face once more. ‘I miss her so much, you see. It’s clear I will never stop missing her. Now I’m orphaned it is my mother’s loss I feel most keenly.’

Angelica put her hand on her arm in sisterly feeling. Much as her own mother’s attitudes and priorities grated, she knew that she always had someone who would protect her against any detractor. Even the advent of her father, trailing clouds of deceit and danger as he did, meant Angelica did not feel quite so alone in the world.

Both young women looked out of the window to see the road to Richmond winding off between the trees on their right. The comfortable sway of the coach had sent both of their maids to sleep. In about an hour they would arrive at Cloudberry Court and the thought made Angelica’s heart start to beat a little faster. Mary and Isobel Fitzjames’s maid had fallen asleep, lulled by the sway of the luxurious coach on its well-oiled springs. Isobel grasped Angelica’s hand, a shadow of unease clouding her face. ‘Forgive my presumption, but you once told me you thought Lord Latimer did not really care for you as he professed to do. Is this your opinion still?’

Angelica was surprised by the question, and her friend’s expression of anxiety and embarrassment gave her pause for thought. She attempted to answer her honestly. ‘Well, I used to think that it was just a young man’s passing fancy, but I have been gratified by how enduring and loyal his attentions have proved to be.’

They both fell silent with their own thoughts, then Isobel Fitzjames, still troubled, said shyly, ‘I think Lord Latimer is a fine and honest gentleman. More admirable than anyone I have ever met. And I will be forever grateful for the part he played in ensuring my inheritance returned to me.’

Angelica turned her great green eyes to meet her friend’s flushed face. ‘Do you know who challenged Lord Fulsham then?’

‘No, not for certain. But Lord Latimer knows who my benefactor is and I’m sure it’s his intervention which caused the miracle to happen.’ Angelica felt a strange longing to talk to Mr Asprey again as, however certain she felt of his involvement, she so wished for confirmation. Indeed she found it hard to contemplate how much she had imposed on this proud and private man, how much she owed him. She recognised her own pride too. She had achieved a certain control over her life but was now disconcerted at how much her heart seemed to be focussed on the last man she would have chosen to love, or should have chosen to love. But this was one secret she had to keep from the world and certainly from Ivor Asprey himself.

Sitting beside her friend, Angelica realised that Isobel Fitzjames had feelings for Lord Latimer that perhaps she did not. Certainly she found his attraction to her exciting and her youthful spirit responded to his, but he and Dante Locke were more like the brothers for whom she had longed. She took her friend’s hand and lowered her voice so not to wake the maids, ‘Miss Isobel, I am pleased if you and Lord Latimer have grown close. I have no claims on him. He is indeed a fine young man, and you are both the best of friends to me.’ There were sudden tears in Miss Fitzjames’s eyes as she looked away but her hand sought Angelica’s and gave it a light squeeze of thanks.

Confused as her feelings were, Angelica knew she could not stand in the way of her friend’s happiness but that did not prevent a small knot of envy at how settled Isobel Fitzjames’s life had unexpectedly become with her inheritance restored to her and the chance of to unite herself with one of the great ducal families of England, with all the advantages of title and estates.

The days were lengthening into high summer and there were still streaks of light in the sky as the Breville coach joined the stream of carriages full of brightly plumed guests that turned off the main road and into the drive of Cloudberry Court. Trundling down through an avenue of large spreading chestnut trees, their chaise turned a corner and the house was revealed at last. Angelica could not suppress a gasp.

Before them was a Palladian mansion, stone-built, impressive, regular in its tall windows, twenty across, with alternating pilasters. Angelica and Isobel Fitzjames clasped each other’s hands in excited anticipation. Angelica recovered her grandmother’s necklace and asked her friend to attach the clasp at the back of her neck. The young woman then sat back and admired the sight. ‘Are those diamonds? They set your gown and your skin off to perfection. You will be the beauty of the night.’ Both women put on their long satin gloves and their masks, and were handed out of the carriage by Robert. They joined the crowd of fellow bucks and beauties, none of whom they recognised in their costumes and masks, and were swept forward on an excited, chattering tide of guests.

As the young women entered through the great double doors, Angelica was overwhelmed by the splendour that greeted her. Awash with candlelight from thousands of candles in chandeliers and candelabra, the wide hallway led to the ballroom. This extended across the back of the house with a series of arched doors to the orangery, with the parterre and gardens beyond. The strains of an orchestra drifted on the air, mingling with the sounds of chatter and laughter.

Mary and the Fitzjames maid had remained in the coach as it was driven round to the mews and stables on the far side of the house and here the luggage was unloaded and a housekeeper greeted them to show them to their mistresses’ allotted rooms. Meanwhile in the grand hall Angelica and Isobel relinquished their cloaks to the footman and were suddenly revealed in all their glory. Each young woman gazed with admiration at the other.

‘Miss Isobel, you are a vision of pastoral beauty. Like a painting by Fragonard, with just a swing needed to complete the fantasy.’ Angelica laughed in appreciation of what a picture her friend presented.