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Soon after, Charlotte flung her arms around Leonora to wish her an excited goodnight and left through the garden to return to the Vicarage. It had been the best evening’s entertainment of her young life. The remaining guests settled down to some light-hearted card games. Even more alcohol was imbibed, and laughter filled the room. The Dearloves and Mr Lockwood were staying at the Manor and Captain Ormonde residing with a local friend whose house was only a short walk away. Leonora realised it would be a long night. Fatigue threatened to overwhelm her as she forced herself to remain a further hour but increasingly struggled to stay awake. The gossip turned to the dramatic arrival of Lord Rokeby and Lord Dearlove, lubricated by alcohol, was talking loudly. ‘So mortally wounded, it’s a miracle he didn’t die on the battlefield alongside his brother.’

Captain Ormonde’s voice was sober and cold. ‘Saved by a French doxy, it’s said. He’s either hellishly lucky or has the charm of the Devil.’

Lord Dearlove dealt the cards and laughed. ‘I don’t think Rokeby has ever been overendowed with charm!’ This conversation jolted Leonora into agitated wakefulness. Alistair Rokeby had been saved from certain death by a woman? Who? Why? As her feelings for him deepened, the mysteries around him seemed to multiply.

The conversation moved on to racing fixtures at Newmarket, and Leonora’s fatigue could no longer be resisted. She told Nanny P that she thought they could excuse themselves and leave George Lockwood in charge as the host of the night. She waited until a game of whist had come to an end and drew him to one side. ‘Mr Lockwood, Mrs Priddy and I are going to retire. May I leave you to see our guests out and those who are staying to their rooms?’

‘Of course. I will take care of them all. I’m not as deep in my cups as most.’

Leonora and Nanny P went round the party wishing them a good sleep and set off to their beds. On the chest in the hall, Leonora noticed a letter glowing white upon a silver salver, with a distinguished hand she recognised. Miss LEONORA Appleby was scrawled in black ink with speed blots under the strong curling line. Seeing her given name so distinctive in capitals made her long to hear his voice call her Leonora; the intimacy of it made her shiver. She opened the note to find just two lines:

My piano-forte will miss you. Please come and tune it one more time before you leave for London.

Leonora folded it carefully along its original creases and carried it upstairs to slip into her dressing table drawer to lie beside her precious only letter from her lost love.

6

THE FRENCH CONNECTION

Leonora knew that her guests would not be down early for breakfast and so set off into the village to visit the tenant farmers and tell them she would be in London until the summer. Luckily Ned Fleming had been in charge of the Hasterleigh Manor estate since he was a young man, trained up by her father. He was more than capable of dealing with any immediate problem and both George Lockwood and Leonora were available by letter.

The morning was fresh and brisk and the puddles in the lane had dried to sludge. Leonora knew everyone and greeted them as she passed on her way to the Sproats’ house. She had put on her walking boots and workaday cloak over one of her prettier morning gowns, with the warmth of a spencer fastened close across her bosom. Gloves and a simple bonnet completed her outfit.

The puddles may have receded, but muddy traps were everywhere. She was just navigating one when she looked up to see Rose Vazey coming towards her with her own dog and Mr Fopling’s Little Grace. A moment’s inattention meant Leonora slid down the sodden bank at the edge of the lane and landed in the muddy cart track she’d been trying to avoid. ‘Oh, Miss Appleby!’ The girl hurried forward and offered an arm.

Leonora grabbed Miss Vazey’s hand and squelched out of the mire to stand looking down at her boots. ‘Oh dear,’ she laughed. ‘I now look thoroughly disreputable, and I have smart Town guests at the Manor.’

Rose Vazey laughed with her. ‘Should have put on your pattens, miss. They would have saved you from the worst of it.’ She was an unusual young woman who, since childhood, had shown an uncanny understanding of animals and all living things; as Richard Fopling said, she was Hasterleigh’s own St Francis. Everyone knew the uses of plants for treating ailments but for intractable problems, it was to Rose that her neighbours went for advice. She was also the person to nurse any wounded creature, and dogs gravitated to her as if they were charmed. Leonora looked into Miss Vazey’s amber eyes, surprised how speckled and like a plover’s egg in colouring they were. She said, ‘I’m glad you persuaded Mr Fopling to take on Little Grace.’

‘She has flourished under his care.’

‘As he seems to do under hers,’ Leonora said with feeling.

‘He belongs more to nature and the empyrean air than most men. A wife would tether him to earth and teach him the pleasures of the everyday.’ Rose Vazey spoke in such an emphatic and down-to-earth way that Leonora looked askance at her. The young woman smiled and explained, ‘You look shocked, Miss Appleby. But you may not know I can see the future for some people, and he is one.’

‘What a useful gift, Miss Vazey!’ Her light-hearted words died on her lips as she met the young woman’s eyes.

‘It can be a curse, Miss Appleby.’ Then, appearing to check herself, added with a lilt in her voice, ‘But for Mr Fopling, my future-sight is a blessing. For he will marry me.’

Leonora could not hide her astonishment. ‘Does Mr Fopling know?’ she asked in a quiet voice.

Rose Vazey gave a warm chuckle. ‘What man ever knew what was best for him? But he will soon. His father is not long for this world.’

Leonora put a hand on her arm once again and in an urgent voice said, ‘Now you’re alarming me with your witchery, Miss Vazey.’

‘Do not fear. What people call witchery is merely being close to the other world, separated from us by our own refusal to see.’

Leonora heard the church clock strike ten and knew she had run out of time to visit the Sproats, and had to return to the Manor to care for her guests. Shaken, yet somehow consoled by her meeting with Miss Vazey, she turned to her and took her hand. ‘I must return home now, but wish you every good fortune. I’m off to London to accompany Miss Charlotte and won’t be back until the summer.’

‘I think you may be back before then, Miss Appleby. The heart has its reasons which reason cannot know.’ And with that, Rose Vazey had gathered her skirts and walked away back down the lane, the two dogs trotting behind her like attendant spirits. Leonora stood there startled. What was she to make of it all?

Leonora walked back to the Manor and entered to the sound of laughter from the breakfast room. She had hoped her guests would still be abed but now had to greet them without time to change. She slipped her muddy boots off in the hall and ran up the stairs to find her slippers. Glancing in the looking glass, she noticed her hair was untidy and there was a smear of mud on her hem, but she thought it would have to do.

As she caught sight of the Dearloves, her heart sank. She wished she had taken more trouble as Lord Rufus lounged in the chair, immaculately turned out for Town in his close-fitting coat of dark superfine wool, his white linen neckcloth intricately folded, pale pantaloons and onyx-black shiny hessian boots, a cup of coffee at his elbow. Neither did his sister’s appearance make any concessions to country life. Livia Dearlove was dressed as if about to set off on a shopping expedition down Bond Street, in palest pink tiffany with a smart rose spencer fastened with silver braid. Leonora was relieved to see George Lockwood wearing his country clothes. He stood by the fireplace, his hair tousled, and his broadcloth jacket cut to a more accommodating fit for his broad shoulders.

When Lord Dearlove saw Leonora, he sprang to his feet. ‘Miss Appleby, we were just saying what an enjoyable evening’s entertainment that was.’ He offered her his own chair by the table where breakfast was the remains of the baked ham from the previous night, together with rolls and jam, bread, cheese and jugs of ale and coffee.

‘Good morning. I hope everyone slept well?’ Leonora looked around the room as George Lockwood came forward to take her hand. She noticed Lady Livia’s gaze travel to the hem of her gown where she was sure clung all kinds of inelegant remnants of her walk.