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Know that You are loved beyond Everything. May I call you My Leonora? Most beloved of Names. Wait for Me my Dearest Love.

From your own Devoted Will

As she folded the precious letter, Leonora could not suppress a sob. She had feared her heart would remain folded into this sheet of paper for ever. But Nanny P had said to Lord Rokeby – and it was as true for her too – ‘you have survived, and it is your duty to live’.

The Friday morning they were due to travel began crisp and cold. They were lucky the day was bright and free of rain. As promised, the Rokeby coach rolled up at the portico of the Manor. It was grand, painted a smart green and boasting the Rokeby crest on the door, an eagle alighting on a turreted castle surmounting a sword in a mailed fist. The motto Pietas et Fortitudo was painted in gold on the banner flying from the turret. Duty and Courage; for a fleeting moment Leonora wondered which quality Alistair Rokeby most embodied.

Breakfast was eaten in haste while all the trunks were stowed in the back of the coach by Jack Clegg. He bustled out with the hot bricks which he placed under the blankets on the floor. The Reverend and Mrs Mildmay had arrived early to see them off. ‘Thank you, Miss Leonora, for taking care of our beloved Charlotte.’ Mrs Mildmay embraced Leonora, tears pricking her eyes. She had not been farther than Maidenhead in her life and the thought of her beautiful Charlotte in the mysterious, dangerous whirlpool of London filled her with nameless dread.

Leonora quickly grabbed her best bonnet and was just about to join Charlotte and Mrs Priddy in the coach when there was a clatter of approaching hooves. She glanced down the lane and saw Jupiter trotting towards them. On his back was the Earl with Achille running beside them. Leonora was aware of her breathing becoming suddenly shallow and fast. He dismounted and doffed his hat. ‘Good morning.’ He nodded to them all in turn. ‘I hoped to catch you in time. To wish you a safe journey and a most successful Season.’

Lord Rokeby put his hand in his pocket and withdrew a blue velvet pouch. He took Charlotte’s hand and dropped it into her palm. ‘I wanted you to have one of your grandmother’s favourite necklaces.’

Charlotte coloured with pleasure as she looked down at the bag and with care withdrew a scintillating river of cornflower-blue stones. She gasped. ‘For me?’ She looked into Lord Rokeby’s face.

‘Of course. It’s part of a parure with matching earrings and a bracelet too. The rest of her jewellery will go to my countess one day, if I ever find someone willing to marry me.’ His smile was crooked.

Charlotte appeared quite overcome with emotion, her eyes shining and her cheeks flushed. ‘Thank you, thank you, my lord. I have never had anything so beautiful.’

He took her hand. ‘They are but your due.’

Then Alistair Rokeby turned to Leonora and lifted her reluctant hand from her side. He held it lightly in his and gazed at her downturned face. ‘Please look at me, Miss Appleby. I wish to thank you for everything you have done, and it is quite difficult talking to a bonnet and feathers, however charmingly trimmed.’

Leonora did not wish to give the impression she was sulking and lifted her head and smiled. He still had hold of her gloved hand and pressed it fleetingly to his lips. His face was serious and he did not release her. ‘I have never properly thanked you for all the work you have done making my piano-forte a pleasure to play again.’

She answered in a formal way. ‘I am pleased to be able to help.’ It was hard to remain aloof when Achille was standing beside her, nuzzling her hand, waiting for her to scratch behind his ears.

Lord Rokeby was watching her face closely as if trying to understand what she really felt. Then he took a breath and said in a voice quiet and full of feeling, ‘I want you to know that Madame Dupré saved my life, but it is you alone, Miss Appleby, who has made me want to live.’ Their eyes met in an intense moment of recognition. Leonora knew by the pressure of his fingers on hers that he had felt it too. It quickly flared, then was gone. He saluted them all and sprang into the saddle. She watched him trot away into the morning sun, back to the Abbey and Madame Dupré.

7

DELIGHT, DANGER AND DESIRE

Leonora, Charlotte and Nanny P settled themselves into the comfortable interior of the Rokeby coach. Leonora was so exhausted with all the preparatory work and the tide of emotion that she did not even have the energy to read. She gazed out of the window at the landscape of bare swooping downland and valleys with sparse copses of leafless trees, everywhere cold and bleak with January frost.

Charlotte was onto the last volume of Belinda but even she was distracted by the thought of London. Only Nanny P seemed untroubled. Charlotte looked across at where she sat, a mound of what looked like white fine lace in her lap. ‘Nanny P, what are you knitting?’

Mrs Priddy was in the middle of counting stitches and without looking up said, ‘A shawl for a baby.’

‘It’s very intricate. Which baby is it for?’

Peg Priddy looked up with a vague smile. ‘Oh, no baby in particular but by the time I finish knitting one of my shawls, there’s always a newborn infant in need of it.’

A mischievous smile lit up Charlotte’s face as she said, ‘Well, I think Mr Fopling and Miss Vazey will be needing that shawl in a year or so.’

‘Lottie!’ Leonora was intrigued by what had prompted this comment, remembering her unexpected conversation with Miss Vazey in the lane. ‘What makes you think that, may I ask?’

‘Well, I saw Mr Fopling and Little Grace disappearing into the Vazey cottage, then heard him later asking the Reverend about when the living at Wetherleigh becomes vacant. They’re both so unworldly, I think they’ll suit each other well.’

Mrs Priddy ignored this diversion and her kindly blue eyes rested on Charlotte’s face. ‘In fact, the first I knitted was to this pattern. I had no idea who it would be for and then, as I was crocheting the lace border, you, Miss Blythe, arrived on the Vicarage doorstep. It was as if an angel had brought you to where you were needed most. And my shawl was ready to welcome you.’

Charlotte’s face was suddenly close to tears. ‘Mama Mildmay and the Reverend could not have been kinder to me. But to know at least who my father was has given me a sense of belonging.’ She blew her nose then turned to Mrs Priddy. ‘You remember my father when he was young. What was he like?’

‘Well Master Charles and his younger brother were as close as brothers could be, but oh, so different. Master Charles, full of larks but steady and sensible underneath, then Master Alistair, wild and adventurous. He would always climb a tree higher than anyone and then have to be rescued by his elder brother. If anyone was going to get into trouble, I’d always have bet my money on it being Master Alistair.’ Mrs Priddy put down her knitting, a sign that she was about to say something serious. ‘Master Charles always protected little Alistair from their cruel father, but he could not save their mother. Lady Venetia asked for my advice more than once about her sons’ behaviour and then died when they were barely grown. From that point on, the Abbey really lacked a woman’s sensibility.’ She leant across and took Charlotte’s hand. ‘Perhaps that’s why your father looked to other women for love?’ Charlotte squeezed Nanny P’s hand in thanks, leant back on the cushions and closed her eyes.

The frozen landscape began to grow greener and less frost-bitten as they left the rural downland and fields for scattered villages and market gardens that proliferated closer to the city. Excitement for the adventure ahead began to replace anxious anticipation. They changed horses at The King’s Head at Maidenhead where the day before, Lord Rokeby had had his grooms deliver the next team of fresh horses to make their onward journey swifter and more comfortable.

By the time the sun was low in the sky, they had left the villages of Kensington and Knightsbridge behind with their pretty cottages and occasional grand brick manor houses. Leonora peered out of the window and saw the beginning of the terraces of symmetrical houses built in pale stone. The sun glinted off their tall windows and she was struck by the orderly beauty of these recently constructed streets and squares with trees and gardens. Charlotte let out a cry as they glimpsed Hyde Park. ‘Oh look, countryside of a kind!’