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Lord Rokeby turned back to her, his face once more contorted with strain. ‘I’ve told you already she saved my life. I owe her that affection and respect for eternity. But it is you’ – his voice cracked with passion – ‘who made me want to live again. And that is everything!’

His look was so intense she felt in danger of bursting into flames with the heat of emotion between them. But she had to know if there was any truth in Captain Ormonde’s words. ‘Forgive my asking, my lord, but did your brother truly die in your arms?’

‘What makes you doubt me?’ His brow was thunderous.

Leonora met his flashing gaze. ‘It’s just Captain Ormonde said he was there…’ Her words tailed off as she saw the colour flare across Lord Rokeby’s cheekbones.

‘How can you give any credence to the words of a blackguard and turncoat, and trust them more than mine? How could you? I thought we understood and trusted each other. That we were as one!’ Not wishing to be overheard, his voice was quiet but deadly. He was wild with disdain for Ormonde and Leonora felt his cold disappointment spread to her too.

‘What was I to think? The Captain said he was there and you left the field with Madame Dupré!’ she gasped, angry tears in her eyes, mortified by words she had never meant to say.

Lord Rokeby could not know her vulnerability, the corrosive power of her fear of loss. All he heard was the terrible slur, and her willingness to entertain it. He turned away; even Achille seemed to evade her eyes. ‘That is despicable! And it is contemptible to give any credence to what Ormonde says. How can you believe such slander against me? How can you repeat it?’ With that he had gone, and Leonora collapsed onto the nearest chair, unable to stand. So great was her dismay and fury with herself for such a betrayal of him that she closed her eyes, wishing she was anywhere but here.

After a while she heard the chair next to hers creak as someone sat down beside her. She opened her eyes and looked straight into the concerned face of George Lockwood. ‘Miss Appleby, I wondered if you needed some company. I’m afraid the ballroom has been agog with the Earl’s arrival and precipitate departure. May I suggest we dance and look as if we’re enjoying ourselves, to still the clacking tongues?’

Despite her wintry heart, Leonora smiled. He was the nicest of men and how perfect for her beloved Charlotte. Suddenly alarmed, she turned and said, ‘Where is Charlotte?’ She was her responsibility and she noticed Nanny P was no longer eagle-eyed in her chaperonage, having extracted her knitting from her reticule.

‘Don’t worry about Miss Blythe. She’s enjoying herself greatly dancing with Lord Dearlove. He has a certain irresistible charm.’ His expression was rueful as they stood up and George Lockwood proffered his arm to Leonora. ‘A new quadrille is about to begin and I would be very grateful if you would partner me.’

‘Thank you, Mr Lockwood.’ Her emotions were still close to the surface and blushing, she blurted out, ‘You could not be a better friend.’ She managed to put on a passable show as the dancing and chatter continued past midnight. At one point, Leonora was disconcerted to see Charlotte in close conversation with Captain Ormonde, her face unusually downcast. When she approached, both made an effort to look more sanguine and turned away to join a reel.

By the end of the night Leonora was exhausted with the effort of geniality and when she finally took refuge beside Mrs Priddy, she was pleased to see that Charlotte too was ready to leave and had collected George Lockwood to escort them home. All were subdued in the carriage as they made the short journey from Grosvenor Square to Brook Street. The horses trotted round the Square and passed Rokeby House; with a pang Leonora noticed candelabra still burning in the windows and she wondered if Lord Rokeby’s spirits were as much out of sorts as hers.

Leonora awoke the next morning, heavy-hearted and nostalgic for the uncomplicated life that had once been hers. Questions and regrets circled in her fatigued brain like a whirlpool that never comes to rest. Flora brought her a cup of hot chocolate and put it on the table. ‘Good morning, Miss Appleby. Amy is unwell so if you need anything, I’ll be next door with Miss Blythe.’

Charlotte’s heart was also heavy but for different reasons. She was assailed with conflicting feelings about Captain Ormonde and his animosity towards her father and Lord Rokeby. Her inability to reconcile her admiration for the Captain with her pride in her father and his family held her in a painful vice of anxiety. There was a soft knock on her door and not Amy, as she expected, but Flora appeared, carrying a tray. ‘Good morning, Miss Blythe,’ she said as she offered her a cup of chocolate.

‘I’m pleased to see you again,’ Charlotte said sitting up, her hair a mess. ‘I’m grateful for your skills yesterday, Flora. It’s the first time I’ve felt truly equal to the situation.’ She smiled.

‘There’s a letter for you.’ The maid held out a folded and sealed piece of writing paper addressed with a small, neat hand. She then went to draw back one curtain so Charlotte could read.

With a delighted cry, Charlotte took it, saying as she read, ‘It’s from the Reverend and Mama Mildmay.’

‘Did they care for you well?’ Flora’s question was tentative and barely beyond a whisper.

Charlotte, distracted by reading all the gossip of the village, answered without looking up, ‘As well as any parent ever could.’ It then occurred to her that Flora’s question displayed some unexpected knowledge of her life. She met her eyes, brilliant in the morning light. ‘Do you know them, Flora?’

‘I met them once.’ She had turned away and was drawing the curtains fully back to reveal a sunny day.

‘Then you know Hasterleigh?’ Charlotte leant forward eagerly; it was so rare to meet other people who knew the village.

‘I was very young and it was a long time ago.’ She was walking towards the door. ‘If you need help with your dressing or your hair, I’ll be next door with Miss Appleby.’ Charlotte eventually climbed out of bed and padded through to Leonora’s room.

She was already up and being laced by Flora into her stays. ‘Good morning, Lottie. I hope you slept well.’

‘I did. Can I get into your bed?’ Charlotte did not wait for a reply but clambered into the mound of feather mattress, bed linen and quilt, grateful for its warmth. ‘Flora knows Hasterleigh,’ she said.

‘It was so long ago I barely remember it,’ the maid said hastily, bending her head to focus on lacing the stays. Leonora was suddenly alert. ‘Were you working at Rokeby Abbey? Or Oak Hall for the Foplings, perhaps?’

‘It was a big house and I was only a girl. My first job. That’s all I remember, Miss Appleby.’ Flora was flustered. Having helped Leonora into her morning gown she left the room in some haste.

Leonora looked thoughtful and rather troubled. She walked to Charlotte’s bedside and took her hand, saying in a quiet voice, ‘Lottie, does Flora seem familiar to you? Her hands? Her eyes?’

Charlotte was deep in the folds of the bed and answered sleepily, ‘I like how she looks, but familiar, no, I don’t think so. Why?’

‘I just wondered if she may have been at the Abbey.’ Leonora paused; her instinct knew there was more than Flora was willing to say. ‘But perhaps her reluctance to recall the time is because of some horror with Sir Roderick Fopling. Stories were rife about his licentious behaviour and servant girls fleeing in the night.’

‘You’ve reminded me. I had a letter from Mama Mildmay.’ She paused, aware of the shocking nature of what she was about to impart. ‘Sir Roderick was thrown from his horse while out hunting. Dead before they even got to him. A broken neck they think.’