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Eliza knew she could not burden Corinna with her own woes when she was so taken up with the dangers to her daughter’s health, so merely said, ‘He was not what I had hoped. And in fact is not my father after all. But he gave me his ancestral ring and my mother’s jewellery box, and for that I am grateful.’ She indicated the box still clutched in her lap. Standing up abruptly, she said, ‘I must go and change out of these wet, muddy clothes. Oh, and Lord Purfoy is in town and offered you his fast chaise with Taz driving. With his own horses at the posting inns, he says the journey should only last two days. Should you wish to take advantage of his offer, he can be contacted at The White Hart.’

She left and ran up the stairs. The box in her hands was weighted with significance and she could not wait to open it and have something at last that her mother had touched. She stripped off her damp clothes, slipped on a dressing gown and sank onto the bed. The box revealed a tangle of glass and bone necklaces. She carefully separated them and held each close to her cheek, hoping to catch a whisper of her mother’s scent. There was a strand of fair hair caught in the clasp of a blue stone rivière and for a moment her heart stopped. This was as close as she could come to her.

Removing a cameo brooch of Persephone and a gold ring, Eliza found a small sheet of paper with a list in a neat fine hand.

2 yds Venetian Ribbon, same pink cording, 20 bugle beads, 1 yd silk tassels, celadon plume, 2 linen fichus.

Eliza smoothed the paper with her trembling fingers. This was her mother’s handwriting, a meaningless list for the haberdasher but so full of meaning for the daughter who would never know her, except through these tiny personal scraps.

Eliza had piled the necklaces into her lap and was about to replace them when she noticed a small ribbon left in the empty box. She tried to pick it up but found it attached to a flap that opened a secret compartment at the base. Her heart was in her mouth as she slipped her fingers inside and pulled out a small, folded letter together with a miniature painting in a simple gold surround. She found herself confronted by a red-headed man in a tricorn hat with a roguish expression that seemed to challenge her own startled gaze. This face was thrillingly familiar. She could not know the colour of his eyes but something about their shape reminded her of her own. She knew immediately here was her father. Looking for a name, she found nothing inscribed on the back. The letter was yellowed at the edges and she unfolded it carefully. An untidy black cursive script had scrawled on the top right-hand corner, On board the hellish ‘Medusa’ that carries me from you.

Eliza’s hands were shaking with the realisation this was a letter from her mother’s lover, possibly the man in the portrait, and most probably her true father. She read on:

My most Beloved,

The miles of Shifting Sea that separate you from me rob my Hopes of seeing You and little E again.

How can I Bear this? I hear you in the Wind, I see you in the Bright unfurling Foam, you are the Air I breathe and your Beauty calls to me. I was as Free as an untethered Cloud until I saw You and in that moment Loved you. The Bliss! You Loved me in return and In our path we left a Trail of Light. And little E is the Reward of that Love we shared. When I have paid my Dues I will return to claim You, the only Woman I have never wanted to Flee. You have Given my Soul back to me.

It was signed with a flourish of an R and splashed with water marks, presumably from sea spray.

Eliza flung herself back on the bed, pressing the two pieces of paper and the portrait to her breast. After the anxieties and uneasiness of the last few days, she felt a peace descend. It seemed clear to her that her father and mother had loved each other, that she had been created with love. This settled her fevered mind and she knew with clarity that she could not agree to a convenient marriage with Mr Flynn, however much comfort and wealth he offered. She intended to live for something more transcendent than friendship, more rousing to the blood than good sense; even should the cost be that, like her mother, she died alone.

Eliza also now knew with the same serene clarity that we cannot control whom we love. She knew she was asking more than life was disposed to offer by setting her deepest hopes on Lord Purfoy, a man who had told her his stone-cold heart had been miraculously revived through love, but for another. This was her destiny. In this moment of recognition, Eliza felt magnanimous towards her parents, towards Mr Flynn and the decisions of his life, the opposing choices made by her friends Rose Bowman and Marina. For loving, even into a void, was better than not loving at all.

Eliza dressed hurriedly, put the Bathwick ring in the box and fastened round her neck one of her mother’s necklaces made of beads of clear quartz. She then slipped into her pocket as a talisman the note to the haberdasher and her father’s love letter, and descended the stairs for dinner.

Corinna was in a happier frame of mind, having made the decision to return to London in the Purfoy coach with Taz in charge. She excused herself for a minute to check again on Emma. Zadoc Flynn was elated after his rainy day at the races. ‘The horses were padnags compared to Ohio, my fleet-footed Pegasus.’ He greeted Eliza with ebullience, delighted with his judgement in choosing such an outstanding filly. ‘She has every chance of winning the Owners’ Race. We’ve got ten days to prepare.’

Eliza took her place at the table and asked, ‘Have you decided on your jockey yet?’

‘No. It would be ideal if I could get Taz to ride her. But he’s too well-known already in the equine world and they would ken he wasn’t Ohio’s owner. He’s also my arch-rival’s prize asset. I could never persuade Taz to ride against Lord Purfoy and Horatio.’

Eliza’s renewed lightness of spirit had made her reckless. She surprised herself by saying, with some defiance, ‘Well, I don’t owe Lord Purfoy my loyalty. If you still want me to ride Ohio, I will do it.’

Mr Flynn leapt to his feet, almost knocking over his chair in his enthusiasm. ‘Do you mean it, Miss Gray?’ He grasped her hands in his large paws. ‘We’ll have to embark on some early morning training with a light saddle. Are you happy with that?’

‘You overlook an important point, Mr Flynn. What do you do about the fact that I’m not Ohio’s owner, nor am I male?’ Eliza extricated herself from his enthusiastic hold.

‘That’s easily overcome. I’ll transfer ownership of the mare to you, and you’ll ride her as a lad.’

‘You ask so much of me!’ She gasped as the full enormity of the deception hit her.

‘No more than you are capable of, Miss Gray,’ he said, his broad face alight with enthusiasm. ‘No more than you did when we went to Tattersalls.’

Corinna came into the room. ‘So what’s the news?’

Zadoc Flynn was aware of the loyalties between old friends and carefully said, ‘I’m entering Ohio in the Owners’ Race.’

Corinna frowned. ‘That’s rather rash; it’s Raven Purfoy’s race, or rather the race he always wins. He won’t be pleased, you know.’

Eliza felt her resolve falter; she was naturally loyal and would be so to Lord Purfoy until the end of time, but she had to remind herself of today’s revelation that she was no more to him than an inconvenient responsibility since their collision those few weeks ago. She met Corinna’s gaze with pain in her own eyes. ‘Lord Purfoy seems to be happy with his new love. He is with her in Bath. I don’t see that a horse race will be quite such a priority now.’

Corinna was puzzled. ‘Are you sure?’

Eliza wondered if she was being too impetuous in her decision, but the chance of riding Ohio in her first race was an exhilarating thought. ‘He implied this was the case. And I had earlier seen him with a woman with whom he seemed familiar.’

Corinna murmured, ‘I don’t claim to know Rav’s heart but that seems highly unlikely to me.’