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Eliza was both embarrassed and surprised. ‘Mr Shilton, you’re exaggerating; she didn’t say that!’

‘Yes, she did, and she also said you were the bravest woman she knew. Has she seen you ride at the Prebbles Flying Circus?’

Eliza had coloured and mumbled, ‘No, she hasn’t. Only you and Taz have seen me perform.’

Alick was kind and perceptive and he intervened with a laugh, ‘Ferdy, stop your yammering. You’re boring us and embarrassing Miss Gray.’ Changing the subject, he said, ‘I’m surprised to see Purfoy up so early, racing his curricle down to Epsom at first light.’

Eliza withdrew The Corsair from her reticule, and began to read it again, determined this time to learn the epic off by heart so that it would be with her always. But as she listened to the men’s conversation, her concentration slipped from the words in front of her to the thought of a dark lord as he drove down alone with his finest horses, headed for the wilderness of Epsom Downs and the annual gladiatorial combat. Lord Purfoy was almost as mysterious and fascinating to his male friends as he was to her. Ferdinand Shilton said, ‘Rav is a law unto himself. I think he has a wager with a friend about who would arrive first. Al, did you see him at White’s last night?’

Alick responded with a frown. ‘He was deep in play with that hell-begotten dog, Davenport, although that blackguard now insists on being called Bathwick in recognition of his new inheritance. That’s your family name, isn’t it, Miss Gray?’

He looked across at Eliza who nodded. ‘Not that the family wished to recognise me.’

‘Well, you’d think Rav was out to avenge you!’ Alick continued with some admiration in his voice. ‘Ye gods! I’ve never seen him as concentrated, grim and stone-cold sober.’ He glanced across at Eliza.

Zadoc Flynn muttered sleepily from his corner, ‘Don’t know why everyone’s so impressed with him. To me he’s just an arrogant nobleman who has earned neither his title nor fortune.’

Alick chuckled. ‘Come now, Zadoc. It’s your father who earned your millions, so that’s a bit rich coming from you.’

The coach had passed through the villages surrounding London and was travelling down ancient drovers’ roads sunk between grassy banks with green hills rolling away to the horizon. Ferdinand Shilton sat forward, pointing to the middle distance where sheep were grazing in the shade of a stand of trees. ‘Do you see that large clump of mighty oak? That is Shilton land and it means we will be at Nonsuch Place in fifteen minutes.’ All the occupants of the carriage leaned forward, alert and expectant.

After following a long driveway meandering through meadows filled with wildflowers and then over a stream, they caught a glimpse of the great house. Nonsuch Place shimmered in the afternoon light, its tall Elizabethan chimneys dominant against the pale blue sky. The lacy stonework framed a mosaic of glittering panes of glass that looked like jewels reflecting the sun. Eliza stuck her head out of the window to better see. ‘Mr Shilton, this is the most beautiful building in the land.’ Her eyes were round with amazement.

Ferdinand Shilton, born in Nonsuch’s great ducal bedchamber, had never called anywhere else home so was always pleasantly surprised when friends were awestruck on seeing his ancestral house for the first time. He smiled as they all climbed from the carriage and stretched their legs, gazing up at the grand front looming above them. The lush parkland, dotted with ancient spreading oak trees, rolled away on all sides. The whole place was beautifully kept with an atmosphere of opulent calm.

Eliza walked into the soaring hallway. Everything sparkled, from the central chandelier with a hundred candles to the windows spilling late afternoon light. Most country houses were left with minimum staff when their owners and the rest of the servants headed for London and the Season. Ferdinand Shilton, however, was keen on upholding tradition and had the means to do so, keeping two complete sets of staff in his town house and his country mansion. Thus, walking into Nonsuch during the Season, his guests were greeted not by dust motes and the musty smell of damp, but by warmth, light, cleanliness and the fragrant scent of burning apple wood in the many fire grates.

‘Ferdy, this house never fails with its warm welcome.’ Alick clapped his friend on the back.

‘My housekeeper, Mrs Plover, will show you your rooms. Tea, cake and burgundy in the library in half an hour?’

Mrs Plover was a handsome woman with a large upholstered bosom and an imperious air. She led Eliza up the wide oak staircase to the first floor and pointed to a bedroom as large as a ballroom. ‘That’s the master’s room.’ Then crossing the landing, she led Eliza into a beautiful room lined with blue silk and almost as large. ‘This was Mr Shilton’s mother’s room.’

The room was almost as grand with three windows across, their many panes of glass fracturing the view of Nonsuch parkland into a kaleidoscope of fragmented gold and green. In the centre was the great four-poster bed, its silk curtains falling from a coronet suspended in the dusky heights of the ceiling. ‘Thank you, Mrs Plover, it’s a room fit for a queen.’

Polly had followed her and stood there awestruck. ‘Bless me, Miss Gray!’ She unpacked Eliza’s clothes, looking askance at the boy’s jacket and breeches she found folded at the bottom. ‘This house is so grand I feel all atwitter.’

‘Don’t fear, Polly. It’s just Mr Shilton’s home, it’s not a palace. He is the best of men and I’m sure his servants are equally friendly.’

‘It’s that housekeeper. Looks as unforgiving as the Gorgon.’

Eliza laughed. ‘Really, Polly, you shouldn’t let your imagination run away with you. We’re only here for a few days then we go back to Town.’

‘Will you need my help later to dress for dinner?’

‘To save us time, I’ll dress now.’ Eliza too was rather intimidated by the grandeur of Nonsuch Place, but she would not admit it, even to herself.

Polly headed for the door. ‘I’ll get some hot water, Miss Gray.’

‘Oh, Polly, I’m too tired. I think I’ll just put on my dress, spend a little time at dinner, then early to bed.’ She slipped on the pale rose gauze dress with the ivory rosebuds round the neck and sleeves. It was comfortable and yet she knew it suited her colouring well. She threw a Braganza shawl around her shoulders as it was chilly in the window seat where she settled with her book. Eliza loved this poem that reminded her of Lord Purfoy, and determined to learn it so well that, like a creeper, it would twine into her heart and become one with her. Carried away in her reading, she lost track of time and a soft knock on the door sprang her from the Aegean Sea and a mysterious and lonely hero.

Polly popped her head around the door. ‘Mr Shilton asked me to tell you it is time for dinner.’

In a fluster, Eliza closed her book, dashed to the dressing table and attempted to tidy her coiffure. She had so much very fair hair she wondered how she was going to disguise it tomorrow, under a hat, riding as a male jockey. Anxiety and shame suffused her spirit. She hated the deception involved in keeping her promise to Mr Flynn. Sticking her hairpins back into the relaxed bun on the top of her head, she noticed it was already unravelling into fine ringleted strands round her face. Still wrapped in her shawl, she ran down the stairs, just as Lord Purfoy entered the hall.

His dark eyes imperceptibly changed from their usual narrow gaze. ‘Why, Miss Gray, you seem in a hurry. Are we late?’

Eliza was unexpectedly breathless. ‘I’ve been lost in my reading.’