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There was a titter from the servants and Dot said, ‘No one would dare any roister-doistering with her ladyship about! They wouldn’t long keep their tallywags.’ And the women broke out laughing again.

Madeleine felt herself colour and Mrs Porton admonished Dot with a twinkle in her eye. ‘Enough of that vulgar talk. Remember your place, my girl!’ The cook sat up straight and smoothing her apron over her comfortable stomach, addressed Madeleine. ‘Ye oughtn’t to spend much time with us servants, Miss. We speak blunt and say it as we find.’

‘You are my only company and I am pleased indeed to have it.’ Madeleine smiled.

Mrs Porton heaved herself to her feet. ‘Dinner won’t get cooked by itself. I’d better get on.’

‘And I must go too.’ Susie stood up and with her precious purloined box under her arm, she bowed. ‘Thank you for the cake and tea.’

Madeleine suddenly remembered the money she still owed her. ‘Wait, Susie. I’ve collected the five shillings for you.’ She dashed to her room and picked up a jar and returned to pour into Susie’s palm the coins she had gathered over the week. ‘Thank you for making such a beautiful garment. My first ever.’

‘I am grateful to be of service.’ The pale, delicately boned young woman departed with Dot, and Mrs Porton turned back to her stove.

* * *

The Lockhart household was much enlivened by the return of the young lord. The servants appreciated his mischievous talk while deploring his carelessness and profligacy in all things. Madeleine was grateful for a cousin who spoke to her, even if it was to direct and patronise. She welcomed the lighter atmosphere in the house and Lady Lockhart’s improved mood. When the young master was in residence, the food too improved; it was more varied and abundant and the cold meat and bread the women tended to have for suppers were replaced with dinners of three cooked courses. Meals were not just more substantial, they were jollier too.

That evening, Madeleine put on one of her usual gowns and struggled to make her hair look passable. Dot was clever with such things but was needed in the kitchen. She glanced at herself in the looking glass and pinched her cheeks to bring a bit more colour to her face. Her heart quickened as she thought of her new dress hanging in the dark. She had to wait for Dot’s help and was yet to try it on, but even just holding it against her body, it miraculously seemed to shine a light on her skin and eyes and make her face glow. Was the alchemy of colour and fabric creating such magic? she wondered.

She ran lightly down the stairs and joined the family in the dining room. White soup was about to be served in the special Lockhart-crested china bowls when Madeleine gave a small bob in greeting to her cousins and slipped into her seat. She loved this soup, especially when there were extra dollops of cream and ground almonds, as there was tonight.

At the head of the table, Edwin Lockhart looked up from his bowl and caught his sister’s eye. ‘It strikes me that a young man’s friends are made at school and the universities and then in the gentlemen’s clubs, but if a young woman has no sisters, it can be hard to have such friends. Hen, why not be like a sister to Maddie? She is your cousin, after all?’

Madeleine said impulsively, ‘I’ve always wanted a sister and would be very happy to have one in Hen.’ She smiled across at her cousin.

But Henrietta Lockhart did not meet her eyes and coloured as she said, ‘I don’t want a sister. We don’t even look alike. We have no interests in common. If truth be told, I have no need for friends.’ She took a spoonful of soup and wrinkled her nose, then continued, ‘I just want a husband and to make my own household and family. And, Edwin, I would be a fool not to see that other women, even sisters, are competition, not collaborators, in that aim.’

Madeleine felt her spirits droop. There was nothing to be done in the face of such implacability.

Lady Lockhart helped herself to more cream, stirring it vigorously into her bowl. ‘Both you girls have to be sensible about your futures. Neither of you have large dowries to attract the best suitors, although you, Henrietta, are luckier than Madeleine in that you have your share of your father’s estate and will get a share of mine too.’

The soup bowls were being cleared away and the roasted mutton arrived as Lady Lockhart continued her assessment of the two girls’ chances in the marriage stakes. ‘Of course, Madeleine, you are disadvantaged by the impecunious way of life your parents chose. Against all her family’s advice, your mother decided to follow her selfish inclinations. To marry a musician of all ridiculous things!’ She threw her hands up. ‘I remember your grandmother was particularly vociferous against it but then agreed with ill grace to support them. They were already living on her charity when that fatal influenza struck and orphaned you.’ She indicated to her son that she would like another slice of mutton on her plate, then turned her baleful stare on Madeleine again. ‘Even your father’s family, who had the means to help, chose not to. They too were against his boneheaded decision to play second violin in the Opera’s orchestra.’ She gave Madeleine a piercing glance. ‘The pity is you inherited your father’s romantic fancies, not your mother’s beauty.’

Miss Lockhart said with an air of satisfaction, ‘I always thought I inherited Aunt Ophelia’s beauty.’ And she put a hand to her fine golden hair that waved in just the right way and set off her blue-eyed prettiness to perfection.

Madeleine thought with some bitterness that in this family, not even her mother’s looks were allowed her; Henrietta had to claim them for herself. She said in a quiet voice, ‘I always thought I had Mama’s face shape and eyes. Grandmama thinks I look like her.’

‘Oh no! She was blonde and your hair is light brown, and her eyes were blue like mine, and yours are grey.’

Lord Lockhart intervened with a laugh. ‘Hen, stop these battles over poor Aunt Ophelia’s relics. Our little coz is a good musician, wouldn’t you agree, Mater? You must give her that.’ He crammed another potato into his mouth and, chewing loudly, opined, ‘Food is devilish good. Compliments to the cook.’

Lady Lockhart was not to be appeased. ‘Well, what good is a facility on the piano-forte? Madeleine’s not going to take her place in the Opera orchestra, is she? She has to attract a husband, and with not very much to commend her.’

His lordship remonstrated, ‘Come now, Mama dear, don’t lower the spirits so. Look at how doleful you’ve made poor Maddie feel. After all, there’s no accounting for men’s tastes. I found myself on Oxford High Street a couple of weeks ago suddenly attracted to the plainest⁠—’

‘Edwin! Don’t bring your buckish conversation to our table.’

‘Sorry, Mama.’ He had the grace to blush and stole a glance at his cousin, not certain if she had understood the meaning of his remark. Madeleine had, in fact, understood very well that even the relatively benign Edwin thought she was unattractive and unlikely to excite the erotic imagination of any male, except perhaps the inebriated or excessively libidinous youth out on the strut. But she consoled herself with the thought that both young Lord Godston and the sophisticated Mr Shilton had chosen to dance with her at Lady Barnsley’s ball. They both now played prominent parts as virtuous characters in her novel, and she was pleased to reward their kindness with immortality.

Madeleine went to bed that night aware she had a secret weapon hanging in her wardrobe and she was going to use it to attract at least one admirer at the Vauxhall fireworks display. There, she would practise thinking herself a pretty woman, and her new dress was going to lend her its beauty and give her courage.

* * *

Just two streets away, the Shilton household was filled with convivial laughter. Mr Shilton’s residences were known for their comfort and luxury, and Lord Flambard had happily settled in to his rather grand town house. He stretched his legs in front of the fire in the library with a glass of the finest French brandy in his hand. Opposite him sat his friend, the perfect host, generous with his food, his wine, his friendship. The young men shared stories about what had happened in the ten years since Lord Flambard had fled to France. His lordship’s tales were more lurid than Ferdy Shilton’s, but they both found much to amuse each other, slipping back into the comfort of a long comradeship, forged in the hell of Eton School.

As the night wore on and each man was mellow with brandy, Ferdy raised a topic that had been concerning him all day. ‘Max, I am very anxious that your presence here should not ruffle Miss Payton’s feelings or jeopardise my chances with her. I really have come to the decision that she will make me an excellent wife.’

‘And you, dear Ferdy, have always been one to please the ladies. I have never known you to disappoint one.’