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His friend was undeterred. ‘Well, you know the great Dr Johnson opined that Chesterfield’s dictates did not make a gentleman: rather more they taught the morals of a mistress, and the manners of a dancing master! He snorted with laughter, then added mischievously, ‘that just about describes you, dear Val. Your papa has fulfilled his fatherly duty admirably!’

‘Freddie, where are your manners?’ Lord Ravenell covered Lucie’s ears with his gloved hands. ‘You, Freddie, have the morals of a donkey and the manners of a quacking duck!’

Lucie found herself laughing with them in their affectionate brotherhood. She had no brothers and previously had not much to do with young men and so found it exhilarating to be included in their easy masculine banter. ‘What’s this you’re about to buy?’ Lord Ravenell took the book from her hands. He read the title and his eyes opened wide in mock alarm. ‘My dear Miss Carey, you should be warned. This is far too dangerous for a young woman’s susceptible mind!’ He showed it to Lord Lynwood. ‘What do you think, Freddie?’

‘If our father figures are in need of some improving literature, I think Miss Carey needs a conduct book for young gentlewomen too. Look, what’s this?’ Freddie Lynwood picked up a book, A Father Writes on Morals and Manners for his Daughter, and handed it to Lord Ravenell.

He flicked the book open and began to read with a snort of laughter. ‘Practising on the piano-forte may be the means of preventing that vacuity of mind, which is too frequently the parent of libertinism; and may preclude the intrusion of idle and dangerous imaginations.’ He held up Byron’s cantos with a reproving flourish as he continued to read, ‘And may prove to be an antidote to the poison insidiously administered by the innumerable licentious novels which are hourly sapping every moral and religious principle!’ He snapped the book shut and said triumphantly, ‘No Lord Byron for you, my sister!’

Lord Lynwood turned to look at the shop’s display and muttered, ‘Where can I find such licentious novels to sap my moral principles?’

‘For me and you, Freddie, I’m afraid there’re nothing left to sap,’ Lord Ravenell said with a sorrowful expression. He turned enquiringly to Lucie. ‘I have my curricle outside. Can I deliver you and your maid home, wherever that may be. Still Wiltshire?

‘That would be very kind.’ She laughed. ‘No, not Wiltshire, I’m staying with Lady Godley in Green Street. But first I must collect Alice from the Egyptian Hall.’

‘I can take up two extra at a squeeze. Freddie, are you happy to walk back to Grosvenor Square and I’ll tool round after dropping off Miss Carey?’

Lucie purchased her copy of Byron’s cantos, and Lord Ravenell, Lord Chesterfield’s famous Letters, and they sauntered into the street. The sight of three such beautiful personages dressed in the height of fashion drew attention from the passing traffic. Lucie was not used to causing such a stir. She looked across at Lord Ravenell, suddenly lit by a shaft of spring sunshine which made his presence numinous, seemingly not quite of this world. His shiny curricle awaited them; the same matched bays she recognised from their fleeting meeting on the country road were standing quietly with his groom at their heads. Lord Lynwood handed her up, giving her hand a meaningful squeeze. ‘I would trust Valentine with my life but beware, my fair redeemer, he is an Ariel who enchants this isle.’

The horses moved off the few paces down Piccadilly towards the Egyptian Hall and there Lucie caught sight of Alice, just emerging into the light. She hailed her and Lord Ravenell’s groom sprang down to hand her up to sit rather snugly against Lucie, whose slender frame was squashed up against Lord Ravenell.

‘Lady Godley is giving a soirée for me at her house in Green Street and I wondered if you or your father had received an invitation.’

‘He lives in Grosvenor Square, not far from Ant Brabazon. I’ll drop in to give Pater his book and I’ll check. He’s an acquaintance of Lady Godley’s, so I wouldn’t be surprised. But I shall certainly attend. Now I’ve found you, how can I let you go?’

Lucie knew such easy intimacy with a young man was considered quite improper, especially since an hour or so before he was a stranger, but how could something that felt so natural and unthreatening ever be wrong? Was this what it would be like to have a brother? she wondered. And if indeed she was enchanted, as Lord Lynwood warned, was it not a dream from which she did not care to wake?

The bays were trotting up Green Street at the moment Sybella was leaving the house with James on their way to the Park. At the sound of approaching hooves, they both paused and gazed down the street. James’s eyes were fixed on the beautiful horses, their hooves high-stepping in perfect harmony, but Sybella was transfixed by the sight of her sister sitting up in close proximity with a man more beautiful than herself. The curricle slowed and stopped beside them and the groom leapt down to hold the horses. Her sister’s radiant face gazed down at her. ‘Bella, this is Lord Ravenell. He’s Freddie Lynwood’s friend. They’ve been at Hatchard’s too, and we have had such fun. And Alice has been to the Egyptian Hall. We have to take James. It’s such a treat.’ She was breathless with excitement.

Lord Ravenell sprang to the ground and came to hand Alice and then Lucie down. He turned and took Sybella’s outstretched hand. ‘How do you do, Lord Ravenell,’ she said levelly. ‘I’m Lucie’s sister, Sybella Lovatt.’

He bowed. When he lifted his head again, his face was full of warmth and amusement. ‘I’m afraid, Mrs Lovatt, I’ve discovered only this afternoon that Miss Carey is my long-lost sister, separated at birth, I believe, so you must be, to my delight at least, my sister too. I can’t impress on you how much I have longed for sisters.’ Sybella, who prided herself on her good sense and straightforward manner, found herself disarmed. To her chagrin, she was as susceptible to this young man’s natural charm of looks and manner as anyone. She did not even notice that he still held her hand in his light grasp.

‘La! Lord Ravenell. Much as it would delight me to have you for a brother, I think you are slightly older than my dear Lucie, are you not? Twins you cannot be.’

‘That is but a quotidian thing. We are twin spirits, Artemis to my Apollo.’ As he looked at Lucie, he took her hand and kissed both hers and Sybella’s in one graceful movement.

James had extricated himself from his mother’s hand and had been examining the horses with the help of the groom. He now stood between his mother and Lord Ravenell, gazing up into their faces. He gently took hold of Lord Ravenell’s driving coat and tugged. Lord Ravenell looked down to see an angelic miniature version of himself gazing back. For a moment, he was startled. Sybella followed his gaze. ‘My apologies, Lord Ravenell, this is my son, James Lovatt.’

‘How do you do?’ He put out his hand.

‘Like your ’orses,’ James said solemnly.

‘They are fine indeed, young man.’ He ruffled James’s golden curls and looked suddenly wistful, speaking almost to himself. ‘How much my dear father would love a grandson and heir like you.’ Then he met Sybella’s bemused eyes with an airy aside. ‘Perhaps I can borrow the scamp one day, do you think?’ He laughed as he swung himself into the curricle and set off back to Grosvenor Square, to his waiting friend. As he turned his horses, he waved gaily. ‘I’ll see you, sweet Artemis, Mrs Lovatt, Ma’am, at Lady Godley’s rout.’

‘Oh, Bella,’ Lucie sighed and her sister put her hand consolingly on her arm.

‘I know. He’s a prodigy of beauty and charm. But dearest, probably best as a brother, don’t you think?’

‘Suddenly, I feel poetry is the only way to describe him, all the rest is prose.’

‘Did you find your Byron?’

‘Yes, I did. But then he and Lord Lynwood read me an improving conduct book for young ladies. Reading novels, and I’m sure Lord Byron’s poetry, will turn my mind vacuous and sap my moral principles!’

‘Alas, alack. The toils that bind us women. But Lucie, I must be gone. I don’t want to be late for my good Captain of the Hussars.’ She then turned to Alice to ask her quietly, ‘Would you chaperone me in the Park for a half hour?’ Taking James’s hand, she walked in the direction of Cumberland Gate.

At this hour, the Park was full of dandies on the strut, ladies strolling, men and a few women on their best mounts, all dressed to be seen: flurries of smart carriages, curricles and phaetons added to the merry scene. Against this kaleidoscope of pleasure, a Hussar in his full regimental splendour stood out as a virile figure in blue, gold and red, his magnificent charger caparisoned and plumed. A warrior temporarily home from the war. Captain Fortescue was aware of the admiration and envy he provoked as he rode, sitting tall in the saddle, to where Sybella and James stood waiting.