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Sybella was intensely grateful at that moment to see Captain Fortescue arrive, magnificent in his ceremonial dress, drawing the eyes of all in the room. She took brusque leave of Mr Brabazon and walked towards him, her hands out in welcome. ‘I’m so glad you could come.’

‘It’s a pleasure to get away from the barracks and the exclusive company of men.’ He bowed over her hand.

‘Come through, let me introduce you.’

The presence in a society drawing room of a soldier, dashingly accoutred, made other young men uneasy. Their lives of idleness in pursuit of pleasure and self-gratification seemed suddenly vacuous in the harsh light of comparison with the Captain’s life-and-death valour; a warrior come from the battlefield in a war against Napoleonic forces that threatened the country’s very existence.

The young men hung back slightly, shamefaced, while the women surged forward to meet the handsome Hussar who had landed in their midst. No one seemed more keen than Lady Cleome Stafford. Known for her impassive beauty, she now became almost animated in conversation with him. He was as overwhelmed as anyone by proximity to her lovely form and inclined his head solicitously to hear whatever words fell from her charming lips.

At that point, Lady Godley shepherded her remaining guests into the room and, clapping her hands lightly together, addressed the company. ‘We are fortunate enough to have two musicians with us tonight. My goddaughter, Lucie, will play a couple of airs and then Lady Cleome has kindly agreed to entertain us afterwards with a sonata.’ Captain Fortescue led the young beauty to a chair and sat down beside her, still engaged in easy discourse.

By some odd coincidence, Sybella found herself sitting next to Mr Brabazon. Lord Lynwood made his way to the chair beside him and the Duke strolled towards their little group. Smiling at Sybella, he flicked up the embroidered skirts of his coat before sitting at the other side of her, his long satin-clad legs gracefully crossed at the knee, the sparkling paste buckles on his shoes adding to his distinguished mien. Lucie, looking rather pale, settled herself at the piano-forte then caught her sister’s eye and seemed to gain some comfort from her encouraging smile. She slowly drew off her long satin gloves, placed them on the seat beside her, and prepared to play. Lord Ravenell lounged elegantly by the door, his eyes on her face.

Lucie began to play a popular ballad, ‘The Soldier’s Adieu’, and as she gained confidence from the mellow tone of Lady Godley’s piano-forte her audience started to relax and enjoy the music. Captain Fortescue evidently had heard it before and knew the words, as indeed did Sybella. As Lucie played the ballad, her elder sister remembered the final words of the soldier to his wife and found there was a catch in her throat.

When on the wings of thy dear love to heav’n above thy fervent orisons,

Shall call a guardian angel down to watch me in the battle.

Sybella was surprised to see Cleome Stafford dash a tear from her eye as she glanced quickly at the Captain’s averted face.

With unfortunate timing, Mr Brabazon leant across to Sybella and said quietly in her ear, ‘Why are you not accompanying her on your violin?’

For the second time that evening, she felt her colour rise and answered in a fiercer whisper than she meant, ‘You know why! And I am sorry you ever discovered I played. You should not have caught me unawares.’ She glanced at his profile and saw just the merest twitch at the corner of his thin mouth.

At this point, Lord Rockliffe led Mrs Markham into the room and they took their seats close to the front, their shoulders almost touching in unconscious intimacy. Sybella noticed the flash of a large diamond on her marriage finger. She felt Mr Brabazon stiffen beside her and quickly glanced at his hand, which had lain loosely on his crossed knee. His long fingers contracted into a fist, the knuckles whitening, but his face betrayed nothing. He joined the polite clapping at the end of Lucie’s playing. She turned to her audience and prettily smiled in recognition and thanks.

Lady Godley had already reassured her that being only a passably good pianiste was all that was required. A charming singing voice was an added bonus. After all, in polite circles a young lady was only meant to play an instrument in public for the pleasure of others, never for her own gratification. In fact, extreme skill or competence in any public display, her godmother warned, risked her being thought showy and vain. Such a possibility had made Lady Godley, in the guise of a mother-figure, shudder with the vulgarity of the thought.

Lucie’s second piece was a Scottish song generally considered the most charming and melodic of all ballads, and well-known to most of the audience, ‘Oh Nancy, Wilt Thou Go With Me’. She intended to sing to her own accompaniment and Sybella had loved practising this with her, transcribing a descant for the violin. Now, as Lucie started to play, her elder sister was struck with how beautiful she looked, her slender hands rising and falling over the keys, her face in intent and lovely profile. As she began to sing in her charmingly unaffected voice, people inclined their heads to listen more closely.

Sybella found herself seeing her sister for the first time through the eyes of her audience. She was touched and surprised at how much more revealing it was of her true spirit when she sang in this natural unschooled way, open and heartfelt. Then Lucie’s light soprano was unexpectedly joined by a beautiful baritone voice, singing an affecting counter-melody which at first seemed just disembodied sound. The audience looked around curiously. Valentine Ravenell walked towards the piano-forte, his voice blending effortlessly with Lucie’s. She glanced up at him with a look of surprised delight. Their voices followed the melodic contours of the song in a simple harmony, flowing together then parting and meeting again.

O Nancy wilt thou go with me, nor sigh to leave the flaunting town?

Can silent glens have charms for thee, the lowly cot and russet gown?

With those words, Lord Ravenell indicated with a graceful flourish the assembled ton in all their finery.

No longer dressed in silken sheen. No longer decked with jewels rare,

Say, canst thou quit each courtly scene, where thou wert fairest of the fair?

The simple beauty of the melody echoed the message of pastoral simplicity that seemed to underpin much of the romance of feminine fashions of the age. In the audience could be seen the artfully tousled curls and high-waisted dresses of idealised country maids, embellished with nosegays and knots of roses and anemones.

The refrain fairest of the fair was sung three times, with Lord Ravenell amplifying the pathos of the words by holding Lucie’s attention in his sparkling gaze. There was such a striking similarity to their beauty, more than one of those watching would have thought of Narcissus and his beguiling reflection. As the last note died away, there was a spellbound silence, and then clapping that was so enthusiastic Lady Godley asked them to sing the ballad again.

Sybella turned to the Duke at her side. ‘Did you know your son was blessed with such a voice, my lord?’

‘I am embarrassed at the plethora of his talents,’ he said drily. ‘He takes after his mother in that, as with most of his finer qualities.’

‘But he has inherited his charm from you, has he not?’

‘Are you making sport with me now, Mrs Lovatt?’

Sybella’s attention was recalled to Mr Brabazon, who had stood up to stretch out his long frame. His ward had joined the group round Lucie and Valentine Ravenell, congratulating them on their impromptu performance. Sybella caught the intense look on Lord Lynwood’s face as he took Lucie’s still gloveless hand and lightly kissed her naked fingers. She wondered if the omniscient Mr Brabazon had also recognised that expression in his ward’s eyes.

Lady Cleome Stafford joined the congratulatory crowd for an instant, bowing her beautifully coiffed head to Lucie in greeting. ‘You outshine us all,’ she said with a smile that did not reach her eyes. Indeed, it was hard to follow the charm of the unexpected duet. Until that point, Lady Cleome had had every reason to feel complacent, as her musical skills would surely prove superior to Lucie’s. But there was no accounting for the sudden reversal which had made this mediocre musician into the toast of the party. Lady Cleome could easily erase Lucie’s fragile triumph with her own performance. Like Lucie, she was also blessed with a golden, blue-eyed beauty, but hers had been lauded since childhood and, combined with a substantial fortune, had awarded her an unfaltering confidence in her own ability to attract admiration and attention. She had grown up believing that to be beautiful was to be good: to be beautiful was to be loved. Life had taught her that merely by inhabiting her lovely outward form she could claim everything she needed. And risk nothing she desired.