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‘I am most obliged, Lady Jersey.’ Sybella bowed and smiled. Without a word, Lord Rockliffe led her onto the ballroom floor and slipped an expert arm around her waist. She was momentarily disconcerted to be so physically close to a stranger, but soon relaxed a little. She had never danced the waltz in public before and it was rather thrilling to be in the arms of someone so expert who was not an elderly dancing master or indeed her giggling sister. She could barely make the required light conversation as she was concentrating so hard on her steps, not wishing to disgrace herself.

After a while, Lord Rockliffe said with sly amusement, ‘Don’t think about what your feet are doing, Mrs Lovatt, just listen to the music and trust in my lead.’ He pulled her closer to his hip as he twirled her across the floor. Sybella was rather breathless with the exertion and some unaccustomed nerves. She glanced round, looking for Lucie, and saw her waltzing in Mr Brabazon’s arms. Her sister’s golden head was not inclined nervously watching her feet, instead she was smiling and seemed to be enjoying conversing with Lord Lynwood’s forbidding guardian.

Just at that moment, Mr Brabazon looked across at Sybella and Lord Rockliffe and he frowned. He danced Lucie away from them and when the music finished, the sisters were at opposite ends of the vast room. Lord Rockliffe led Sybella to a sofa. ‘Thank you for the opportunity to dance with you, Mrs Lovatt. It was an unalloyed pleasure.’ He bowed. ‘May I get you a lemonade?’ Remembering her last experience with the drink, she declined politely and he sat down on the sofa beside her. ‘I hear you have estates in Wiltshire, contiguous with the Brabazon lands?’

‘Indeed, you hear right. I am now in charge of my father’s estate. And I believe Mr Brabazon is of his.’

‘Ah, yes, Anthony Brabazon.’ He left the words hanging in the air.

‘In what county are your lands, my lord?’

‘I’m in Quorn country in Leicestershire. Devilish good riding there.’

Everyone knew that the oldest and most tonish of hunts was the Quorn: Sybella was not interested in the usual rivalries of male sporting aristocrats but knew she was expected to make uncontroversial conversation so continued the theme. ‘We hunt with the Duke of Beaufort’s pack in Wiltshire. The land near us is good foxhunting country with woods, coverts and open grassland. Good riding, too.’

‘I saw you on your black stallion in the Park. Not an easy horse for a lady to handle.’ His voice was silky and so quiet, she had to lean closer to hear. ‘You have the elegant seat of an experienced horsewoman. Perhaps you and your sister might come up to Leicestershire in the hunting season, to compare terrains. I can promise some first-rate sport.’

It was such a long time since Sybella had been addressed thus by a man who made no secret of the fact he found her attractive and was set on flirting with her. Despite her vaunted good sense, she found this unexpected diversion slightly thrilling. With her heightened colour and sudden askance gaze, Lord Rockliffe, with years of experience in the arts of seduction, recognised his coquetry was not entirely unwelcome.

Unnoticed by either protagonist, Mr Brabazon was advancing slowly across the floor. Lord Rockliffe followed through with his advantage. He bent his head towards hers and murmured, ‘I heard your husband was a hero in the Peninsula. We must be grateful for the sacrifices such men make to protect our liberties.’ His dark eyes looked intently into hers. ‘You must miss him very much, Mrs Lovatt.’

Sybella felt uncomfortable and dropped her gaze. ‘I do, of course, but I have James, who is a great comfort and delight to me.’

‘But I meant you must be missing the company only a man can offer.’ With a wicked smile, he added, ‘Lovatt by name, Lovatt by nature, don’t you agree?’

The impertinence of his words struck Sybella with a shock of mingled embarrassment and outrage. She could feel her cheeks flame and leapt up from the sofa. ‘How dare you, sir!’

‘Come, come, Mrs Lovatt,’ he purred, patting the sofa. ‘Do sit down. I didn’t expect you to be so missish.’

‘And I didn’t expect you to have such a commonplace mind!’ she responded in a furious whisper and whirled round to walk straight into Mr Brabazon. His cool grey eyes were fixed on Lord Rockliffe’s face and the contempt and loathing in his expression froze the space around them.

‘Mrs Lovatt, may I escort you to the supper room?’ Sybella took his arm wordlessly and glanced back at Lord Rockliffe, whose eyes glittered, his mouth twisted into a sneer. In the most urbane manner, Mr Brabazon talked as if nothing untoward had just transpired. ‘I trust you and your sister are enjoying your first taste of the unique charms of Almack’s?’ He inclined his head to gaze down at her face with his usual detached amusement.

Sybella put a hand quickly to her cheek and hoped her colour had subsided. ‘Yes, indeed. The ballroom is beautiful. The looking-glasses, the high ceiling, all so elegant.’ Her voice sounded rather high and breathless, even to herself. She knew she was holding onto his arm more tightly than etiquette decreed but did not want to slacken her grip. They walked on. Then she remembered her determination to take Scipio to Richmond for a gallop: suddenly the idea of being accompanied by Mr Brabazon seemed rather comforting. She turned to him and said shyly, ‘Did you mean it about going to Richmond Park?’

‘I never say anything I don’t mean.’

‘My dear horse is champing for a good gallop. Of course, I can easily be accompanied just by my groom, but it would be helpful to have you show us the best route.’

‘I’m going down to the Hall tomorrow to see my new bailiff. But I’ll be back in three days’ time. Shall we plan our expedition for then?’

They were just entering the room where a meagre repast was on offer when Lucie, accompanied by both Lord Lynwood and Lord Ravenell, came towards them in the greatest good spirits. ‘Bella, Mr Brabazon, Val is such a wonderful dancer.’ When Lord Lynwood protested, she grabbed his arm. ‘Freddie’s not too bad either, it’s just satin slippers are not really protection enough.’ The three of them laughed as if it was a private joke.

‘He dances like he drives his curricle,’ said Lord Ravenell mischievously. ‘He’s too fast and recklessly hit and miss.’

‘Well, Val, we’ll see tomorrow who’s the best driver.’

‘Are you going ahead with that curricle race to Epsom?’ Lucie was excited by the thought. ‘Surely I can go with you, Freddie?’

‘No!’ both Sybella and Lord Ravenell said in unison.

Then Mr Brabazon’s voice intervened to settle the matter. ‘My dear Miss Carey, I really would advise against accompanying my ward anywhere at speed, in fact anywhere at all.’ An elusive smile suddenly softened his harsh features.

‘Sir, I protest. Freddie’s not so bad. He’s the best friend a man could have.’ Lord Ravenell’s beautiful face was flushed with emotion and exertion from the dance and he gave his friend’s arm a friendly punch. He then turned to Lucie and picked up her hand to press to his lips. ‘And Loo also is as good a friend as anyone.’

Sybella’s attention was caught by the sight of Lord Ravenell’s father arriving, at the eleventh hour, just before the doors were shut to all-comers. He stalked into the ballroom, dressed in his distinctive black and silver court dress. She was struck by just how handsome he must have been in his youth; beneath the pallor and lines of dissipation, his fine nose and cheekbones gleamed in the candlelight. His eyes were still young and full of fire, and they alighted on the little group that surrounded his son.

‘Papa, I’m glad you bestirred yourself enough to attend. Sailing rather too close to the wind, though, eh? The doors were about to be closed in your face. I suppose you’re heading back to White’s afterwards?’