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‘And what about you being arrested, Freddie, for attempted corruption?’

‘It’s a risk I have to take.’ His usually amused expressive eyes were narrowed, his mouth a grim line.

In her distress, Lucie’s mind had been tumbling through fragmentary memories of events during the weeks since she had first met Lord Ravenell. Suddenly her thoughts were anchored on the conversation she had had with his father at Almack’s, where anxiety for his son underlined his courtly politesse. The old Duke so obviously loved Lord Ravenell and was deathly concerned for his safety. Was it marriage that he sought for his son, as protection from the world’s censure? An idea struck her like a shaft of light piercing a confused and leaden sky. She could barely contain her sense of urgency. ‘Freddie, I’ve got the answer. I’ll tell the constable at Bow Street that Val and I are betrothed. That his behaviour meant nothing. He was in his cups. I’m coming with you to see him. We have to convince them, Val was merely in his altitudes, as drunk as a rat and they are mistaken in arresting him. He is about to become a respectable married man.’

Lord Lynwood looked stunned. Colour rushed into his pallid face. ‘Dammit, Lucie, you can’t do that. You can’t sacrifice yourself, even to save Val from his wild ways.’

‘Yes, I can, and it won’t be a sacrifice. He’ll make a very kind husband. And Freddie, it may be we’ll save him from the gallows.’ She looked grimly at him. ‘Come on, we have no time to lose.’

Alice had been standing apart, straining to hear this animated conversation, and Lucie knew her vivid imagination would be putting her own interpretation on it. Lucie dashed over to her maid, her face drawn with anxiety. ‘Alice, I have to accompany Lord Lynwood to Bow Street. I’m sorry, you’ll have to chaperone me, otherwise Lady Godley will fall into an apoplexy.’ This only piqued Alice’s curiosity further.

They set off, with Lord Lynwood leading his horse. ‘I’ll have to leave Nimbus with my groom. Then it’s best if we get a hackney rather than take my curricle. The more discreet, the better.’ They walked on, keeping Alice at a careful distance so she could not overhear their conversation.

Lucie was single-minded, concentrated on what she hoped was an inspired idea that would release their friend from the shades of the Bow Street cells and the possible threat of death or exile.

But Lord Lynwood was troubled by a confused mix of powerful emotions he did not quite understand. ‘Lucie, I think it’s very noble of you. And the ruse might work. Dammit – dash it – you’d be an out-and-out heroine! But neither Val nor I would ever want you to think you have to take it to heart and go through with marriage, you know. A woman is allowed to break off a betrothal without any disgrace to either party.’

Lucie walked silently beside him. She had not considered the import of what she proposed to do beyond the necessity to save Val. Her immediate thought was to work out how best to present her story.

The hackney pulled up outside No. 4, Bow Street. It was evident the area had declined since the opening of Covent Garden Theatre and the Royal Opera House which attracted rowdy drinkers, libertines and gamblers and those in search of desperate or wanton women. The sight of such a handsome young couple dressed in the height of fashion outside the infamous magistrate’s court made passers-by crane their necks and goggle. Lucie’s golden radiance was in striking contrast to Lord Lynwood’s dishevelled dark good looks, and both were painfully aware of the curious interest they aroused.

Freddie Lynwood was particularly appalled at escorting Lucie into the building. He knew how offensively improper it would be judged. Not even Lucie’s sister knew she was here. The purpose of their visit was beyond shocking, and it was all his responsibility. Only desperation would have driven him to such ungentlemanly, contemptible behaviour. They left Alice on the bench in the vestibule: even she was horrified at finding herself in such a place.

‘Are you ready, Lucie?’ Lord Lynwood looked at her anxiously and, when she nodded, took a deep breath. They walked through and were met by one of the Bow Street constables.

‘Good morning, Constable, we have come to see Lord Ravenell. He was taken into custody early this morning.’ Lord Lynwood was careful to be polite, even deferential. The man looked from him to Miss Carey with an impenetrable gaze. He turned and led the way to the desk where a ledger was open with names and addresses written in spidery black ink, together with the criminal activities of which each of the arrested was accused. His big forefinger ran down the list of thieves and footpads, the drunk and disorderly, the beggars and those accused of battery and assault, and then came to a stop. He looked up.

‘Ah, Valentine Ravenell, his lordship, of Grosvenor Square.’ He appeared disconcerted by the presence of Lucie, a beautiful and very young woman whose clear blue eyes surveyed him and the scene with some emotion but little embarrassment. He gestured to Lord Lynwood and took him aside. ‘We arrested your friend and four other men for,’ and he lowered his voice, ‘for unnatural crimes.’

This disconcerting young woman joined the constable and Lord Lynwood and said in a clear voice, ‘Good sir, may I introduce myself? I am Miss Carey. I am betrothed to Lord Ravenell.’ Her words seemed to have an instant effect, as the constable’s jaded eyes were suddenly on her face, sharp and intent. She continued in a steady voice with an underlying throb of feeling, ‘I know he was with his friends last night, celebrating our betrothal, and quite possibly had drunk too deep. Isn’t the phrase, sir, as drunk as a lord? Or castaway? Or shot in the neck?’

As the constable snorted with surprised amusement at such a lady using this masculine slang, Lucie gained confidence that perhaps her story might be effective. His manner seemed to have shifted as he said, ‘Your young friend certainly was singing most of the night in his cell. Kept everyone entertained.’

‘He has a very fine voice, as he knows to his pride. Sometimes hard to shut him up,’ said Lord Lynwood drily.

At this, the constable became suspicious again that he was being gammoned by these young sprigs of fashion and resumed his professional mien. He said severely, ‘He’s been arrested on a very serious matter indeed.’

‘Exactly so. But has he been charged yet?’ Lord Lynwood was determined that they try to transact some business before the arrest became official.

‘No, the magistrate is due this afternoon. He’s presiding at some other assizes this morning.’

Lucie was intent on diverting the conversation back to the central matter. ‘Sir, may I make a point? As the woman he plans to marry, I know Lord Ravenell best. He is, for instance, a very sentimental man. When he’s in his cups, he becomes over-affectionate with everyone.’ She gave the constable a meaningful look. ‘Rather than accusing him of improper behaviour, he needs instead a terrific scold.’ The constable found himself increasingly admiring of this young lady.

Lord Lynwood decided on another line of attack. ‘The Bow Street men are only called in if there’s a complaint, or informer involved. Can you assure me that this person was not acting with personal malice, or set on some mischief-making?’ The constable’s expression turned shifty. There was obviously some concern about the informer and Lord Lynwood pressed home his advantage. ‘Would it not be to everyone’s benefit if Lord Ravenell and his friends were just let go with a caution? Before it all becomes official with the arraignment before the magistrate?’

Lucie had impetuously grabbed the constable’s hand. ‘Please, sir, can we see Lord Ravenell? I really need to see him to put my mind at ease.’ He was taken aback, touched by this gesture. He paused for a moment and then turned and walked to the back of the building.

Lucie and Lord Lynwood heard him holler, ‘Bring up the singing lord!’

She suddenly felt breathless with an anxiety she had so far managed to control, the stakes were so high and Val’s life depended on how she and Freddie managed the next few minutes. For a moment, she felt close to fainting. After what seemed an eternity, Lucie heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and once more put on her armour and braced her shoulders.

Lord Ravenell was led into the room by an enormous man, almost as tall as he was wide. Lucie was overwhelmed by the sight of their friend, pale and brave, his eyes hollowed out and a small cut on his cheek where the blood had dried in a jagged line. His cravat was crumpled but he was still dressed in his beautifully tailored coat that had survived in immaculate order, a tribute to his tailor’s art. Lucie tossed off her bonnet and flew into his arms. ‘Val, Val! My own darling!’

White with shock, Lord Ravenell instinctively put his arms around her but cried out to his friend in deep dismay, ‘Freddie, how could you bring Loo here? How could you?’

Lord Lynwood came forward quickly and, meeting his eyes, said with heavy emphasis, ‘Val, Lucie is your betrothed, I could not stop her coming.’

The beginning of a hopeful gleam lit up Lord Ravenell’s exhausted face with something of his old spirit. He hugged Lucie even closer and in that moment quickly improvised, saying in a broken voice, ‘I’m so sorry, dearest, to have drawn you into this. You know how I am in liquor. What a fool I’ve been! How can I make amends to you? But I’ve learnt my lesson, I promise I will not get so castaway again.’ His voice was hoarse and weak with fatigue. Lucie let out a sob and put her head on his chest.