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‘You won’t, by the end of a Season spent at Vauxhall.’ Lord Ravenell was emphatic. ‘You’ll be positively waterlogged.’ Lucie was gazing out of the window as the coach swayed on its luxurious way over Westminster Bridge. The river below was dark and oily, scattered with specks of bobbing light from the lanterns on the prows of boats plying their way up and down river, delivering goods and people on this great watery thoroughfare. Their horns could be heard and snatches of voices, laughing amidst the inevitable shouts and throaty curses. She sighed. The world at night seemed so thrillingly different and full of possibilities.

‘What are the Pandean Minstrels then, Val?’ Lucie turned from the window.

‘Oh, they’re even worse!’ He clicked his fingers above his head and then grinned. ‘A motley band who fret on their pipes, cymbals and drums. An unholy din. But the crowds at Vauxhall, chirping merry on arrack punch, will dance to anything, abandoned waltzes, ludicrous marches, mistimed minuets. It’s a bawdy gallimaufry.’

‘It sounds fun.’

‘Certainly there’s nothing like it. But there’ll be such roistering crowds, you must keep close to me and Freddie. I don’t want you getting lost then mysteriously magicked away by some itinerant musician.’ They both chuckled as Lucie slipped her hand through his arm.

The famous illuminations of the Gardens lit up the night sky before the visitors had even alighted at the entrance. There was already a palpable excitement in the air as the Duke’s carriages disgorged their passengers along with, it seemed, every other carriage in London. People arriving on foot or by chair joined the throng of brilliantly plumed guests queuing to pay their three shillings and sixpence fee to gain entry to the phantasmagoria within. They streamed out of the proprietor’s house, with its plain façade that promised nothing, into the Gardens filled with fantasy and light. The Grand Walk lay ahead with the Rotunda building and its spectacular domed roof. In all directions, picturesque walkways festooned with lights led to exotic buildings of every imaginative construction, while cheerful crowds progressed to different rendezvous.

The Duke of Ely led his party to the supper box he had hired for the evening. Lucie and Sybella could hardly believe their eyes as they passed through the groves of well-clipped trees hung with coloured globes of light. Everywhere was spectacle. They ended up outside the Chinese temples with their curving arcades housing the supper boxes. Theirs was one of the largest and most luxuriously furnished, with a painting by Francis Hayman on the back wall of Prospero and Miranda’s magic isle. ‘Oh, how beautiful.’ Lucie looked about her and impetuously grabbed the Duke’s hand. ‘Thank you.’

‘Champagne’s on the way. And I’ve ordered the famous ham and some roast chickens and salad. And sweet tarts and bread and cheese. Of course, we can’t come to Vauxhall Gardens without partaking of a bowl of arrack punch.’ He went in search of the waiter he had hailed when they had first arrived.

Sybella and Lady Godley sat on cushions on a bench with a good vantage point to watch the passing crowd. Lucie and the Lords Lynwood and Ravenell stood at the front of the box, hailing acquaintances who came up to say a few words and laugh. Everyone seemed in an ebullient mood. The music had already started and the strains of the orchestra floated over the merry scene. Sybella recognised Music for the Royal Fireworks and it thrilled her to hear the outpouring of musical joy entwine so brightly with the exuberance and laughter of the crowd. The food arrived and before they began to eat the Duke toasted Valentine and Lucie: in the glow of a thousand lights, they looked almost preternaturally well matched.

After the meal the Duke was claimed by his old friend, Bedford, in the box opposite and strolled across with Lady Godley on his arm to join that convivial party. Lucie and Valentine walked off in search of the acrobats who, it was rumoured, were performing near the Fireworks Tower.

Lord Lynwood sat down next to Sybella with a glass of arrack in his hand. His face was cast down and his dark eyes troubled. ‘What is it, my lord?’ she asked him quietly, thinking perhaps he was sorry Lady Cleome was not with him.

He turned and met her gaze with a piercing look. ‘Mrs Lovatt, are you happy with Lucie’s betrothal?’ Sybella was slightly taken aback at the directness of the question.

‘Not entirely,’ she said carefully, wondering what had provoked the question.

‘Val is my best friend. He’s such a fine out-and-outer. There’s no one better.’ A dark sorrow seemed to have settled on his handsome face.

‘I know. I have never met anyone as attractive as Lord Ravenell. I am drawn to him and his father greatly.’

‘But he has this side that is dangerous, to him and to those who love him.’

‘I think Lucie appreciates this.’

‘But does she really know? She’s so young and innocent. She barely knows the world at all. I love them both, you see, and so want them both to be happy.’

‘We both do, Freddie.’ She was thoughtful and looked away. ‘Lucie’s not so innocent, you know. She has a romantic turn of mind, ’tis true, but she’s never been one to cultivate a delicate sensibility. She’s a practical country girl at heart. But I do share your misgivings.’ Sybella turned and looked closely at his brooding face. ‘I want you to be happy too, Freddie. What is it you want?’ She took his hand.

‘I don’t know. I’m so confused.’

‘Can you talk to your guardian, perhaps?’

‘No. He just wants to see me settled with an heiress like Lady Cleome. But I don’t care for her, Mrs Lovatt. And I think she’s in love with Captain Fortescue. How can a Town beau compete with a hero in the Hussars, with his life daily at risk in the Peninsular War?’ he said bitterly.

‘Freddie, heroes are not only made on the battlefield. You are noble and courageous in your own way. Look how you saved Val. That courage and ingenuity is heroic too.’

He smiled wanly. ‘I don’t know who else would think that.’

‘Your guardian does, I know. I feel you might find Mr Brabazon more sympathetic than you think.’

He shook his head slowly. ‘No, I don’t believe so. If only he had known what love is himself, he might not think it so natural to make a match without it.’

‘I don’t believe he’s as cold as you make out. He has a heart and he will be able to understand you if you give him a chance.’

Lord Lynwood squeezed her hand then kissed it. ‘I’ll go in search of Val and Lucie and the acrobats. Are you happy here until Lady Godley returns from the box opposite?’

‘Of course. You go. I am very happy to watch the passing show.’

Sybella was indeed fascinated by the people who flitted like brightly coloured butterflies through the trees and swirled in shimmering flight past her box. There were men and women of the haut ton beautifully dressed and bejewelled, promenading for all to admire, from their supper boxes towards the orchestra, along the grand walks, through the colonnades and into the Rotunda. There were numerous women of less elevated status, painted and provocative, birds of paradise intent on attracting the masculine gaze and some lubricious stares. The Gardens offered all kinds of secret retreats and hidden grottoes for assignations.