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“The mathematical requirements of this gentleman are very high,” explained Mr Jukes condescendingly.

“Well,” said the colonel, who was watching Elizabeth with some amusement, “if we have to wait a week for this other fellow to turn up, I guess we could make-do with Latin and Greek in the meantime.”

“We have not had time to properly assess this young female’s accomplishments,” protested Mr Jukes.

“Well, do you have a Latin text in your bookshelf?” suggested Lizzy. “Perhaps I could read some of it now?”

Mr Jukes was inclined to protest, but when the colonel raised his eyebrows quizzingly, the senior partner thought better of it and shuffled to the bookshelf. A slightly dusty copy of Virgil’s Aeneid was duly produced and opened at a random page. Somewhat sceptically, Mr Jukes handed this to the very forward young lady who stood to take it.

Lizzy smiled as her eye alighted on the text on the page, and choosing the rousing speech of Turnus to his soldiers, she declaimed:

“quod votis optastis adest, perfringere dextra.

in manibus Mars ipse viris. nunc coniugis esto

quisque suae tectique memor, nunc magna referto

facta, patrum laudes. ultro occurramus ad undam

dum trepidi egressisque labant vestigia prima.

audentis Fortuna iuvat.”[4]

“Well!” said the colonel to Mr Jukes, “I must admit I surrendered my Latin textbooks at the age of fifteen. Was that correct?”

Mr Jukes cleared his throat. “Mr Jackson, here, is our expert in Latin. I tend to favour the ancient Greek language.”

To Lizzy’s mind, this begged the question as to why the text had been shelved with Mr Jukes’ books rather than his partner’s. But like the others, she dutifully turned to Mr Jackson to hear his verdict.

Mr Jackson blushed. “Err... Yes, that was quite well.”

“Excellent!” said the officer. “She’ll do! Do send word, Mr Jukes, when that other fellow turns up!”

Then turning to Elizabeth, he introduced himself, proving that he was able to modulate his voice to tones less suited to yelling across a parade ground.

“Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, at your service, ma’am,” he said with a bow.

“Ah, yes, Colonel,” said Mr Jackson, seeing it behoved him to make the introduction. “This is Miss Frances Gardiner of... Cheapside,” he concluded, repeating the direction he had recently written on the card.

The colonel bowed again graciously before signing the chit Mr Jackson handed him, exposing a gold signet ring with a heraldic device on his hand. Then, with an, “After you, Miss Gardiner,” he indicated that Lizzy should precede him down the stairs.

Outside, Richard hailed a passing hackney and opened the door for Elizabeth to climb inside. Having ascertained that Miss Gardiner was accompanied, he decided to join her in the carriage, indicating to her footman he should ride inside also, for propriety’s sake, rather than stand up behind. Then, flicking a coin to the boy holding his horse, Richard requested that he follow them back to Grosvenor Square. Pulling the door shut behind him, he sat down at a polite distance from Elizabeth on the forward-facing seat.

“Well, I’m glad Mr Jukes was able to give such an informed opinion on your Latin,” joked the colonel, who had been easily able to assess the true situation despite his lack of scholarship. “I must admit to having torn up and jumped on my Latin textbook when I graduated from the schoolroom.”

Elizabeth could not help smiling at this friendly sally. After a fortnight of feeling she had suddenly slipped into a lower social class, it was refreshing to be treated as an equal by someone who was clearly of the first stare. “What a barbaric thing to do to a book!” she retorted.

The colonel laughed at her attack. “In my defence, it had already been ruined by my brother, who drew unflattering cartoons of his tutor in the margins.”

“Oh? So, your brother has a skill for portraiture?”

“I do believe you have discovered his only talent, Miss Gardiner. What a shame he is not forced to earn his bread! He would give Mr Rowlandson a run for his money.”

“May I ask who your brother is?” asked Elizabeth.

“Robert Fitzwilliam, the Viscount Stanley. You have perhaps heard of him?”

“No,” replied Elizabeth, quite honestly, hoping not to give offence.