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Eliza was about to go through to Corinna’s studio to sit for the next stage of her portrait when Gibbons delivered a note to her in a hand she recognised. He bowed and said, ‘This was delivered by a ragamuffin who dashed off before I could question him.’

Thanking him, she settled herself into the chair opposite the easel to wait for Corinna, and began to read. She was suddenly alert to a sentence:

An American Gentleman comes to see me after the Show. He is friendly and tells me he has Horses at his Farm.

With a shock Eliza realised that Mr Flynn was probably Rose’s ‘American Gentleman’.

She knew he had been to Astley’s with Mr Shilton but had not suspected his acquaintance with Rose had progressed to something more than fleeting.

What was in his mind? Was he offering a lure of some kind, she wondered?

The possibility added to her concern for Rose.

Just as Eliza was folding up the note to put in her pocket, Corinna entered.

She whisked off the cloth that had covered the canvas and sat down.

‘Mrs Wilson will come back tomorrow for one more lesson but it’s clear to me you’ll manage very well with the dances at the ball.

Mr Flynn is less naturally gifted, but his warmth of character and general bonhomie will carry him through any embarrassments.

’ She smiled. ‘Now let me look at you again and get the proportions of your features right.’

Eliza settled back into the chair, her spirits less agitated now that she had confessed to her origins and had not been met with dismay.

As if she could see these thoughts written on her sitter’s face, Corinna said in a soft voice, ‘There is no shame in being an orphan or a lost child, you know. There are so many. I thought I was all alone in the world until I found my father.’

‘You were very lucky.’

Corinna was peering at Eliza’s face as she mixed her pigments with oil and started to paint in the flesh colours.

Before her was a sitter with the fine-boned beauty of a Holbein drawing.

She marvelled at the delicacy of the eye socket and the curve of the cheekbone, the sculpted elegance of the nose and jawline, with the added surprise of the full mouth that seemed to belong to a more sensual, less refined face.

She answered Eliza in an abstracted voice, her mind on her painting.

‘I was lucky. My father was still alive and had been seeking me. But you cannot know what you will find once you start to look.’

‘But where do we start? You had a crest on a silver cup. I have nothing to distinguish me.’

Corinna wiped her brush on a piece of linen. ‘Aha! But you have your unusual looks.’ Corinna continued to scrutinise the face in front of her and murmured almost to herself, ‘Such a shapely head with a charmingly noble nose.’

Eliza laughed out loud. ‘I sound like a racehorse! In fact, after being knocked down in the road, when I first opened my eyes and saw Lord Purfoy’s face, I thought him as beautiful as Percy, my horse, left behind at Prebbles.’

Corinna chuckled. ‘He surely is the handsomest of men, or indeed even of horses! But beware, his heart is bound in armour. Something happened in his youth he will not speak of. He is not a man to give your love to, my dear, unless you don’t mind it returned in pieces.’

Eliza immediately coloured. ‘Oh no! I didn’t mean I loved him as I love my horse, just that I thought him as fine-looking as Percy.’

‘Well, you are very fine-looking. I think even if we don’t find your family, you will attract a good man to love you.’

Eliza bridled. ‘But I ran away to find work and freedom, I’m not looking for a husband!’ she said with indignation.

Corinna was matter-of-fact. ‘I came to London with the dream of becoming a portrait painter, but I needed a home and some means of survival before I could establish myself. Finding my heart captured by Mr Wolfe provided me with all the pleasures of love, but also the necessities of life.’ She put down her brush and reached across for Eliza’s hand, aware this young woman had nobody to instruct her about life.

‘A married woman has greater freedom than if she remains unmarried, unless she’s very rich and distinguished, or exiles herself from Society by becoming a pirate or lawless brigand! ’

They both laughed and Eliza felt a rush of gratitude towards Corinna for her motherly care – something, she realised, which had been entirely absent and much missed for as long as she could remember.

Emotion welled up in her chest; she had never allowed herself to think of the love that had been denied her when she was severed from her family so young.

Corinna noticed the flush of feeling in Eliza’s face and her own heart was touched.

She said impulsively, ‘I would very much like to buy you a special dress for Lady Bassett’s ball.

I think my cast-off gowns work very well for the every day, but I want you to shine.

I think you need something made especially for you.

’ She stood up, once more assuming her practical manner, and said, ‘With the ball next week, we have no time to lose. Could you accompany me to my modiste this afternoon, perhaps?’

Eliza wanted to kiss her, so grateful was she for everything, but knew such a gesture was far too forward. Instead, she grasped her hand and brought it to her lips. ‘Thank you, Mrs Wolfe. I shall be honoured.’

* * *

Raven Purfoy, as immaculate as ever in his riding clothes and polished top boots, strolled round to the mews to talk to Taz. ‘Show me what’s concerning you.’ The men eyed the great hunter, glossy and black as ebony.

‘It’s mendin’, guv. Ridin’ this morn’ with Miss Eliza, ’e were a sweet goer.’

Lord Purfoy’s eyes flashed as he met his tiger’s mischievous gaze. ‘That girl’s not to be let near him, you hear. No gal can ride a stallion as mettlesome as Horatio.’

‘Well, if anyone can, it’ll be Miss Eliza. Y’know she dismounted by standin’ on Clio’s rump, then leapt to the ground! ’alf expected ’er to somersault on the way.’ He chuckled.

For a fleeting moment his master looked astonished then amused, but his voice was stern in response. ‘Taz, I can tell you’re susceptible to that young woman’s charms. Heed what I say on the matter!’

‘Never fear, m’lord. Nothin’ with fewer than four legs charms me.’ And he flashed his gap-toothed grin.

Horatio was growing restive so Lord Purfoy settled himself in the saddle and trotted out of the cobbled mews, heading for Hyde Park.

As they entered through Grosvenor Gate he felt his tension ease; the air was fresh and acquaintances greeted him as they passed.

He released the reins and felt his favourite hunter’s energy uncoil as he set off into a fluid canter.

Raven Purfoy permitted Horatio far more freedom to act on the impulses of instinct and spirit than he allowed himself.

He knew his own heart was walled up, neglected, left to sicken and die, and it was painful to have it stirred back to life.

Purfoy cantered up towards the copse of oak trees and leaned forward to run his hand over Horatio’s shoulder muscles, feeling the animal’s strength and exhilaration.

He was surprised by a pang of sorrow that he could not live as simply in the present as this.

He had learned how dangerous it was to abandon himself to feeling, how fraught it was with pain.

As the Oxford Street Turnpike came into view, he wheeled his horse around and headed downhill towards the Serpentine.

The day was growing warmer and hazy with the arrival of spring.

The wildfowl scattered with enthusiasm across the water, coots chirruping as they foraged in the muddy shallows, while ducks paddled with haughty disregard for the moorhens flashing in and out of the reeds.

Purfoy watched their diverting busyness.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a horse he recognised and coveted.

White as snow with a long floating tail, the stallion commanded attention.

He had tried to buy him from his owner, despite his own hearty dislike of the man.

Lord Purfoy’s eyes moved from admiring the beautiful animal to the dark, lean-faced rider who approached and tipped his hat.

‘Davenport,’ Purfoy drawled, ‘I haven’t seen you at the club for some weeks. I hope you’ve been well?’

Lord Davenport gave him a knowing glance. ‘A touch of the old malady, ye know. ’Tis rife in Covent Garden. Strumpets up from Wapping Docks for a better trade than the scurvy Jack Tars.’

Lord Purfoy’s lip curled in disdain and he was about to turn and ride away when this most notorious of gamblers said something that made him pause. ‘Life is a game of chance. My mother’s cousin is further ailing. Soon I’ll be saved the bore of having to marry an heiress.’

‘You’re his heir?’

‘I am, and in the nick of time.’ Davenport’s pale face looked triumphant. Then he cast a sour glance at Lord Purfoy. ‘We’re not all fortunate enough to sup with a golden spoon from the moment we enter the world.’

‘I’ve been lucky indeed. But I’ve been careful to husband my fortune.’

Lord Davenport snorted with derision. ‘If gambling deep and buying the best bloodstock is “husbanding your fortune”, then that’s news to me.’

Lord Purfoy was reminded again of just why he disliked this man so much and turned his horse to go, but Davenport put out a hand. ‘Talking of which, that insufferably rude tiger of yours needs some masterly discipline.’

Purfoy’s manner turned even more icy. ‘I do not need your advice on how to handle my staff. Taz is the finest groom in London. I trust him with my life. More importantly, with the lives of my horses.’