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Overcome with feeling, Eliza hugged her. ‘Of course. I would be honoured.’ Was this what having family was like, she wondered, as she felt arms encircle her?

* * *

When Eliza returned with Polly to Brook Street, there was a letter waiting for her in the hall. She recognised the hand of Rose Bowman and carried it up the stairs to her room.

As she read, her unease grew. It was full of Mr Flynn’s plans, not least to escort her to the Bassett ball.

What was Mr Flynn offering Rose? Eliza knew she was a worldly young woman and not easily gulled, but what was their relationship already?

And most immediately concerning was the news that Mr Flynn intended to bring her uninvited to the grandest ball of the Season.

Eliza could not bear Rose to be publicly scorned as Lord Davenport had privately scorned her.

She also, more shamefully, felt uneasy about her old life intruding on her new.

Not wishing to misread the situation, Eliza did not express such misgivings to her friend and only sent in reply an encouraging but non-committal note.

She was just asking Gibbons to have it delivered when Mr Flynn entered through the front door, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her.

Eliza took his arm. ‘Mr Flynn, can you spare me a moment?’ She steered him into the small sitting room at the front of the house.

‘It won’t take long, so I hope it’s not indelicate if I don’t call for Polly. ’ She smiled at him over her shoulder.

When he could, Flynn ignored the niceties of English customs and shrugged.

‘I’ve just been to see the Palace of Westminster.

What a building! I’m very much enjoying being the tourist about town.

’ They sat down in chairs on either side of the fireplace as he continued his enthusiastic talk.

‘Before I return home I’d like to see Bristol, from where my father set off as a young man.

Bath, of course. Who can come to England and not see that town?

Then Ireland beckons, the country of my ancestors. ’

Eliza’s face was serious. ‘Mr Flynn, my concerns are more immediate, I’m afraid. Rose Bowman sent me a note about accompanying you to the ball tomorrow.’

He looked surprised. ‘Yes indeed. She said she’d never been to a soirée let alone a ball, and I thought I could give her that pleasure.’

‘That is a generous thought. But I’m worried you have no invitation for Miss Bowman and it is a very grand ball to which only those invited can go. I’m protective of her. I don’t wish her feelings to be injured by the prejudices of some.’

‘What prejudices could there be?’ He looked genuinely puzzled.

‘There are some in English society who are sticklers for the rules and conventions. I was abused by a nobleman in the Park who recognised me from the circus. Miss Bowman is much more distinctive as she does not wear a mask when performing.’

Mr Flynn looked triumphant. ‘Well, she will be unrecognisable. I have bought her a special dress as a present. I was on the strut with Mr Shilton and he pointed out the best mantua-maker in London for glossing with satin and style any discrepancies in a woman’s breeding.’

Eliza laughed. ‘That sounds just like what Mr Shilton would say. He is an advocate both for the power of beautiful clothing and that of conformity to the rules. Things must be seen to be done in the correct manner.’

‘Well, what can be your concern? I will bring Miss Bowman late to the ball, after her performance is finished, as she is not meant to leave the premises, as you know.’

Eliza’s feelings were so stirred by what she was about to say that she involuntarily leaned across to touch his arm, to make sure she had his attention.

‘You are an American, you are very rich and this makes it possible for you to break rules and conventions with little censure. We women, especially if we lack financial means or breeding, have to guard our honour as carefully as our lives.’

He snorted with derision and Eliza snatched her hand back in exasperation.

‘It’s perfectly true, what I say! It is only your insulation through wealth and the privileges of your sex, and your lack of imagination’ – she paused, surprised by her rudeness, then continued – ‘means you can ignore the true limitations on women who lack family, property or status!’ Her voice had risen and her cheeks were flushed with feeling.

Mr Flynn took her hand in a conciliatory gesture. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Gray. I’m just a country bumpkin – is that what you call here what I would call an ass at home? – I am grateful that I have not been schooled in an English gentleman’s subtle refinements.’

Eliza felt her indignation subside. She smiled.

‘Men are asses here too.’ However, still wishing to make her point, she continued, ‘I fear the disadvantages of women without status are as true in your country. This is why I hope you will be careful what you offer Miss Bowman. She is not a fool, but dreams can make fools of us all.’

Zadoc Flynn was himself unsmiling when he answered, ‘I’m conscious of the lure of the new and ignorance of the unknown.

I take my responsibilities seriously, you can rest assured.

’ Eliza was aware how long they had been talking and stood up ready to go.

He forestalled her. ‘Miss Gray, just one more thing. Taz is escorting me to Tattersalls, first light tomorrow. He has a very high opinion of your horsemanship. Would you come with us? I’d be grateful for your skill in riding when I buy what will be the most important horse to establish my racing bloodline.

I’m too heavy to truly test these beasts bred for speed. ’

Eliza paused, her heart beating fast. She would love to see the best horses in the land, she was gratified to hear how highly Taz rated her, and she longed to be able to ride a potential racing star.

But would it be too bold, she thought, to dress so she could ride as she did at the circus, free and astride?

The clothes she had been lent included Ferdy Shilton’s old school breeches and jacket.

Would it be indelicate for her to wear them in public just for a couple of hours?

Her rebel spirit thought it was worth the risk for the thrill of the ride.

She met Mr Flynn’s questioning face. ‘Yes. I should be glad to ride the horses for you.’

* * *

Eliza was strangely agitated by the day’s events.

She ran up the stairs to her room to dress for dinner and to have a few moments to think.

Her friendship with Marina Fairley was an unexpected pleasure.

There was an instant understanding and affection between them which pierced her loneliness.

Perhaps her strike for freedom was not so foolhardy after all?

Perhaps in running away from the only home she had known, in pushing open the most alarming door of all, she had found all kinds of other possibilities, of other doors ready to spring back, revealing unimagined worlds.

The chance of riding a horse astride again delighted her, feeling at one with the animal, instead of perched on its back in the proprietary side-saddle, looking elegant no doubt, but disconnected from the animal’s power and spirit.

And to top this pleasure was the fact that the two most highly regarded horsemen in London, Lord Purfoy and his tiger, Taz, commended her riding skill.

She knew this showed an unbecoming vanity, but her riding prowess was the only skill she had and it was exciting to have it recognised by the people who mattered most.

Eliza put her concerns about Rose to one side.

She could address them with her tomorrow, when she saw her at the ball.

After a cursory wash she clambered into a dress of Corinna’s that she had yet to wear.

She loved the shell pink of the silk gathered into a pink and dove grey striped bodice with ruffled bands of grey ribbon sewn at the hem and sleeves.

Her appearance no longer surprised her; Eliza was getting used to the new elegance of both her looks and her life.

Her elocution too felt as natural as if she had been speaking this way all her life.

Polly popped her head round the door and asked if she needed help with her lacing or her hair. Eliza said with a rueful smile, ‘I’ve made a passable attempt at a Grecian style, I think.’

‘No, miss, you haven’t.’ Polly was firm. ‘Let me help you.’ She brushed out Eliza’s hair. ‘It’s so long and there’s so much of it, like spun silk, I’m not surprised you find it difficult to manage.’

‘I used to wear it plaited which was easier but less elegant.’ Eliza smiled at Polly in the looking glass.

‘Well, miss, you could plait some of these side waves and then pin them into the main mass coiled into a bun on the top of your head.’

The maid’s deft fingers did just this and Eliza stared at her reflection. ‘That’s wonderful. Thank you, Polly, for making me look more than passable.’ She laughed. ‘I shall try that myself but I don’t know if I can replicate your confection.’

‘You can always ask me, miss.’ Polly was gratified at the praise.

‘That’s very kind, but I can’t live here for ever under the benign care of Mr and Mrs Wolfe.

I shall have to learn to manage myself.’ She made an effort to keep her voice light-hearted, aware that Polly’s life was far more conscribed than hers, even at its lowest ebb.

Eliza then remembered the adventure that awaited her.

A tremor of excitement ran through her and she turned her head towards the girl to say, ‘Oh Polly, I’m leaving early tomorrow for a ride, so don’t worry about bringing me water until I’m back. ’

* * *