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Eliza flashed him a reproving look and when the dance brought them close again she whispered fiercely, ‘It is ungentlemanly of you, Mr Shilton, to speak of this in such company!’

He brought her hand fleetingly to his lips.

‘You’re entirely right, even though only the most discerning would ever recognise you dressed like this.

My apologies as a gentleman.’ As they came together again he said more seriously, ‘Old Purfoy’s a trifle troubled by what that American is up to in the equine stakes, you know. ’

As the dance came to an end, Eliza answered truthfully enough, ‘He’s just bought a mare to take home for his racing stable.’

With a sceptical expression that sat incongruously on his angelic face, Mr Shilton led her to a sofa at the edge of the dance floor. ‘Do you know if he intends to race her here?’

‘Ah! Is that what most exercises my lord?’

Ferdy Shilton hated any kind of controversy and changed the subject. ‘You acquitted yourself very well, Miss Gray; no one would ever take you for a debutante.’ He bowed. ‘May I collect some refreshment for you?’

Through the press of dancers, Eliza suddenly glimpsed Marina Fairley sitting on a sofa by one of the windows.

She caught her eye and waved. ‘Thank you, Mr Shilton, but I’ll be joining my friend, Miss Fairley.

’ She indicated the young woman surreptitiously reading a small book she had half hidden under her reticule.

Eliza slipped into the seat alongside her friend. ‘Marina, you’re reading, not dancing!’

Marina’s open face lit up with pleasure and relief. ‘I am pleased to see you! As you know, I am fatigued to death with it all. But I have to at least turn up at a few grand occasions like this to please Mama until I’ve proved I’m unmarriageable.’

Eliza was struck by how cheerful Marina was in her defiance. She looked incongruous in this extravagantly dressed company in a simple dark blue muslin dress, unembellished by tucks or flowers, her hair in a simple bun. ‘What are you reading with such attention?’

Marina removed the small volume from beneath her reticule and putting her wire spectacles back on her nose, turned it over to show the cover to Eliza. ‘It’s volume two of Mrs Edgeworth’s Belinda. Illuminating about all these people and their desires.’ She swept the ballroom with her hand.

‘Is your mother here with you?’ Looking around, Eliza was suddenly filled with unbearable longing that her own mother might be one of this throng.

Her eyes strained to catch something familiar in the swirl of faces, her ears trying to differentiate a fond voice from the surrounding clamour.

But her mother seemed as far away from her as ever.

Unaware of the consternation in Eliza’s heart, Marina Fairley continued with a laugh. ‘No, Mama thinks I should endure the unendurable without doing so herself.’

Struggling for composure, Eliza said in as equable a voice as she could manage, ‘Well, I think it’s really exciting to be here. Who knows what may transpire.’

‘I was once wide-eyed like you too.’ Marina laughed.

‘Grandmama is here.’ She pointed to a knot of elderly women by one of the fires.

‘Holding court with her friends.’ Then she craned her neck and pointed to a striking woman talking to another at the entrance to the orangery, dressed even more plainly than herself.

‘And there’s my gorgon aunt, Lady Dauntsey.

She loathes Society and disapproves of ‘Our Profligate Age’, as she calls it.

She’s always threatening to cloister herself in a nunnery, but still cannot resist Lady Bassett’s ball. ’

Eliza was struck by the lady’s imperious profile. When she turned, she seemed to have the kind of censorious face that would be found carved on a church lintel to repel bad spirits. Searching Marina Fairley’s looks in vain for some likeness she asked, ‘Is she your mother’s sister?’

‘No, she’s actually my father’s family and enjoys disapproving of her brother.’ She smirked. ‘Like many of the pious, I think she’s excited by wickedness.’

Eliza was intrigued by the mention of this most important but mysterious figure in her friend’s life. ‘Did you ever see your father?’

‘No, by the time I was told of my connection to his noble family he had already fled into exile in Paris.’

‘But he obviously knew about your existence?’ Eliza hoped for her friend’s sake she had mattered to her father, even a little.

‘Yes, but he only showed the slightest curiosity when he heard about my interest in languages. It was then he sent me his copy of the manuscript I’ve mentioned.

’ Marina saw the sympathy in Eliza’s face and said brusquely, ‘Don’t worry, I’m not as full of sensibility as you.

I don’t care for him and don’t really mind how little he cared for me. ’

The orchestra was tuning up for the next series of dances and Eliza could not stop herself scanning yet again the melee of colourful guests for someone she knew would come.

She caught sight of the back of a tall, soberly dressed figure and held her breath, only to feel the plunge of disappointment and recoil as he turned and she recognised the profile of the predatory Lord Davenport.

Marina heard her intake of breath and put a hand on her arm. ‘What’s troubling you?’

‘That man.’ Eliza pointed Davenport out, laughing with a group of rakish bloods. ‘He’s so malign.’

Marina snorted. ‘He’s Lucifer’s cockerel, as vain and malicious as they come. He happens to be Lady Dauntsey’s son and the only thing of which she approves.’

‘But if she’s as strait-laced as a nun, how can she approve of him?’

‘Maternal blindness and delusion!’ Eliza laughed as her friend continued, ‘I wish my mama suffered from the same disease.’

‘But if Lord Davenport is Lady Dauntsey’s son, is he not your cousin?’

Marina wrinkled her nose. ‘I’d rather not own that relation. Neither does he choose to acknowledge me as a member of his family. I suppose my lack of legitimacy is his excuse.’

Alick Wolfe appeared at Eliza’s elbow and requested a dance.

Before Eliza left her side, Marina put a hand on her arm and whispered, ‘Take care never to be alone with the cockerel.’ Surprised by the urgency in Miss Fairley’s voice, Eliza turned with a questioning frown as Alick led her into the fray.

* * *

Lord Purfoy had left his club in St James’s and in a break in the storm, drove his curricle home with Taz on his perch behind him.

He was reluctant to go to the ball but had promised Miss Gray one dance.

He said over his shoulder, ‘Taz, you must never again let me drive so in my cups. All kinds of trouble from that misjudgement flows.’

Taz let out a profanity and spat. ‘Short of knockin’ ye cold, guv, I couldn’t stop ye. Wild and obstinate as a mule!’

‘I don’t care for your impertinence, Taz, nor for the animal analogy; a mule I am not!

Mr Shilton’s right, you need to show more deference to your superiors,’ his master said with a sardonic smirk.

‘Nevertheless, I hold you responsible for the accident with Miss Gray. Without that I would be warm by a fireside tonight, not expected to prance and cavort with the best of ’em. ’

As they bowled home, the sky darkened further and the storm broke again with increased ferocity. Open to the elements in his curricle, Lord Purfoy was drenched through as he walked up the front steps of his house and divested himself of his dripping coat in the hall.

He stood in his dressing room wearing only his silk brocade gown, gazing out gloomily at the rain-swept scene beyond his window.

His hair was still damp and curling and he felt strangely melancholy.

Why had he allowed this unknown slip of a girl to so dominate his thoughts and disturb his settled world?

Had it become a kind of madness? All the old certainties of his life were unmoored, his discipline loosened, and now he felt compelled to forsake his library and the decanter of finest French brandy for a tedious social event, designed to please mothers touting their daughters as marriage goods.

Lord Purfoy had refined the miscellaneous harlotry of his youth to a regular liaison with a beautiful widow, Amelia Cornford, who lived in an attractive house off Cavendish Square and appeared to enjoy his uncomplicated company as much as he did hers.

He did not insult her by offering money, but was lavish with his gifts which he knew were probably fast transmuted into currency.

His feelings for Mrs Cornford had never stirred his shackled heart; now, for the first time, he had grown dissatisfied with the thin gruel of unsentimental attraction.

What was happening to him? The wild weather seemed to express the breakdown of order in his own internal world.

His valet, John, interrupted Lord Purfoy’s unhappy train of thought by entering with a newly laundered linen shirt.

His lordship dropped his dressing gown to the floor just as a streak of lightning illuminated the sky, sending a phosphorescent flash across the tall athletic figure who stood naked and gleaming as a young Zeus mustering his thunderbolts.

John whisked the fresh shirt over his lordship’s head and left to collect his satin breeches and silk stockings while his master sat in the chair, crossed one long bare leg over the other and picked up The Sporting Magazine to flick through the racing pages.