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Corinna had been concentrating hard on capturing the emotion behind her sitter’s extraordinary eyes.

And with one final speck of Naples yellow dabbed onto the canvas, she stood back and narrowed her gaze.

‘Yes, I think that is done.’ Her voice was quiet, almost as if she were speaking to herself.

Her eyes remained on her painting as she said, ‘Miss Gray, come and see what you think.’

Eliza moved to stand beside Corinna and looked on this finished representation of her self.

Emotion rushed up into her chest and colour suffused her cheeks.

Here was a woman she recognised, yet the expression in her eyes was so unlike any she had ever seen: caught off guard, pensive, ready for adventure but with a veil of melancholy.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, ‘but I seem so lonely.’

‘I know. But that is what I see when I look closely at your face. In company you are full of vivacity and laughter but I see something solitary at your centre. It’s very much part of you.

’ Corinna looked across at her young guest and noticed tears were coursing down her face.

Dashing them away, Eliza seemed as surprised as Corinna who said gently, ‘Sometimes to see a finished portrait of oneself can be a deeply affecting thing.’

Eliza could not stop herself from giving Corinna a brief, intense hug.

She was shaken by how touching it was to be truly understood, and she felt an unexpected intimacy with the artist who had revealed to her this hidden self.

Corinna said, ‘When you have found your family and have a home of your own, it will be my gift to you.’ She picked up Emma and slung her on her hip.

‘This is the most precious present I could ever hope for. Thank you.’ They both walked towards the door, Eliza stealing a look over her shoulder at the portrait drying on the easel, seeming to be alive yet left all alone in the room.

* * *

The next afternoon, Davey, the Wolfes’ groom, had saddled up Sally, Corinna’s pretty grey palfrey with a dark mane and socks.

Eliza, accompanied by Davey, rode to Hyde Park to meet Marina Fairley and caught sight of her just inside Grosvenor Gate, the purple plume on her hat a bright flag in the sunlight.

They grasped each other’s hands in greeting. Miss Fairley smiled broadly. ‘I’m very glad to see you again, Eliza. How are you after that scoundrel drunk abused you and your friend at the ball? I’m ashamed to even think of him as related to me, so despicably rude was he!’

Eliza was serious in her response. ‘It shocked us both. So unexpected and humiliating at such a grand event.’ She frowned. ‘But in some ways he’s right. Polite society doesn’t recognise irregulars like Rose and me.’

‘Well, for that matter, polite society does not think highly of me either for being so happy to turn my back on the conventions of my sex and class. But if you don’t feel the lack of your own household and family, why should it bother others?’

Eliza met Miss Fairley’s eyes with the query: ‘You don’t feel the need for a family, do you?’

They trotted down to the Serpentine, scattering the waterfowl who were foraging amongst the reeds, their grooms in attendance a few paces behind.

Marina Fairley gazed thoughtfully into the middle distance.

‘No. The idea of childbirth fills me with dread. Pregnancy seems a death sentence. As dangerous as if we were to go to war!’ She laughed bitterly.

‘Then even if you survive, there’s no guarantee the child for whom you suffered will have warm feelings for you, or you for the child.

My mother can barely countenance me, and I find her a bore.

I know I’m a disappointment to her, you see.

’ A look of sadness suffused her face but only for a second or two before she was once more composed and smiling.

Eliza was aware of the pulse in her veins that reminded her of her longing for love, knowing she could not endure a life without it. She asked her friend, ‘But what of your heart?’

Marina Fairley laughed. ‘You’ll find I’m no sentimentalist. I aim to live without the distractions of love, a Stoic like the philosopher Epictetus, whom Grandmama so commends.’

Eliza, who was carried away by the red-blooded verse of Lord Byron, could barely contemplate such a rational view of life. ‘So what sustains the spirit?’ she asked as their horses cropped the grass at the water’s edge in the shade of a copse of birches.

Miss Fairley said without hesitation, ‘Virtue, knowledge, serenity; the storm of emotion is only destructive of such equanimity.’

Eliza looked at her friend and wondered if it was her self-belief, in the face of her mother’s ambition and her aunt’s disdain, that made her so admirable. ‘Perhaps this is why I feel we are matched, although not even related? You are the calm centre of my storm-tossed sea.’

They had moved their horses into the open sward and trotted up the slight incline towards the Tyburn Toll. Miss Fairley was amused. ‘Well, you can entertain me with tales of your troublesome heart while I concentrate on living the virtuous life and pursuing my studies of classical philosophy!’

‘Talking about troubles, how do you manage Lady Dauntsey’s disobliging nature? I’m grateful that she told me my father’s name, but the way she conveyed that my mother is dead was cruel in its starkness.’

‘You just have to armour yourself and not let her arrows pierce your flesh.’

In the distance they saw a group of four gentlemen on their flashy steeds racing one another through the avenue of trees that ran parallel with the road.

Galloping in the royal parks was forbidden, but these young blades were rich enough not to bother with the fines and willing to take their chances.

Marina Fairley scoffed in derision. ‘That one on the grey is the dastardly one of whom we speak. Devil Davenport is leading the charge.’

They watched from the protection of a copse of trees but as the men wheeled their horses around and slowed to a canter, they were suddenly upon the two women.

Recognising them, Lord Davenport reined in his mount which sidled and reared, still coiled with unruly energy.

Both Davey and the Fairley groom moved their horses closer to the women.

Eliza watched in some admiration how his lordship handled the frisky stallion, entirely at ease in the saddle.

‘Why, ladies…’ His voice was insinuating.

‘How do, Marina? And your little friend I’ve seen in all kinds of places from the highest to the low, good day. ’

‘Good day, Lord Davenport.’ Marina was frosty. ‘This, as you know, is Miss Gray.’

‘Good day to you, Miss Gray.’ He bowed his head but Eliza could not miss the sly flicker of insult in his drink-befuddled eyes.

Her dislike of him, however, was overborne by her admiration for his horse. She could not help but ask Lord Davenport about his handsome mount. ‘Sir, is that goodly beast yours?’

He seemed surprised. ‘He is. He’s called Eros for obvious reasons.

’ He looked round at his fellow riders who had hung back, and they all laughed in a bawdy manner, casting impertinent glances at Eliza and Marina.

The women realised all the young men were in their cups, despite the fact it was early in the afternoon.

Still laughing at his coarse insinuations, he added, ‘Eros is such a powerful stallion. I intend to ride him in the Owners’ Race at Epsom and show the arrogant Purfoy that he and Horatio no longer rule the turf.

’ His men friends cheered. Lord Davenport tipped his hat to the women and joined his group as they cantered back towards Cumberland Gate.

‘They are despicably drunk!’ Eliza said with some indignation, adding, ‘He doesn’t deserve such a beautiful horse. I hope he cares for him properly.’

Marina Fairley tutted. ‘Miss Eliza, beware the emotions. It seems yours are involved in everything; you are indifferent to nothing. Such commitment only courts grief. Davenport isn’t worth your concern, and neither is his horse. Try for serenity.’

Eliza laughed. ‘I could never be as you suggest. My emotions are as turbulent as the sea, not least because I go to Bath tomorrow and hope to find my father and discover something of my family at last.’

They had arrived at the gate out of the Park and, in the crush of horses, riders and promenaders arriving to take advantage of the spring sun, Miss Fairley grasped Eliza’s hand.

‘I wish you every luck with your quest. But take care of your heart; don’t hope for too much.

Hope is the graveyard of happiness.’ Her words were bleak but her face was lively with amusement.

They blew a kiss to each other as both women and their grooms turned their horses and headed for home.

Eliza trotted into the mews, her spirits more settled by her new friend’s calm wisdom about life.

In the hall was a note waiting for her in Rose Bowman’s hand.

Eagerly she took it upstairs to her room where she sat by the window to read.

My dear Friend, do not concern yourself. I am less Romantic than you. We endured insults both small and Large but I have a Plan for my life. We have only our Selves – I intend to use the Advantages I have to obtain what I need.

Your Rose

Eliza felt uneasy. What danger was her friend courting? How far did her responsibilities go towards someone she had grown up with and held in great affection? She hoped her own reckless behaviour had not encouraged her friend into even wilder schemes.

* * *