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Miss Fairley lived only a short walk away and Eliza had been listening out for the chimes of the clock in the hall, counting the hours.

Slipping the miniature into her reticule, her fingers closed protectively around the portrait, newly found and so precious to her.

Polly was pleased to be coming too on this most perfect of spring afternoons, fresh, not quite warm, with a stillness that seemed to suspend the day, birdsong floating in the air.

‘No better afternoon for an outing, don’t you think, Polly? ’

As they walked through Grosvenor Square, the circular gardens at the centre seemed to sparkle with new life and for once there were no carriages or horsemen clattering over the cobbles.

Time stood still. Eliza glanced towards Lady Bassett’s mansion and shivered; how much had happened since that night of the ball some two weeks before.

As the women turned into Mount Street, Eliza was jolted from her reverie by the bustling activity of the street and they came at last to a row of modest houses on the west side where the Fairleys lived.

A maid answered the door and led Eliza through the narrow hallway to the drawing room at the back of the house.

Miss Fairley sprang to her feet and dashed forward to take Eliza’s hands.

‘How good to see you again.’ She drew her towards the fire.

‘I’ve asked for tea and some just-baked cakes, if that’s to your liking?

’ The maid closed the door and headed for the kitchen with Polly.

‘Well? Tell me what happened in Bath?’ Miss Fairley’s voice was urgent and excited.

They sat together on the small sofa, the fire warming their faces, and Eliza told her the events that led to the shock of hearing how her mother died and how her father was not her father after all.

‘I think the person who holds the clue to my natural father is your dragon aunt, Lady Dauntsey. She knows more than she’s telling. ’

‘She always knows something and withholds more. This way she divides and rules and wields the most power.’

Eliza put her hand into her reticule and said, ‘The Marquess gave me my mother’s jewellery box and in a hidden compartment, I found a letter from a lover and this miniature portrait.’ Full of suppressed excitement, she passed the oval gold frame to her friend.

As Miss Fairley turned it over, she gave a small gasp. ‘He looks such a rogue!’ she said.

Watching her friend’s face, Eliza thought in a flash of unexpected clarity that he looked like Miss Fairley.

Something in the brows and the set of the eyes and nose.

Could it be he was Marina’s reprobate father too?

That would make her and Miss Fairley half-sisters.

The thought that such a coincidence would unite them was thrilling.

But Eliza quickly dismissed it as she had learned that wishing so much for something only led to bitter disappointment.

‘Do you think he’s your father?’ Marina Fairley’s eyes were dancing at the thought of this mystery to unravel.

‘I do, especially when I read this letter.’ She held out the love letter that appeared to mention her.

‘Oh, this is so romantic. He really loved your mother, and you?’ Marina’s voice faltered with emotion and Eliza realised how important it was to feel loved by your parents.

She put out a hand and took her friend’s in both of hers. ‘Dear Marina, you know something of your father. Do you think this could be a portrait of him? That this is your father too?’

Eliza watched Marina’s face lose its merriment, her cheeks, their colour.

Gazing again into the eyes of the man in the portrait for what seemed an age, her friend eventually replied, ‘I think you’re right.

He seems so familiar to me.’ She held the portrait to her breast. ‘What a wonderful thing this would be. To know what he looked like: that I looked like him. But most of all, that we are sisters after all!’ She reached across for Eliza to embrace her, the thought of their sisterhood thrilling.

They separated and Eliza said, her voice trembling with excitement, ‘I fear we’ll have to talk to Lady Dauntsey to be sure, to get to the truth. Will you come with me?’

‘Of course! I’d be most disobliged if I didn’t.’ Marina looked suddenly mischievous. ‘In fact, we must beard her in her den and walk round now, uninvited. She lives in Davies Street, just a footfall away.’

Eliza realised there was someone closer to hand who could possibly identify the portrait. ‘Would your mother help?’

Marina’s face fell. In a low voice she said, ‘My mother is so haunted by her heinous sin, I fear for her sanity if I were to confront her with the source of all her shame.’

They were distracted by the creaking door and looked up to see the maid with a tray of tea and cakes. Behind her was a thin, colourless wisp of a woman with darting pale eyes and a disconsolate mouth. Marina Fairley went towards her and took her hand. ‘Mother, come and meet my friend, Miss Gray.’

Mrs Fairley hesitated then gave a vague smile as she was led towards the fire.

Eliza took her hand and bobbed a quick curtsey.

‘How do you do, Mrs Fairley.’ The lady said nothing but perched on the sofa where Eliza had sat and accepted a cup of tea from Marina.

Eliza found little resemblance between mother and daughter and wondered if all her friend’s good humour, intelligence and courage had been inherited from her father.

Mrs Fairley’s eyes were on Eliza’s face in a pale, unnerving stare. She looked from one young woman to the other and said in a querulous voice, ‘Marina, why could you not be as beautiful and charming as Miss Gray?’

Eliza winced, but Marina seemed quite untroubled, answering cheerfully, ‘Mother, no one could be as beautiful and charming as Miss Gray!’

‘But if you at least tried you might make yourself more amenable to a husband.’ Mrs Fairley’s voice became an exasperated wail.

‘As you know, Mama, I do not wish to marry. I’m more than content as I am.’

‘Well, you are a foolish girl to be so obstinate and proud. Marriage saved me from the ignominy of your birth. Every woman must marry, this is an accepted fact of life.’

Realising this was an old sore between mother and daughter, Eliza changed the subject and turned to her friend to ask, ‘Miss Marina, how goes your translation work?’

With a wide smile, she answered, ‘I’m enjoying it more than I can express. I’m enchanted with Sulpicia. Just six short poems of hers in Latin; they’re a love story for her and me.’

Mrs Fairley’s pale cheeks flushed with annoyance.

‘What possible use can a facility with Latin or Greek be for any woman’s prospects?

’ She had finished her tea and stood up to leave, putting out a hand to Eliza.

‘I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Gray. I trust you’ll have a good effect on Marina.

’ Eliza recognised her as a malign mother, disappointed in life and frustrated by how little sway she had over her daughter’s resilient spirit.

It was suddenly clear to her that only in the dreams of those who longed for them were families always happy and benign.

Marina led the way to the door. ‘Let’s collect your maid and see what we can find out from Lady Dauntsey, if she’ll see us.

’ With Polly in tow, they hurried out of the front door into Mount Street, their bonnets on their heads and pelisses flouncing behind them.

Marina slipped her arm through Eliza’s and drew her close to say in a quiet voice, ‘My mother is bitter against my father. Meeting him ruined her life, she says, as if she had nothing to do with it. I know she became obsessed and pursued him.’ Turning left into Davies Street and holding onto her bonnet in the breeze, she continued, ‘My father was a rakehell, ’tis true, attractive and rich and irresistible to some foolish women, who then wrung their hands when he would not marry them. ’

Eliza was struck by this rationale. Did Marina categorise her as one of those foolish women, obsessed with a man who would not love her?

‘Is love always a weakness?’ she asked as they hurried up the street.

‘If you’re a Stoic, then yes. The highest virtue is reason.’ They had arrived outside a grander house than the Fairleys, with pillars, a portico and a black shiny door. ‘Deep breath, Eliza. We’re entering the dragon’s lair.’ They both reached for each other’s hands.

The butler asked them to wait in the hall while he climbed the stairs to the drawing room.

Eliza had mixed emotions as they were ushered into Lady Dauntsey’s presence.

She was surprised by how pretty the room was, painted in rose pink with a large butter yellow carpet.

In the middle sat Lady Dauntsey, like a black and white magpie in a white lace cap, the prettiness at odds with her severe, forbidding face.

The two young women hesitated at the door and were motioned over by a peremptory hand. ‘Good afternoon, Marina, and Miss Gray.’ She inclined her head and Eliza once again noticed her compelling eyes, like her own but steely in their cold regard. ‘To what do I owe this unexpected visit?’

Miss Fairley walked forward. ‘We hoped you could clarify a mystery about who Miss Gray’s father may be.’

Eliza added, ‘Your cousin, the Marquess of Bathwick, told me that I am not his daughter. As you and I share our eye colours, I wondered if we are in some way related. Could this be so?’