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‘But now you have Mr Breville to care for you, we have a better life.’

‘’Tis true, but you would have an even better life as a duchess if you marry that young Lord Latimer.’ She smiled at her daughter.

‘Oh, Mama! He’s just a young man who thinks he’s in love. It means very little.’

‘That may well be, but if you’re a clever woman you can make it mean more.’ Amabel Leigh’s voice had grown brusque. She had little time for the niceties of sensibility; the young of today were self-indulgent in their sentimental expectations of life. ‘You may have been born in penury, but you’ve been schooled to be the wife of a nobleman. You have great beauty and feminine accomplishments; you would make a fine duchess.’

‘Mama, you don’t realise just how much his family would resist a lowly actress being so elevated amongst their ranks.’

‘They should consider themselves fortunate to have your beauty and grand disposition added to their ancestral line. From what I hear the Arlington family tree is so enervated it’s barely upright.’ Mrs Leigh’s maternal ferocity was roused.

Angelica explained as if to a child, ‘You know as well as I that a noble family as elevated as the Arlingtons do not consider marriage as a matter of predilection. It’s a contract between two equal nobilities where the woman brings as much property and status to the match as the man. I have nothing to offer but myself.’

Her mother remained irrepressible and said in a triumphant voice, ‘But the Duke approved of you, my darling.’

‘He did. But he was so damaged in Alexandria he no longer has any power in the matter. The Duchess is the force in the family, and according to Lord Latimer, so is his uncle. And he’s a stiff-rumped martinet.’

‘Is that the Mr Asprey who’s a Member of Parliament? Don’t see how that gives him any authority over his nephew’s marriage.’ Her mother’s mouth turned sulky.

‘He’s clever and ambitious and Lord Latimer says he’ll be the next Prime Minister when the Whigs come to power.’

‘May Jove help us!’ Amabel Leigh threw up her hands in disgust. ‘Politicians! All concerned with their own ends.’

It was Angelica’s turn to be sly. ‘He’s been involved in the Catholic Emancipation Act,’ she said quietly and watched her mother’s expression change from disgust to a dawning appreciation. Amabel Leigh had long been bitter that her younger brother had been unable to take up a minor post in the Civil Service because of his religion.

‘So, in favour of emancipation? Well, that would be a thing,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘This brother of the hoity-toity Duchess may be more than a well-breeched swell after all.’

‘Now Mama, I have to get on with reading this script for my new play.’ Angelica picked up the play she had to learn.

‘What’s it called?’

‘The Child of Nature, translated from the French by Mrs Inchbald.’

‘I’m glad you’ll be offered a new contract, my dear.’ Mrs Leigh poured out another cup of coffee for them both. They sat in easy silence, Angelica reading her play and her mother poring over her swatches, planning her next decorating scheme. After some minutes Angelica looked up, an expression of impatience on her face. ‘Mama, Mrs Inchbald is meant to be a radical, a friend of Mr Godwin’s. Yet she’s made my character, Amanthis, prepared to give up happiness with the marquis she loves in order to demonstrate filial piety to a disgraced father whom she was told was dead. She’s about to follow him into penury and exile!’ She was surprised to see her mother’s expression lose its equanimity as she quickly returned her gaze to her sample book.

An uneasy thought clutched at Angelica’s heart and her voice was insistent as she asked, ‘Mama? When did my father die?’

Amabel Leigh composed her features and responded lightly, ‘My dear, you know he was a petty officer in the British Navy under the command of Rear Admiral Nelson. He died during the Battle of Aboukir Bay, when you were five.’

‘Did they bring his body home?’

‘No, all sailors lost in action were buried at sea.’ Her pretty face appeared downcast.

‘Mama, what was he like? You’ve never told me anything other than he was handsome and Irish and a very good singer and dancer. You thought I got my talents from him.’

‘Did I?’ She looked startled. ‘I think your beauty and facility for music and theatrics come from me.’ She seemed disinclined to talk any further on the subject and this fuelled Angelica’s uneasiness. Her mother deflected the conversation back to the play. ‘I hope you’d show more sense than that heroine and grasp the chance of happiness with a nobleman!’

‘Oh, Mama! You are incorrigible.’

Mrs Leigh jumped up in irritation. ‘Don’t be so jingle-brained, Angelica! You have no idea of the realities of the world. You say Lord Latimer is not serious, well, you have enough wit and beauty to ensure he becomes so!’

There was a knock at the door and Martin entered carrying a silver salver with an envelope, embellished with a self-important crest, at its centre. With a bow he presented it to Angelica. ‘A liveried groom delivered this for you, Miss Angelica. He did not wait for a reply.’ Mrs Leigh was immediately alert to the possibilities in another noble admirer for her daughter.

Angelica did not recognise the crest or the black spidery handwriting and opened it, curious herself. She read aloud to her mother, ‘My dear Miss Leigh, I will call on you after your performance tonight, to commend you on your art. As it will be well before midnight I hope you will not be impelled to flee. Rackham.’

She looked up and met her mother’s bright eyes. ‘Don’t raise your hopes, Mama, I assure you Lord Rackham has no intention of making me Lady Rackham in the near future,’ she laughed. ‘He’s notorious among the theatre girls and is not to be trusted.’

‘My dear, I hope you won’t live to regret such high-mindedness. Without money or breeding we women take what opportunities we can.’