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The Duchess nodded. ‘Well said, my dear. You know my sentiments on the matter.’ She helped herself to another macaroon.

* * *

Angelica and Mary disembarked at Mr Breville’s house in Berkeley Square. Martin was overjoyed to see them. He had not had time to put on his wig and so greeted them with his grey hair spiky and dishevelled. ‘Oh my dears! I feared I’d seen the last of you, Miss Angelica.’ As he took her hand with a theatrical bow, he intoned in his deep baritone voice, ‘Death lies on her like an untimely frost. Upon the sweetest flower of the field.’

‘Oh tush, Martin! You can see I am well recovered; frost lies not on this flower of the field. Indeed it’s good to be home.’

Mr Brunner also emerged from the kitchens to greet her. He strode forward, smiling, and grasped her hands. ‘Miss Angelica, welcome home. It is a pleasure to see you so well. I called on that Mr Asprey’s house to check on your progress, but I am delighted to see you at last.’

‘It is a pleasure to be home with you all too.’ She took off her bonnet and said to Brunner, ‘I think I must take Storm out for a ride this afternoon. Would you check that Robert can get her saddled up and accompany me?’

His battered old face was wreathed with concern. ‘Don’t overtire yourself, Miss Angelica. You’re only just back from the shores of the Styx.’

‘I can’t have you enacting a dying scene over me too. Martin’s already read the last rites.’ She gave him a wry smile and he laughed his big belly laugh.

Angelica joined Mary unpacking clothes in her bedroom. It was strange to be back. She felt she had voyaged to a different world of illness and peered over the precipice. Her recuperation was a kind of rebirth, nurtured in a household that she felt was akin to family, but in a way she had never known before. Until now, family meant her mother and herself, then later, the kindly Mr Breville and their fond but motley servants.

In Mr Asprey’s house she had been much in the company of Miss Stafford and Elinor Asprey which gave her the sense of sisterhood for which she had longed all her life and in part created with the closeness of her relationship with Mary, her maid. Mr Asprey’s secretary, Nicholas Digby, had added his own intellectual zest, reading with Miss Stafford in the evenings while Angelica dreamed by the fire. He was also the arbiter in discussions on Latin meanings, and explained in pithy fragments conversations with his employer about social justice. That employer, so influential yet elusive, set the tone in the house of competence and generosity of spirit. However, the few times she had seen Mr Asprey, Angelica was aware of a barely contained fervour that could flare without warning. Was this the reckless energy that Lord Latimer recalled as characteristic of his uncle’s youth? The thought that he was not quite what he seemed made him mysterious to her, and somehow thrilling.

Angelica sat on her bed while Mary busied herself. It interested her to think of his character, as she would analyse the dramatis personae in a play. To believe Lord Latimer, his uncle was at heart a carefree and pleasure-seeking rebel tragically shackled by grief and responsibility, constrained by ‘propriety’s cold comfortless rules’, as he damned them. The young man mourned the hero-uncle he had once known. But Angelica had seen something daredevil in Mr Asprey, and emotional too, despite his support of the proscriptions of a society that excluded her. But then there were those moments of deepest connection between them she could not explain. Fleeting but unforgettable: could this be the heart of love?

Mary had finished folding and putting away her clothes and turned a searching gaze on her mistress. ‘It won’t be long before m’lord will come calling.’ Having been the focus of other young men’s romantic desires, Angelica had learned the ardent beam of their affections would pass in time, but Charles Latimer had surprised her by being more steadfast in his passion. She enjoyed his company, his light-hearted approach to life and the quickening of her animal spirits when he was near. His wealth and status added a certain frisson too; what woman, with a desire to make a mark on the world, would think it negligible to be offered the chance to become a duchess? But Lord Latimer was so young; would his love last – and could she love him?

Her reflections were interrupted by Mary carrying her best riding dress for the afternoon’s expedition together with an expensive riding hat, a modified version of a man’s silk top hat with two curling pheasant feathers and broad silk ribbon to tie under the chin. Mary seemed determined to show her mistress off to greatest advantage. To have Angelica elevated by marriage to Lord Latimer would add status to her position too. Lady’s maid to a countess, about to become a duchess, had far greater social cachet than maid and dresser to an actress, however celebrated. Nevertheless, Mary was uneasy. In as casual a voice as she could muster, she said, ‘I wonder if Miss Fitzjames will accompany Lord Latimer? Recently they seem as peas in a pod.’

She turned to see Angelica reclining on the bed, her eyes half-closed. ‘I’m sorry. All of a sudden I’m so tired. I think I’ll rest for an hour or so before riding Storm out.’ As Mary passed her bed, Angelica took her hand. ‘I haven’t thanked you properly, Mary, for all your care of me. I don’t think I would have come through without you.’

‘Oh, you’re stronger than you think, Miss Angelica,’ she said as she left, closing the door behind her.

It was four in the afternoon before Robert, the Breville groom, brought the striking grey mare, saddled and gleaming, to the front of the house. Angelica emerged into the late afternoon light looking like a French fashion plate in her emerald green habit with the black military frogging that emphasised her shape so well. Her black hat with its flirtatious curls of feather set off the vibrancy of her hair and her fine fair skin. Robert cupped his hands to make a step to give her a lift into the saddle and she sprang up lightly and settled herself sideways, arranging her heavy skirts to sweep down over her leg lodged in the stirrup. Cutting a dash in the saddle was one of the more rarefied skills for young ladies who wished to catch the masculine eye.

Angelica and Robert rode at a sedate pace towards Hyde Park. They headed for Stanhope Gate which gave them almost immediate access to the Serpentine and the shelter of the ancient oak trees leading to the King’s Drive. It was still sunny and the air was crisp as they trotted then cantered along the well-worn trails that criss-crossed the Park. There were a number of horsemen and women and many curricles and phaetons and the occasional barouche taking the air. Riders and drivers and their passengers saluted friends and acquaintances, stopping for a while to exchange greetings and gossip.

Angelica was aware that her horse could never pass unnoticed in any gathering and there were occasions when she regretted choosing such a beautiful and flashy mount, but having glimpsed Storm, how could she have chosen any other? Robert, riding behind her, could see that it was not just Storm’s striking looks that drew so many appraising glances. They cantered through the trees bordering Oxford Street and had just reached the turnpike building when Angelica was hailed by a rider on a large black horse.

‘Good afternoon, Lord Rackham.’ She bowed her head politely, determined not to show how much his sudden appearance unsettled her.

‘What a delightful surprise, Miss Leigh.’ He doffed his hat. ‘May I join you for a while?’ Angelica nodded but her spirits faltered. Lord Rackham had so many hidden motives and she was uneasy knowing she was somehow implicated in some dark plan. They trotted on together, commenting politely on the weather and the passing scene. She was disconcerted to see how well he looked in the saddle. What a pity, she thought, that his character was so disreputable, for he was highborn and a good-looking man; he could have been sought after rather than feared and avoided as a cynical rake.

As they approached a copse of trees he suggested they walk a while. Before Robert could help her down, Lord Rackham had sprung athletically from his horse and stood with his hand up to help Angelica dismount. She unhooked her right leg from the pommel and slipped down Storm’s side to be caught round the waist in Lord Rackham’s firm grip. His fingers pressed into her flesh, warm and hard through the cloth of her jacket. Once on the ground she stepped sideways to escape his grasp. He led her towards the trees with Robert following with Storm, at a discreet distance.

‘Miss Leigh, I have been meaning to talk to you since meeting your intriguing companion, Mr Crowe.’ There was an expression in his eyes that made her heart miss a beat. ‘I thought it uncanny how alike you both were. Could you perhaps be related?’

‘Indeed we are.’ Angelica attempted a light-hearted tone of voice.

‘Father and daughter?’ His eyes were on her face with the cool intensity of an interrogator set on delivering his coup de grâce. She nodded, her spirits plunging.

‘I presume that is a mixed blessing?’ He did not take his eyes from her face. ‘You see, Miss Leigh, I did, in fact, recognise him. He has a memorable look and I do not forget a face. I know him as something more troubling than merely your father.’

For Angelica, who had yet to discover much about Prosper Crowe herself, even his true name, these words filled her with dread. She said as evenly as she could, ‘I cannot comprehend what you could possibly mean, my lord.’

‘There is an arrest warrant for your father, still outstanding.’

His words were clipped and they shocked her like a splash of cold water. He had discovered this fact, what else did he know that he would surely use against her in some way? Her chest tightened. ‘I realise this, Lord Rackham. But he is about to return to France and will soon be beyond English jurisdiction.’

‘Not so easily, my dear. In Parliament I am in charge of excise and guarding our coastline and he won’t be able to leave unmolested by the law.’

Angelica felt the colour drain from her face, the strength from her limbs. She hated the fact she had to steady herself against his lordship’s proffered arm. ‘How can this be? He has not been in this land for fifteen years or so.’