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Lord Rokeby turned sharply to address him. ‘Who, pray, are you, sir? Are you master of this house?’

‘Sir Roderick Fopling of the neighbouring estate.’

‘Well, my hound goes everywhere with me since he almost died in one of your traps.’ He turned back to look at Leonora. ‘Miss Appleby helped in his rescue and I have not been aware of any objections from her.’

Leonora had indeed begun to run towards the Earl before checking herself to transfer her unseemly delight to Achille instead. The dog’s head was resting on her hand, his large dark eyes looking deep into hers. The Earl then bowed.

‘My apologies for coming so late to your soirée, Miss Appleby. Don’t let me interrupt the entertainment.’ His dark gaze fell on the assembled company and when he saw Captain Ormonde, flashy in his gold-braided red coat, a sneer made his face more alarming. He turned back to the hall to divest himself of his coat as Leonora and Charlotte sat again at the piano-forte.

The relaxed bonhomie had become more subdued but with a hidden tremor of excitement, as if they were in the presence of danger. The young women began to play and as the lovely familiar arpeggios enchanted the room, Leonora was aware of Lord Rokeby slipping into the chair next to Nanny P. Achille had returned to Leonora’s side and sat with his heavy head on her lap as she concentrated on seamlessly blending her higher register of notes with Charlotte’s rippling lower cadences. In all the weeks of practising, Leonora and Charlotte had never played the nocturne better than they did that night. When they came to the end, there was a moment’s silence, followed by enthusiastic clapping. Leonora stood up and asked if anyone else wished to contribute a song or piece of music.

Lord Dearlove sprang to his feet and said, ‘Happen, I’ll sing “Greensleeves” if someone will accompany me.’ Leonora was not certain she was practised enough with the tune and hesitated. Well-lubricated with alcohol, he cast a bold glance at Charlotte, inviting her to step forward. She coloured and dropped her head, then to everyone’s surprise, the Earl stood up. ‘I will play for you. “Greensleeves” reminded me of home when I was captured in Spain.’ As he walked to the Broadwood, Leonora noticed he was careful to disguise his limp. She realised he was a proud man who did not care for pity.

The two men were both born to land and title and yet their demeanour could not have been more different. Rufus Dearlove’s face was open and smiling. He looked like a man blessed by angels at his cradle with every good fortune: wealth, health, and nobility, aligned with a handsomeness of mien and a light-hearted nature that drew friends and hangers-on wherever he went. His voice too was a light and lyrical tenor. It seemed no hardship had shadowed his life.

Lord Rokeby, on the other hand, crouched at the piano-forte as if coiled to pounce. His brow was dark, his face scarred, his expression haunted by memories of hell. He too had been born with every advantage, until war had taken what was most precious. Lord Rokeby played the age-old ballad as an elegy for lost love, and Lord Dearlove was uneasy with the plaintive pace; he tried to speed it up to be closer to the drinking song it had been at Oxford, where his youth had been dissipated in alcohol and pleasure.

Dearlove was as day to Lord Rokeby’s night, yet Leonora found she could not take her eyes from the Earl’s face as he scowled over the keys. She was aware how most young men had frittered away their youth while Alistair Rokeby accompanied his beloved brother to defend his country in bloody battle. A feeling of shame washed over her; since her Captain’s death, she had barely given much thought to the other young military men sacrificing life and limb so the rest could pursue their lives as they pleased. She looked across at Captain Ormonde, engaging Charlotte in flirtatious glances, with renewed respect.

The awkward musical collaboration came to an end, with guests joining in with the song with tipsy good humour, favouring the more upbeat interpretation Lord Dearlove had attempted to impose. There was a rush to refill glasses and seek out packs of cards.

Charlotte too had been arrested by the sight of the two lords at the piano-forte, but it was Rufus Dearlove who drew her eye with his merry countenance and lyrical voice. She had thought no one could sing as beautifully as Mr Lockwood, but here in one night was another. She glanced at the Captain beside her and her heart skipped; how exciting to have three young men in her orbit, appealing in quite different ways. London and the Season seemed suddenly to be filled with unforeseen promise and adventure.

Watching Lord Rokeby too was Captain Ormonde. Leonora was puzzled by the evident animosity between these fellow officers, but her reverie was interrupted by the Mildmays who were leaving. Richard Fopling also bowed over Leonora’s hand. ‘Thank you, Miss Appleby, for such a fine evening’s entertainment. I don’t wish to leave Little Grace for too long. She’s still so young, she relies on me.’ He smiled and walked out into the moonlight.

Leonora returned from the hall to the drawing room where Lord Rokeby was waiting for her. He drew her into the window recess and they sat together on the small sofa, still part of the party but secluded and intimate. He turned to her and said in a quiet voice, ‘I do commend you for your teaching of Miss Blythe. She is a charming young woman.’

‘Thank you, my lord, but I have only taught her music.’

Mrs Priddy had seen the Earl draw Leonora away and keen to protect her reputation, had approached and sat in an adjacent chair to provide a modicum of chaperonage. Lord Rokeby put his hand fleetingly on Leonora’s. ‘I know your friendship has been influential in much more than her music.’ Then his manner became more practical. ‘When are you leaving for London and my grandmother’s house?’

‘We go in a sennight. The clothes from your mother’s modiste are due tomorrow and then we spend the following days packing.’ Her smile was rueful. ‘It is a great rigmarole I’m unused to, but I am happy to do what I can to help Charlotte.’

‘May I offer you the Rokeby coach and a team of my horses so you can travel in comfort? I’ll stable more horses for you at the posting inns on the road which will speed your journey.’

Leonora turned to look him full in the face. ‘That’s very generous, Lord Rokeby.’ She had a questioning look in her eyes, not daring to hope that he had spent any time thinking about her and her comfort.

His penetrating gaze held hers for a moment and she felt the same thrill as when she submerged herself in the lake, jolted into intense life. Leonora was disturbed at how often her thoughts turned to him, wishing to be more in his company. And all the while she reminded herself she was deluded in hoping he even noticed her beyond her usefulness. She was a nobody in his world, with not even great beauty to commend her; he, on the other hand, with title and wealth, could have the pick of beauties, heiresses and the well-born, should he so choose.

Lord Rokeby appeared unaware of the turmoil in her heart and when he answered it was not to declare his thoughts for her, but his sense of propriety over Charlotte. ‘Well, Miss Blythe is a member of the family; it seems the right thing to do,’ was his reasonable reply.

Leonora’s disappointment was fleeting and replaced with amusement at her own presumption. Achille had been lying across their feet and stirred; the Earl laid his hand on his head and sprang up. ‘Forgive me for keeping you from your guests for so long. I should head home. I’ll collect Jupiter from your stables. There’s just enough of a moon and it’s barely a mile.’

He was about to leave when Leonora put out a hand to stay him. ‘Lord Rokeby, what made you decide to come tonight?’

He paused and gave her a surprisingly sweet smile despite the scar that gave it a devilish edge. ‘How could I let you down when I owe you so much?’

‘I am particularly pleased that you overrode your stated desire to eschew all society.’ She smiled at him.

‘Miss Appleby, your society is very different from the kind of society represented by men like the Captain over there.’

Leonora looked across to where Guy Ormonde had both Charlotte and Jane Chetwode hanging on his conversation, fragments of which could be heard with talk of cavalry charges and feats of courage and endurance. She laughed and glanced up into his face with some mischief. ‘Oh, so the Captain was right. He suggested you would stay away because of him.’

The sweetness vanished in an instant and the thunderous look returned. ‘That man’s a blackguard and you must not believe a word he says!’ he muttered in a fierce whisper. ‘Who can trust such a popinjay who flaunts his regimental colours at a country soirée as if it’s fancy dress! War is not for men of straw to use as calling cards to bed women…’ He broke off and bowed. ‘My apologies, Miss Appleby, I forget myself. As I said, war makes brutes of men.’

‘War also makes heroes,’ Leonora said, her hand inadvertently brushing his as they both fondled Achille’s ears.

‘Oh! If only that were true. The mere throw of a dice determines whether one is a hero or villain, a braveheart or poltroon.’ He clicked his heels together as if transported back to the regiment himself, took Leonora’s hand and pressed it fleetingly to his lips. He turned to take Mrs Priddy’s hand, then bowed in farewell to Charlotte, George Lockwood, Lord Dearlove and the Honourable Livia Dearlove, and he and Achille headed for the door.