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Leonora pointed to the painted canvas that encircled them in a vast panorama; an endless vista of distant hazy mountains with at its centre the medieval walled city of Vitoria, its cathedral spires soaring above the plains of the river Zadorra. Everywhere were hundreds of meticulously painted French and British, Spanish and Portuguese soldiers on horseback or with their artillery aimed into the field of battle.

‘What’s happening here?’ Charlotte asked, pointing at a collection of officers on horseback, with Wellington identified in the centre by his long hooked nose. Just as she turned to look for Leonora, she found herself gazing into the face of Captain Ormonde. ‘Oh!’ She was shocked to see him there.

He smiled, teeth gleaming in the low light. ‘Good day to you, Miss Blythe.’ He turned to bow to Leonora and Mrs Priddy, murmuring, ‘Ladies. The whole of Society will traipse through these doors, so great is the excitement for this new panorama.’

Charlotte realised he was the best person to be a guide to what was depicted of the battle. ‘Were you at Vitoria, sir?’ she asked.

Captain Ormonde took her elbow and steered her farther along the platform, away from Leonora and Mrs Priddy. He looked down at her, the lack of light making Charlotte aware of the unexpected intimacy of the space. His voice was low. ‘I was there, ’tis true. Lord Wellington requested some strategic advice learnt from the debacle of Corunna.’

Leonora, with Nanny P in her wake, hurried to catch up with them, aware of her responsibility and the words of Mr Lockwood. She kept her eyes on Charlotte’s new straw bonnet as they were carried on the tide of viewers. Charlotte’s admiration for Captain Ormonde grew as he explained the complex troop movements, relayed what the Marquess of Wellington had confided to him – all complimentary – and pointed out where on the field of battle his horse was shot from under him. His narrow eyes were watching her as her warmth of response was reflected in her glowing expression. She tipped her face up to meet his eyes and said with fervour, ‘Captain, I have only recently come to consider just what you military men risk and sacrifice to keep us and our country safe. That you are all heroes.’

He inclined his dark head and his eyes appeared black, his voice insinuating. ‘Some are more heroic than others, Miss Blythe.’

Charlotte was not going to be disabused of her new-found enthusiasm for military heroes in general. She shook her head and said, ‘No, I think anyone who goes to war and faces such terrors is heroic indeed.’

Leonora had caught up with them when she saw Captain Ormonde bend his head and she could just make out his response. ‘Some decorated soldiers appear to be heroes fighting for their country when they are really working for the enemy.’

Charlotte was puzzled. ‘How can that be, sir? Who could ever manage such deception on the field of battle?’

‘You should ask the remaining Rokeby brother; he is a relation of yours now.’ He pointed to two English hussars in a huddle in the foreground of the panorama. ‘Those cavalry men could be Wellington’s exploring officers, as in fact were the Earl and his brother, meant to ride behind enemy lines to bring back information to Lord Wellington. A dangerous mission indeed. But they could just as well have been clandestine spies for Bonaparte taking information of the British troop positions back to the enemy.’

Leonora interrupted with a sharp riposte. ‘You are full of insidious words, sir. Why so shabby?’ She felt Mrs Priddy’s hand squeezing her arm in warning, but her sense of justice recoiled from the thought of Lord Rokeby’s reputation sullied by a fellow officer, with no hearing of his defence.

They were standing in the twilight of the viewing platform while the crowds eddied around them, some muttering in irritation. Captain Ormonde turned his dark eyes on Leonora, his charming demeanour having fled. ‘Would it not stick in the craw of any fighting man to have one of his fellow officers honoured with the greatest gallantry medal in the land if there was any question over how treacherous his behaviour or his brother’s may have been?’

‘Might I suggest, Captain Ormonde, that you either take your evidence to the military panel or you desist from sullying the Earl’s name.’

Mrs Priddy stepped forward. ‘Come, my dears, we should be going.’ She turned to Captain Ormonde and smiled. ‘We are due back at Bucklebury House, but we hope to see you again.’ Charlotte and Leonora offered their hands and bade polite farewells.

‘Good day. I will see you at the Hungerford ball. I heard that Lord Dearlove has obtained your invitations.’ Captain Ormonde clicked his heels together and bowed.

As they walked home, Mrs Priddy remonstrated with Leonora. ‘I really don’t think it’s wise, my dear, to fight the Earl’s battles for him.’

Leonora’s spirits were unsettled enough by her own emotions. Having both Rokeby brothers accused of possibly being traitors enraged her. Yet the fact there were rumours, that even Lord Dearlove had mentioned at their musical evening, made her uneasy and all the more emphatic in their defence. She turned to Charlotte and said, ‘I think it’s despicable for him to spread such scurrilous rumours. And about your own father, Lottie!’

Charlotte sprang to Captain Ormonde’s defence. ‘The Captain seems to have played an important part as an aide to the Marquess of Wellington. He has not accused my father directly of anything; in fact, he seems as much exercised by the current Earl. Surely an officer and a gentleman would not lie about such a thing?’

This was the first time Charlotte had publicly disagreed with Leonora, who was taken aback. ‘Lottie! This is your father and uncle he chooses to defame. Beware of thinking any one person the repository of truth. You can only be disappointed.’

Charlotte tossed her head. ‘My father will always be a hero to me and like him, I’m willing to sacrifice myself for the greater good. But I consider Captain Ormonde a hero too.’

Leonora held her tongue, and catching Nanny P’s eye, thought to herself that this insistence on the heroic was the effect of too much gothic fiction on young susceptible minds.

As the women arrived back in Brook Street, the butler took their bonnets and pelisses and said in his gloomy way, ‘Her ladyship would like to see you in the drawing room.’

They mounted the stairs and Mrs Priddy said, ‘I’ll join you later. I need a rest after the day’s exertions,’ as she continued up the next flight of stairs.

Leonora and Charlotte knocked and entered the drawing room. Lady Bucklebury was sitting in her favourite wing chair by the fire, her thin, blue-veined hands stitching a tapestry that appeared to be of her coat of arms. ‘Sit down, my dears.’ She waved to the sofa opposite. For the first time, Leonora thought she looked more frail than forbidding. ‘Well, tell me, was the Panorama worth the entrance fee?’

‘Oh, certainly so, Grandmama. We met Captain Ormonde and he was very interesting, talking about the troop movements.’ Charlotte was enthusiastic.

Lady Bucklebury’s shrewd eyes missed nothing. ‘Don’t go setting your sights too low, young miss. I’ve heard he is a wild young man who has run through his fortune and is casting his line towards many an heiress. I have no intention of your squandering yourself and your fortune on a young reprobate with pockets to let.’

Leonora was pleased by Lady Bucklebury’s forthright opinion on the matter and glanced at Charlotte whose eyes were cast down. Unable to contain her curiosity much longer, Leonora asked as nonchalantly as she could, ‘Lady Bucklebury, as we walked through Grosvenor Square we noticed trunks being unloaded from the Rokeby coach into a house on the east side. Do you know if the Earl has come to Town?’

The old lady put down her embroidery and met her eyes with her own quizzical gaze. ‘I received a note from Alistair yesterday. He’s been summoned to receive a posthumous Peninsular Gold Cross on behalf of his brother. I don’t know when he will be leaving again for Hasterleigh. He does not care to stay long in Town.’

Leonora tried to keep her face as expressionless as she could, but her heart had begun its breathless rhythm; the room felt hot and she stood up to leave. Lady Bucklebury put out a hand. ‘Not so fast, young lady! I have yet to tell you the most important news. Lord Dearlove was true to his word. His charm seems to have worked and I have invitations for you and Charlotte!’ She flourished the thick invitation cards with the ducal crown embossed in gilt. ‘It looks like it’s a masquerade ball, encouraging a greater licence of behaviour. Mrs Priddy will have to accompany you young women as I cannot allow only Miss Appleby to chaperone you, Charlotte.’