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Charlotte jumped up, her face alight. ‘Oh Grandmama, how exciting! I’ve never been to a masquerade ball.’

‘The Duchess’s ball is the smartest and most exclusive of the Season and I think you girls need extra help with dressing your hair. I’ll ask my friend Lady Dundas to send one of her maids.’

Leonora escaped upstairs to her room. She did not want to think about the ball, but longed instead to soothe her soul with music, but the piano-forte was in the drawing room where Lady Bucklebury still sat embroidering. Instead, she threw herself on her bed. How she longed to see Lord Rokeby again, to speak to him, to discover the truth not of Captain Ormonde’s terrible slurs, but mostly to know the measure of his feelings for Madame Dupré, an obsession she could not dismiss from her mind.

Charlotte knocked at the door and entered, bubbling with excitement about the ball. Leonora summoned a smile. How much her young friend had gained in confidence and courage since her life had expanded with the knowledge of her parentage; she had found her place in the world.

‘Why so glum, Leonora? This is all so diverting, don’t you think?’

‘Of course it is! We must sort out our most special ball gowns and acquire some masks.’

‘Oh, Grandmama has said we can choose from her collection of Venetian masks from her younger days. Once we’ve chosen our dresses then we can see which ones look most becoming.’ And she skipped out the door.

The day of the Hungerford ball was wet and windy. Charlotte and Leonora were up early but they decided to forgo their walk in Hyde Park, not wishing to spoil their hair that had been carefully curled in rags overnight. Having selected their gowns, gloves, jewellery, dancing shoes and evening cloaks, they discussed with Mrs Priddy and Amy the kind of elaborate hair styles that would be suitable for a more formal ball. Even Leonora had felt her excitement rise. At eleven in the morning, the doorbell rang and George Lockwood was shown into the small sitting room where the two young women, seeking some respite from Lady Bucklebury’s forceful character, were pretending to read. They both leapt to their feet, delighted to see him. In a society of artifice and lies, he brought memories of the simple joys of home.

‘Good day, Miss Appleby, Miss Blythe.’ He bowed and took their hands in turn. His hair was blown by the wind and spots of rain glistened on his immaculate coat.

‘We are glad to see you, Mr Lockwood!’ Charlotte held onto his hand with enthusiasm.

He turned to them and with a twinkle in his eyes said, ‘Would you do me the honour of allowing me to escort you to the Countess of Hungerford’s ball tonight? I think we need a Hasterleigh contingent, don’t you?’

Leonora said, ‘We would be delighted.’ Then with her own mischievous gleam added, ‘I thought you may be accompanying Lady Livia, whose social attractions are more obvious than ours.’

George Lockwood gave a great hearty laugh. ‘That young lady is a honeypot attracting suitors like wasps. She has many admirers buzzing round her head whom she bats away with disdain. I do not intend to be one of them.’

‘And I dare say, being chatelaine of Hasterleigh Manor might not provide a large enough stage for someone of her amour propre?’

George Lockwood flashed Leonora a sharp look. ‘Miss Appleby, I did not know you for a pert lass!’ Then he chuckled. ‘’Tis true, I don’t think the Manor is a natural habitat for that rare bird.’ Charlotte and Leonora exchanged looks and laughed with him, each still nurturing their own ambitions for the other as the perfect match for this good-natured man, in possession of two estates and in need of a competent wife.

He turned to go, saying, ‘I’ll collect you at seven in my coach. ’Til then!’ He saluted and was soon down the front steps and away.

Preparations for the ball began in the afternoon. Lady Bucklebury’s friend, Lady Dundas, had been happy to lend her ladies’ maid and as Leonora and Charlotte were beginning to climb into their chemises and stays, Amy knocked on Charlotte’s door and entered, accompanied by a woman. ‘Miss Blythe, this is Flora Lacey, she’s here to help.’

Charlotte had just put on her new Parisian stays, which needed lacing. She looked up and met the maid’s gaze; she was modestly dressed in her uniform of a simple dark blue high-necked dress of crisp cotton with a narrow lace trim round the cuffs. Charlotte liked her serene face with striking hazel eyes and approved of the fact she was older and looked more sensible than Amy. ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Flora, especially as I’m in need of some help with the lacing.’ She smiled.

Charlotte had chosen the most beautiful of the evening gowns Mrs Marmery had made for her. The palest pink gauze over an underlayer of shimmering tiffany silk in oyster looked as iridescent as the inside of a shell. With Flora’s help she slipped it over her head and the maid buttoned the tiny pearl buttons up the back. The women stood back and gazed at Charlotte’s reflection in the looking glass. They both gasped. ‘You are lovely, Miss Blythe!’ Flora’s words were so heartfelt that Charlotte looked at her more intently. The maid blushed and lowered her eyes. ‘I hope I didn’t speak out of turn.’

Putting her hand on her arm, Charlotte said, ‘Not at all, Flora. It’s a very special dress and makes me believe in myself and my future. I’ve only recently realised that clothes can have such transforming power.’ She sat down at the dressing table so that this new maid could arrange her hair in a style Leonora had found in La Belle Assemblée. As Flora brushed out the fine fair curls, Charlotte noticed her hands were trembling. ‘You have no reason to be nervous. I’m the least particular taskmistress you could find. I’m just grateful that you could help.’ She smiled into the looking glass where Flora’s eyes met hers.

After an hour of teasing, plaiting and pinning, anchoring strings of seed pearls and small silk flowers into the blonde confection of the style, Charlotte felt lulled by the quiet competence of Flora’s fingers. ‘You’re so good at this. You haven’t once pulled my hair or prodded me with a pin.’ Again, she caught the maid’s eyes in the looking glass and wondered if their brightness was due to tears. Interrupting this thought was a knock at the door and Leonora entered, swishing her skirts as she twirled. Her chestnut curls were swept onto the top of her head with a few tendrils making the style soft and romantic. Amy had added a small plume of silver-grey feathers to complement her dress. ‘You look beautiful, Leonora. I love your gown. It’s that special silver one you bought from Mrs Marmery, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. It’s my favourite by far.’ She was holding a silver mask by its string. ‘You look like a rosy pearl, Lottie. You’ll be the jewel of the night.’

‘And look how beautifully Flora has done my hair.’ She stood up and took Leonora’s hands and they danced a few turns together. ‘We’ll both be the belles of the ball.’

‘We must hurry. Mr Lockwood will be here in a moment.’

Lady Bucklebury called out to them as they passed the drawing room door. ‘Come in, my dears.’ They walked over to her chair by the fire, where she sat bright as a bird. Her usually severe expression had softened. ‘Goodness! You both look pretty as pictures.’ She clasped her hands together. Then her sharp dark eyes settled on Charlotte’s naked décolletage, enhanced by the Parisian stays she had insisted her great-granddaughter buy. ‘My dear, you need some pearls. Here, take mine.’ The Countess unclasped the double strand of pink pearls she always wore with a beautiful large baroque pearl at its centre and handed it to Leonora for her to fasten round Charlotte’s neck. ‘Very pretty indeed!’ Lady Bucklebury said with satisfaction. ‘I hope it’s a successful evening. Be on the alert, young misses, and mind what Mrs Priddy says.’

Charlotte put her hands to her throat where she felt the pearls, still warm from her great-grandmother’s skin, and tears came to her eyes. It seemed another small gesture of acceptance by the matriarch of this noble family. ‘Thank you, Grandmama. I shall care for them greatly.’ In a spontaneous gesture, she dashed to the old lady’s side and brushed her cheek with a kiss.

‘Oh, be gone with you!’ was the brusque reply, but Leonora noticed how Lady Bucklebury’s posture relaxed and she lost her imperious mien. Charlotte and Leonora bobbed a quick curtsey and ran down the last flight of stairs to where Mrs Priddy waited, already dressed in her warm velvet cloak and gloves, her bonnet on her head.

The front door was opened and there was George Lockwood in the best-fitting jacket his tailor Meyer could construct. Dark blue and of superfine wool, it looked as if it was moulded to his broad shoulders and skimmed close over his muscular arms. His cravat, usually carelessly tied, was pristine, intricately folded and secured with a large diamond pin. Pale pantaloons, so unforgiving on a fleshier man, were beautifully cut to accommodate with elegance Mr Lockwood’s athletic thighs. His large feet were somehow reduced to the required almond toe by his shiny black dancing shoes; this was a man happy in his Town clothes now that he had chosen his own tailor who understood how to dress the robust masculine physique.

As George Lockwood removed his hat to greet them, Leonora was gratified to see that no amount of careful ministrations from his valet, armed with brush and pomade, could tame his wayward hair.

Both young women were struck by how good-looking Mr Lockwood appeared. He too seemed transfixed for a moment by the sight of them. His bluff, sunny expression was unexpectedly serious and appraising as he watched Charlotte descend the stairs, her fair hair ringleted, the pearlescent gown falling from her shapely bosom. He put out his gloved hand to take hers. ‘Miss Blythe, ladies,’ he addressed them all, ‘your carriage awaits.’