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Captain Ormonde quickly picked up his portmanteau and his clothes and as he left, he took Charlotte’s hand with a sly smile. ‘I apologise for any distress I may have caused you. I must say that it would have been no hardship to be married to you, Miss Blythe. It was not just your fortune that I found attractive. I like a fighting wench!’ George Lockwood took a step forward, his fist clenched, but Charlotte held him back. With a ghost of his dashing smile, Captain Ormonde clicked his heels together, saluted her and the two men, and descended the stairs two at a time to head for the stables.

Lord Rokeby said in a voice that was suddenly weary, ‘Well, young lady, are you really unhurt? Are your spirits restored?’ Charlotte nodded, wrapped in George Lockwood’s arms. ‘We’ve all had enough excitement for the night. We will take you home tomorrow in my fast chaise, a much more comfortable conveyance than the bone-shaker you travelled up in.’ There was a note of smug pride in his voice. ‘Lockwood, you’ll travel with us?’

‘Thank you, my lord. Until the last stage when I’ll collect Titan. He will have had enough of a rest by then.’

‘Sleep well, my dear. We have much to discuss on the morrow.’ Lord Rokeby squeezed Charlotte’s hand with the force of unspoken feeling.

George escorted her across the landing back to her room. He stood on the threshold, both her hands in his. She was gazing into his face, her heart in her eyes. ‘Something has changed for ever,’ she said in a soft voice, her face gleaming in the moonlight that filled her room with silver. ‘I no longer feel so alone knowing you are in the world with me.’

He squeezed her hands between his large warm palms and brought them to his lips to hold there, his blue eyes serious and full of emotion as he met hers. ‘My wasted youth is over. But every lonely year has led me closer to you.’

Charlotte took his left hand and kissed his bruised knuckles. ‘You are the rarest of spirits, so upright and honourable, as a knight of old.’ She longed to be kissed by him but knew he would not take that liberty, not yet, but the longing in his eyes was worth a hundred kisses.

‘I need to talk to you, Miss Blythe. May I come by tomorrow evening, when you are home? If that is to your liking.’

‘Oh yes, please do, Mr Lockwood.’ Her heart was fluttering like a bird.

The intensity of their communion was broken by Lord Rokeby’s voice. ‘We all must to bed. We’re leaving early on the morrow.’ George Lockwood and Charlotte broke apart and quietly closed the doors on their separate rooms.

Leonora and Amy had walked back to Bucklebury House, Leonora’s head teeming with thoughts she could not control. They entered the great hallway. Amy had set off for the kitchen with Leonora’s exhortation for the necessity of discretion ringing in her ears as Leonora looked up to see Mrs Priddy descending the stairs, her knitting bag in her hands. ‘Nora my dear! Where have you been? Where is Charlotte? I’ve been most concerned.’

Leonora took her arm, steered her into the sitting room at the front and closed the door. ‘I don’t think you will believe the turn in events. I barely can, and I’ve had hours to get used to the shocks.’

‘Well, don’t leave me on tenterhooks. What is it?’ Mrs Priddy settled herself on the sofa by the window and patted the seat beside her.

Leonora took a deep breath and said, ‘Charlotte’s eloped with Captain Ormonde, under duress we believe. Flora woke me this morning alarmed because she found her young mistress long gone, with a packed portmanteau. Flora thought that Ormonde had some hold over her and was insisting she marry him.’

‘You mean she’s headed to Scotland?’ For the first time, Mrs Priddy seemed concerned. ‘Now this is foolish! That’s shockingly dishonourable behaviour on the part of the Captain. I never trusted that smile!’

‘I immediately went to Berkeley Square to tell Lord Rokeby and he and Mr Lockwood have set out in pursuit.’

Nanny P relaxed. ‘Such an early start must have been a rude awakening for Master Alistair. But with him and that young giant in the rescue party, I’m sure Charlotte will soon be home.’

‘But Nanny P, this is serious! The Earl took his pistol!’ Leonora was haunted by the thought that there would be violence and Lord Rokeby killed or forced into exile.

Mrs Priddy was untroubled. She tutted. ‘Don’t concern yourself, Nora dear. Men can be cork-brained and think with their fists. Master Alistair was as wild and foolish as they come, but he is older now, and wiser. It will be fine.’

‘Well, that was my early morning shock, closely followed by my second.’ She looked into Mrs Priddy’s face, still barely understanding the full import of everything she had learned in these few hours. ‘Flora Lacey, Lady Dundas’s maid who came to help when Amy was ill – she’s Charlotte’s mother! She was the maid at Rokeby Abbey when the Rokeby brothers were running wild.’

Mrs Priddy put down her knitting. ‘Well, who’d have thought it? I am surprised by that. I saw her occasionally. She wasn’t at the Abbey long but she seemed such a sensible, quiet girl. I always thought it would most likely be one of the laxer girls, of whom there were many!’

‘I’ve been charged with telling Charlotte, when she returns.’

‘I don’t think it will be too much of a surprise to her.’

‘Why do you say that?’ Leonora gave Nanny P a quizzical look.

‘She knew her mother was a maid, so that’s no revelation. And she seemed to get on unusually well with Flora who’s a most attractive woman and seems to have lived a blameless life since that early indiscretion. It could be so much worse.’

‘There’s one final revelation.’ Leonora could barely believe her own words, but she had to share the momentous news with her old nanny, so closely involved as she was with everyone. ‘Lord Rokeby told me this morning that it is he, not Charles, who is Charlotte’s father!’

Nanny P looked unsurprised. ‘I’ve always wondered, and now it makes sense. Charles protected his younger brother, come what may. But poor Alistair, what guilt he must live with over his brother’s death.’

Leonora had her head in her hands as she said, ‘It’s such a cauldron of emotion, of guilt and loss, of grief, hope and desire.’

Mrs Priddy put a hand on her shoulder. ‘This is what it is to fully live, dear Nora. You cannot protect yourself from feeling.’

‘Can I confide something to you that fills me with such a feeling of fear?’