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Eliza was relieved to have endured her truth-telling unscathed, at least for now. She bobbed a quick curtsey to the men and followed Corinna up the stairs to the drawing room where the piano-forte stood waiting.

Mrs Wilson was an excellent dance teacher, somewhat better than her much more famous husband. She greeted Corinna like an old acquaintance and Eliza had a chance to size her up. She was of medium height and middle years, slender and quick in her movements; her bright eyes, in a thin wrinkled face, seemed to miss nothing and find amusement in much of what she found. She was introduced to Eliza just as Zadoc Flynn came into the room in his stockinged feet, having left his boots at the door.

Corinna sat at the piano-forte while Mrs Wilson marked out the basic steps of a quadrille. Following her directions, Eliza started to practise the steps in the square formations that characterised the dance. Mrs Wilson clapped her hands together with delight. ‘You’re obviously a natural dancer, Miss Gray. It will not be a difficult task to teach you, I can see.’

Zadoc Flynn was apologetic. ‘I’m afraid I, on the other hand, am not a natural dancer. All I’m used to is country reels,’ he said as he attempted to follow the moves.

Mrs Wilson smiled in encouragement. ‘Your experience with American reels, sir, will make the country dances and Scottish reels seem straightforward enough. To make things easier, there’s usually someone calling the changes at a ball.’

Corinna was playing a cheerful melody as Mrs Wilson, Eliza and Mr Flynn skipped and swirled through the steps of a reel, Zadoc only trampling the women’s feet a few times, accompanied by apologies and laughter. Mrs Wilson turned to Corinna and asked her to play a waltz and partnered Eliza with a loose hold to show her the steps. She called across to Zadoc Flynn who was watching closely, ‘Sir, can you attempt a simple waltz? Take Miss Gray as your partner and follow my lead.’

Eliza was suddenly shy as she took Mr Flynn’s hand and placed her other on his arm. Propriety demanded they dance with space between their bodies but, as Mrs Wilson explained, on a turn it was natural to be held closer to enable a smooth motion round the room. Eliza may have been a performer at Prebbles Flying Circus but she had never danced with anyone else. Here she was in the arms of a stranger who seemed to share none of her reservations. His big hand grasped hers and he did not smell of horses, a familiar scent she loved, but indubitably something human and male. It was novel and disconcerting, even exhilarating.

They managed the steps of this new and daring dance competently and Eliza enjoyed creating graceful patterns across the drawing room floor. As she and Mr Flynn managed to perfect the steps, she began to appreciate the pleasure of being in the arms of a tall strong man who at times seemed to know how to dance.

She was laughing up into his face after a mistake that had made her almost trip and did not notice the striking dark figure of Lord Purfoy watching from the door. Then Mr Flynn attempted an overambitious turn and his stockinged feet slipped on the polished oak boards. He tumbled to the floor, pulling Eliza over with him. She gasped in surprise and shock and quickly sprang to her feet, offering him a hand up. The foolishness of their fall struck them both and they gasped with laughter, still holding hands while Mrs Wilson admonished Mr Flynn for his over-wide stride and clumsy feet.

Wishing to make his farewell, Raven Purfoy had sought out Corinna and had followed the sound of voices and music to the drawing room. He stood for a moment on the threshold, his eyes narrowed as he watched Eliza being steered round the room by her beefy, be-stockinged partner. Her elegant form and pretty dancing feet made him feel protective and possessive and he hated the vulnerability these emotions evoked. Seeing the dancers suddenly tumbled on the ground and Eliza’s muslin gown flounced to her knees, revealing the unexpected but surprisingly affecting sight of her slender calves and fine ankles, gave him a jolt of long-forgotten feeling. In a fluid athletic movement she was quickly upright again, and she and Flynn were laughing together as if old friends as Raven Purfoy’s fists clenched with long-suppressed emotion.

He couldn’t bear seeing this interloper making such a pig’s ear of the dance: he could not bear seeing Eliza in his clumsy embrace. Lord Purfoy’s much-vaunted control cracked and he strode into the room in his top boots. Corinna had stopped playing and looked up to see her old friend almost shoulder Mr Flynn aside and offer his hand to Eliza. ‘I think you should see how the waltz is properly done, Miss Gray. Would you play, Corinna?’

Eliza was suddenly encircled in his lordship’s commanding embrace and felt the call of some unruly emotion she had not experienced before. How strange the effect, she thought, and how could dancing with each man elicit such different emotions? Both were tall and strong, both filled with virile energy, but while in Zadoc Flynn’s arms she felt safe and light-hearted, Lord Purfoy’s embrace perturbed her body and soul to an almost unbearable degree. Her knees went wobbly as Raven Purfoy swept her across the floor. She could not think what steps to make next, her breath was fast and she was unable to meet his eyes. She had never been so close to him before and the feel of him, the scent of him, filled her senses.

‘Don’t look at your feet, Miss Gray. Just trust in your partner and dance.’

Eliza looked up into his face and immediately lost her steps, trod on his foot, apologised, then laughed nervously. On an impulse she placed her small feet in their dancing slippers on the toes of his immaculately polished boots and said, ‘Perhaps this is the best way to dance with someone so much better than me.’ She glanced up mischievously and was met by the most inscrutable countenance.

Raven Purfoy danced on a few more steps with his balletic passenger standing on his boots, but he was taken aback. He was already regretting his impetuous intervention and was confused by how disconcerting it was to have this young woman in his arms, her breath rapid as a captive bird’s, her shapely waist under his hand, her breasts perilously close to his chest. Such behaviour was so out of character for him and had thrown his feelings into turmoil; assailed by the desire to hold her even closer, he was alarmed by the sense of his loss of dignity, his loss of control.

Lord Purfoy stopped in the middle of the room and regained his habitual sangfroid. The music stopped too and Corinna stood up, delight on her face.

Her friend continued as if nothing untoward had happened, bowing in acknowledgement of Eliza and Mr Flynn and, taking Corinna’s outstretched hand, said, ‘I must be gone. I’m riding Horatio in the Park with Taz. He’s slightly concerned with his gait. He has to be fit for the Owners’ Race, ye know!’ He flashed her one of his rare smiles.

Zadoc Flynn came forward. ‘The Owners’ Race, eh? It sounds amusing.’

‘It’s the most anticipated race of the Epsom season. Horses can only be ridden by their owners, and it’s highly competitive – and deadly serious, I assure you.’

Corinna attempted to ease the situation and said with a laugh, ‘And Rav and Horatio are the unassailable champions.’

Eliza’s heart was thumping but she was not certain what had just occurred. It was as if a tempest had suddenly entered the domestic scene, scattered all conventions and settled feelings to the winds, and then left as rapidly as it had come, leaving unimaginable changes in its wake.

As they returned to Mrs Wilson and the dancing lesson, Mr Flynn said almost to himself, ‘Perhaps I need to get myself a mighty fine racehorse after all.’

Eliza was about to go through to Corinna’s studio to sit for the next stage of her portrait when Gibbons delivered a note to her in a hand she recognised. He bowed and said, ‘This was delivered by a ragamuffin who dashed off before I could question him.’

Thanking him, she settled herself into the chair opposite the easel to wait for Corinna, and began to read. She was suddenly alert to a sentence:

An American Gentleman comes to see me after the Show. He is friendly and tells me he has Horses at his Farm.

With a shock Eliza realised that Mr Flynn was probably Rose’s ‘American Gentleman’. She knew he had been to Astley’s with Mr Shilton but had not suspected his acquaintance with Rose had progressed to something more than fleeting. What was in his mind? Was he offering a lure of some kind, she wondered? The possibility added to her concern for Rose.

Just as Eliza was folding up the note to put in her pocket, Corinna entered. She whisked off the cloth that had covered the canvas and sat down. ‘Mrs Wilson will come back tomorrow for one more lesson but it’s clear to me you’ll manage very well with the dances at the ball. Mr Flynn is less naturally gifted, but his warmth of character and general bonhomie will carry him through any embarrassments.’ She smiled. ‘Now let me look at you again and get the proportions of your features right.’

Eliza settled back into the chair, her spirits less agitated now that she had confessed to her origins and had not been met with dismay. As if she could see these thoughts written on her sitter’s face, Corinna said in a soft voice, ‘There is no shame in being an orphan or a lost child, you know. There are so many. I thought I was all alone in the world until I found my father.’

‘You were very lucky.’

Corinna was peering at Eliza’s face as she mixed her pigments with oil and started to paint in the flesh colours. Before her was a sitter with the fine-boned beauty of a Holbein drawing. She marvelled at the delicacy of the eye socket and the curve of the cheekbone, the sculpted elegance of the nose and jawline, with the added surprise of the full mouth that seemed to belong to a more sensual, less refined face. She answered Eliza in an abstracted voice, her mind on her painting. ‘I was lucky. My father was still alive and had been seeking me. But you cannot know what you will find once you start to look.’