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‘Why heavens not?’ Mrs Penrose looked disbelieving, as if a life without books were unimaginable.

Eliza coloured. It was always nerve-wracking revealing her irregular past but she sensed, and hoped, Marina Fairley and her grandmother would be sympathetic and accepting. She took a deep breath. ‘I was lost as a child and taken in by a circus family and trained as a dancer with horses.’

Both women sitting opposite her looked aghast. Mrs Penrose was the first to speak in a shocked voice. ‘Brought up in the circus?’ She recovered her natural courtesy and continued with a practised emollience of tone, ‘Apart from the lack of books, that sounds like an adventurous childhood, my dear.’

Eliza agreed her life until this point did indeed sound like an adventure, however, she quietly explained it was one she could have done without, adding, ‘But I really longed to live a more normal life, and most of all to find my mother from whom I was severed so young.’

Marina came to sit beside Eliza and took her hand in sympathy. ‘My troubles shrink in comparison.’ Her eyes were bright with tears. ‘I complain about my mother but at least I have one, and my grandmother is a continual delight to me.’

Eliza thought she should elaborate a little more. ‘I ran away thinking I could find some work in a shop, perhaps, or as a lady’s maid, until I could discover who I was and where I came from. But all the while I was unsure how I could ever trace my family. Then I was offered hospitality and help from Mr and Mrs Wolfe.’ She turned to meet Marina Fairley’s sympathetic gaze. ‘You met her when we were sheltering from the rain.’ She continued, ‘And for the first time I feel hopeful there is a way ahead for me.’

Mrs Penrose had been watching Eliza’s expressive face and said softly, ‘You have a most distinctive look. You remind me of someone but I can’t recall who. It was too long ago. Is Eliza your full first name? Or are you an Elizabeth, perhaps?’

‘It is the only name I know, ma’am. Perhaps it’s not even my given name. I was so young when I was separated from the life I knew.’

Marina squeezed her hand. ‘Well, I too feel I know you and have known you for ever! Perhaps we can be like sisters to each other?’

Eliza felt a rush of gratitude for such openness of heart. Suddenly shy, she said, ‘May I ask, as you reject your mother’s plans, what is the kind of life for which you hope?’

‘My hopes are more easily realisable. I wish to be free from the imperative of marriage. I want to live the life of the mind,’ Marina said dramatically, with a flourish of her hand.

Her grandmother chuckled and indicated the book in her lap. ‘I’m just reading here, First say to yourself what you would be, and then do what you have to do. This is one of Epictetus’s prescriptions for happiness.’

‘Well, that is true indeed. And you, dear Grandmama, have made it possible with your offer of an annuity so I can live as I choose.’ She smiled at her grandmother, then turned to Eliza. ‘You see, I wish to do what Grandmama’s friend Mrs Carter did, translate and publish some ancient text my father sent to me.’

Eliza’s face was eager. ‘Is your father a scholar too?’

Marina snorted with laughter. ‘No! So far from a scholar. He was a gamester and libertine and died in exile from his excesses.’ Eliza was taken aback at such frankness. Miss Fairley noticed her expression and patted her arm. ‘I don’t mean to sound so uncivil and flippant. You see I never really knew him. He was a nobleman who ruined my mother. Hence her obsessive desire to see me respectably settled!’

Eliza was doubly surprised at such openness about personal matters, but thought perhaps the intellectual influence of her grandmother must have made Miss Fairley unguarded.

Mrs Penrose interceded with a stern voice and once more became hawk-like and uncompromising. ‘My daughter, Lydia, was a foolish ninny and he was a disreputable rake whose behaviour with a young woman of her class was disgraceful. He wasn’t fooling with one of the maids, ye know! Lydia was a vain numbskull, and he had no excuse and fully deserved his fate.’

Both young women looked at each other, startled by the emotion in Mrs Penrose’s voice. Suddenly, Eliza was gripped by a need to know and asked Marina in a quiet voice, ‘Was your father’s name Fairley?’

‘No. My mother quickly married the local squire, a Mr Fairley, who gave me the cloak of his name. But she never forgot her noble seducer and was proud of the grandeur of his bloodline. Her vanity meant she could not keep it from me, as discretion and good manners demanded. Instead, she confided my parentage, hoping I would aim higher in marriage myself.’

‘Lydia always lacked imagination,’ Lettice Penrose added. ‘Takes after her father, I’m afraid. Very dreary and lugubrious he was. Having coddled himself all his life, he was carried off by a chill caught one rainy afternoon as he tried to stop jackdaws nesting in our chimneys. Why he didn’t leave it to one of the gardeners, I’ll never know. But I always wondered if it was really his tedious doggedness that was fatal in the end.’

‘Oh, Grandmama! You don’t need to be so disobliging.’ Miss Fairley’s amused voice belied her disapproving words. ‘He knew his limitations. I remember him saying that the most beautiful women should be left for unimaginative men like him. He was looking at you at the time.’

Her grandmother laughed. ‘That’s one of his wittier sayings. I was beautiful once, ’tis true, but not as beautiful as your friend.’ Mrs Penrose smiled across at Eliza. ‘Miss Gray, mark my words, your looks will lead you to your family, or at least to marriage so you can make your own family. The fairness of your hair and skin, the cast of your features, and those oddly coloured eyes are most individual.’

Eliza blushed with pleasure at a compliment from such an exacting woman. She had grown up admonished rather than praised, and approval of any kind surprised her with joy. ‘Thank you, Mrs Penrose,’ she said, the colour still suffusing her cheeks.

‘I feel for your plight my dear, although not all families are loving and sometimes are best lost to us! But the wise philosopher has a message for you too, Miss Gray: Mourn not for that which you lack; rejoice in what is yours, great beauty, goodness of nature… and the skill of a fine horsewoman.’

Now it was Eliza’s turn to be amused. ‘You’re teasing me, Mrs Penrose. No classical philosopher would mention my horsemanship!’

The once young Blue Stocking threw back her head and laughed as gaily as if she were a girl again. ‘You’re right, I added that! But the first exhortations belong to Epictetus as certain as night follows day. Look, it’s here.’ She tapped the open page of her book. ‘You must celebrate what you have. You are a lucky young woman to be so richly endowed with gifts.’

‘Thank you. I will endeavour to do just that. I’ve been learning to dance properly and hope this will prove to be another of my skills.’

Both Marina and her grandmother looked at her with a question in their eyes. ‘Is this in preparation for the Bassett ball tomorrow?’

‘It is. Are you both attending?’

Lettice Penrose answered, ‘I’m too old to find much of the Season diverting, but Lady Bassett’s ball is always worthwhile, purely because everyone will be there. I enjoy seeing how much old acquaintances have aged over the past year, and how many are still alive!’ She got to her feet and the young women stood up too. ‘Now I must say farewell, Miss Gray, until we meet again. Perhaps at the ball tomorrow?’