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‘Of course I love her. There, I’ve said it. She’s become the sun and moon to me, the only person I long to see. I fear there is no peace for me except with her.’ He paced away again, back to the window. ‘But then perhaps I can have no peace, for how can I trust her? Her first words to me were a lie; she obviously had not lost her memory but she kept up the pretence!’
‘Yes! So you wouldn’t return her from whence she’d come.’
‘Then, more heinously she betrays me, on a whim, to please that American clodpole!’
‘Oh Rav, for heaven’s sake, get off your high horse! You’re just piqued because she beat you.’ Corinna tried to suppress a smile. ‘She did not betray you on a whim. The decision was hard for her. She had given her word and then could not withdraw.’ Corinna, animated with her own emotion, put out her arms to her friend and hugged him. ‘Loving anyone is painful and fraught with danger, and I know you know that and have paid the price.’ He was so tall she could not meet his eyes but continued talking to his cravat. ‘We all have to plunge into the unknown. But I promise you, through struggle, love grows more precious, and the beloved becomes indispensable, etched into our souls.’ They separated and she met his gaze, softened now. ‘Honour your sister, Rav, and her short, sweet life, by going forward with hope into the future, with another beloved Eliza.’
Lord Purfoy said with a catch in his voice, ‘Alick is blessed to have you as a wife, and I am blessed to call you sister and friend. Thank you.’ He took her hand with its painted fingertips and kissed it before swinging out of the door.
That evening Lord Purfoy strolled round to the mews where Taz was preparing the horses and curricle for the night’s entertainment. ‘I’m not going to St James’s but to Astley’s.’ Taz glanced at him with a knowing look. Lord Purfoy had no intention of letting his tiger congratulate himself on his percipience in any area of his master’s life. He swung up into the driving seat and drove his special greys towards the east of the city, with Taz perched behind. The moon hung large and low in the velvet night, spreading its uncanny light over everything. The buildings and trees, the passing horsemen and carriages, were cloaked in a silvery sheen of significance. Tonight was momentous. Lord Purfoy’s spirit, for weeks unsettled and sunk in saturnine gloom, was calm and certain. He would offer Miss Gray her inheritance and the freedom to live as she chose. He then could only hope she would choose to share that life with him. His future happiness lay with Fate herself.
Walking up the front steps at the entrance of Astley’s Amphitheatre, Lord Purfoy threaded his way through the chattering throng of young blades and dandies surrounded by a flock of fluttering ladies of the night. The working people of London too were there in force. It was years since he had attended and he was rather taken aback at how boisterous the crowd seemed. Miss Gray had to deal with this night after night; he shuddered at the thought. Having paid to have a box to himself he settled into the plush interior, kicking aside two empty bottles and some pie wrappings left by the previous occupants.
The show started with the usual jugglers and clowns to get the audience in the mood. The crowd went wild with delight and Lord Purfoy shifted in his seat, barely able to contain his boredom. Then three blasts of a hunting horn proclaimed the arrival of the horses. He leaned forward to see a beautiful black horse canter proudly into the ring and on his back was a winged nymph, standing with one arm raised. Lord Purfoy’s breath caught in his throat. She was masked but unmistakeable to him. Her wonderful flaxen hair fell loose down her back from a feathered cap. It floated behind her as did the silk ribbons attached to wings on her jacket. Lord Purfoy’s gaze would always be drawn to the horse, but handsome as Percy was, his lordship could not look away from the rider, so graceful, so strong and brave, so beloved to him.
He was unprepared for the bolt of love and desire that broke through his natural reserve. There she was, separate from him, almost a stranger, her beauty incandescent in the stage lights; her grace of form, her dancer’s poise, her courage in riding so recklessly and at such speed, overwhelmed his senses and filled every cell with longing for her.
Rather than subside into attentive quiet, the audience grew rowdier, mixing whistles and catcalls with the general uproar. Lord Purfoy was shocked out of his reverie and grew increasingly outraged at the lack of respect for both riders and horses. He leaned over to the next box to quieten five young bucks who seemed particularly loud and offensive in their comments, and noticed the young baronet who had been sparring with Gentleman Jackson. ‘Sir Tufton! Mind your manners.’
The young baronet, furious at being scolded in front of his friends, leaned over and, in a voice that sailed over the hubbub, shouted, ‘His High and Mighty, the arrogant Lord Purfoy, thinks he can tell us how to behave! We paid our dues and what we do is our business.’ Faces in the audience turned to peer at the commotion, and some added their inflammatory comments, eager for a fight.
From the moment she entered the ring, Eliza felt the air turn electric. No thunder had been heard but a stormy energy surged above the usual turbulence of the crowd. The thought erupted in her mind: this was the night he had come for her. So great was the import, she could barely allow herself to hope. Concentrating on her own fine balancing act and control of Percy, she could not risk looking out at the crowd to search for the only face she longed to see. But when the young man’s shout was heard, she glanced across at the boxes and fleetingly glimpsed Lord Purfoy’s dark head, the light from the central chandelier gleaming off his cheekbones, illuminating his fervent gaze. In that second she thought their eyes met, but then she had to look away.
About to enter a complicated equestrian manoeuvre where she stepped across from Percy’s back to the pony cantering beside her, she needed all her powers of concentration and balance. As Eliza managed the move and then back again, a cheer went up and the row in the boxes was obliterated by applause. She moved into a graceful handstand that she maintained while her horse cantered the full circumference of the ring. The noise was deafening as she returned to riding astride without a saddle and at full gallop.
Eliza had come to the end of her performance and left the arena while the clowns, jugglers and a noisy drum and cornet returned. She rode Percy round to the stables and knew she had twenty minutes or so before the show ended and her admirers congregated in the yard. But that night she dismounted and found she was not alone. A young drunk took her arm. ‘Miss Clorinda.’ He smelled of brandy and ale and was unsteady on his feet. ‘I’ve attended every night since you returned, you can surely reward me with a kiss?’ His voice was wheedling and Eliza felt herself shrink from his touch.
‘Git yer ’ands off me, sir!’ she said in her street accent, hoping its roughness added authority, while she struggled to shake his grip from her arm. Lord Davenport’s assault had shaken her, but this young man was drunk and less experienced and she found him less menacing, although she was still dressed in her costume and felt exposed and vulnerable. Sir Tufton Warren was a young man who was not used to having a woman refuse him and he pursued her across the yard.
Suddenly a hand fell heavily on his shoulder and Eliza heard the thrilling voice, ‘Sir! You heard the lady. You’re drunk. Go home.’
The young baronet was too befuddled to recognise the danger he was in. He scoffed, ‘She’s no lady. And you’re just a braggadocio earl!’
Lord Purfoy grasped him by the lapels of his elaborately fashionable coat. He turned to Eliza and said in a quiet voice, ‘Miss Gray, I’d be grateful if you’d leave this fool to me.’ Eliza nodded and walked quickly to the hay barn where she was out of sight of the small crowd of young men congregating in the hopes of a fight.
Lord Purfoy pulled Sir Tufton Warren very close to his face and said sotto voce, ‘She is every inch a lady, and even if she were not, I’d expect you to act as a gentleman.’
‘Why so prosy, my lord? These doxies who perform in public don’t deserve the respect due a true lady.’ His eyes were bloodshot as he leered across at his friends.
Lord Purfoy flung him away. His dander was up. ‘You are a swinish sot, sir, not worthy of even your modest barony. Miss Gray is of far greater nobility than you could ever understand. In fact, I intend to make her my countess if she’ll have me.’
‘You lie! Men like us don’t marry harlots like her!’ He had barely finished his sentence when he was struck in the jaw by Raven Purfoy’s straight right hook. He fell like a tree amongst the straw and horse dung. His friends clustered round him and helped him to his feet and away, as Lord Purfoy strode towards the barn.
Slipping in through the partly opened door, he was met by the sweet smell of hay and enveloped in darkness. For a moment he could not see Eliza, then she stepped into the shaft of moonlight and he walked to her side and took her hands. ‘My dear Miss Gray, I’m so sorry you had to endure that lout’s attentions. Are you quite well?’
‘I am, and much improved by seeing you, my lord. Arriving when I needed you most.’ She smiled. The moonlight painted a silvery aureole round her head as her fair hair tumbled in waves down her back. The magical light made her eyes sparkle in a way that Lord Purfoy found irresistible, and he could not look away.
He realised he still had her hands in his and let them go as he said, ‘I came to give you some news I hope might restore your rightful future. At hazard I won back from Lord Davenport the deeds to your inheritance. Bathwick Court and estate and your mother’s jewels are yours, to do with as you will.’
Eliza’s hands flew to her face. So this was what had so enraged Lord Davenport! How hard it was to understand just what this meant for Lord Purfoy, for her. It was beyond imagining that he had sought to gamble, to risk everything, to present her with such an extraordinary, unexpected gift. All she could say was, ‘But why, my lord?’
‘Because I believe it is your rightful inheritance. I dislike unfairness in an already unfair world, and I think natural justice would consider you Bathwick’s heir, if not to his title then at least to his wealth. I think you have been dealt with harshly.’
Her eyes were wide and anxious, watching his face. ‘But how did you win? What did you wager for so great a prize?’
Lord Purfoy faltered. He had to tell her the truth and yet it still pained him to say the words. ‘I wagered my horses.’
Eliza was aghast. She knew what they meant to him. They were his family, his passion, his life. In an agitated voice, she said, ‘No, my lord, not your horses!’
