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‘If you don’t mind, I prefer to call you Ferdinand. It sounds more dignified to my mind.’

‘Oh goodness, no one has called me that since my nursery days when I knew Nanny had caught me out on some lark or other.’ He laughed gently with the memory. Nanny Fox had adored him as much as anyone did and in reality, there was nothing he could do that she considered wrong. He hoped she would come out of retirement to oversee the care of his own children in the future. It was a thought that warmed his heart.

Hester Payton ignored his riposte. ‘What I don’t understand is why are you taking responsibility for some stranger’s attire?’

Mr Shilton was sanguine. ‘I have more than enough resources, why not spend a fractional portion on one who has so little?’

‘You can’t go being responsible for all the waifs and strays. You’ll have your own family to think of. You wish to hand your fortune on intact to your heir, do you not?’

Indeed, he took this duty seriously. Mr Shilton thought of the wealth so carefully husbanded by his late father and grandfather before him. ‘You are right, dear Hester, but what is the good of wealth if it doesn’t help to spread a little happiness as widely as possible?’

This seemed a dangerously radical idea, but Miss Payton realised in that moment that if she valued a kind and generous husband, then he would be kind and generous to others too. She smiled. She did not want to sound mean-spirited. She could allow him his little flourishes of largesse to those less fortunate than themselves.

When the carriage drew up at Grosvenor Street, Miss Rose had obviously been waiting by a window and was quickly out of the front door and, accompanied by Dot, climbed into the chaise to sit opposite Mr Shilton and his betrothed. She noticed with pleasure that Mr Shilton was back in his characteristic bright colours and she could not stop herself from smiling at him, and he knew why.

Everyone was introduced and it was the first time the women had a chance to really look at each other. Madeleine was already writing a part for Miss Payton in her novel but was struck by the loveliness of her face and colouring. She met her blue eyes with her own perceptive grey and thought she looked a very proper person to be Mr Shilton’s wife. They sat together as pretty as a picture, perfectly matched in life, their looks and cool rational temperaments like male and female versions of a paragon of civility.

But this was life, and Madeleine could harness the power of fiction to determine in her story that her own character, Jane, be awarded the hero to love. That privilege was reserved for herself.

Hester Payton was relieved to see how small and undistinguished Miss Rose was. She was wearing a plain grey muslin gown with a blue pelisse, and the colours did not enhance the large lustrous grey eyes which were her handsomest feature. Miss Payton relaxed; this young woman was no competition for her, nor indeed for anyone, and anyway, no man could honourably annul a promise to marry. Only the woman could withdraw her troth, and this she felt certain she would never have cause to do.

Ferdinand Shilton also had a chance to study Miss Rose for the first time since they had met. She sat opposite them, her hands folded in her lap, her bonnet framing her delicate face with those remarkably intelligent bright eyes. He gave a secret smile; his first impression was right, she really was like a small dormouse, alert and filled with pulsating life. Her looks would never command attention in a crowd, he admitted, but her quick delicacy of response, her ardent character and spirit shone through every fibre of her being for anyone with the sensitivity to see.

Sitting companionably beside her maid, Madeleine was answering Miss Payton’s questions and Ferdy watched as amusement, serious thought and mischief ran like ripples over her countenance. There was an unaffected eagerness about her that made him believe in the poets’ assertions that a soul could be traced in the lineaments of a face. Once or twice, her eyes met his and time seemed to pause for a second, the air vibrating between them. Did she feel that too? He wondered. Then, irritated by being unmoored from his comfortable, conformable life, he sought to anchor himself again with the woman he had chosen for his wife. He closed his gloved hand over Miss Payton’s and gave it a little squeeze. With her predictability and good sense, he would be happy and content.

The chaise pulled up outside the bow-fronted shop, where a glowing yellow pelisse trimmed with cream ribbon roses glowed in the window. Mr Shilton and Miss Payton led the way up the front steps and Madame Carteret greeted him like an old friend, her dark eyes amused and sharply perceptive. She bowed when introduced to Miss Payton and commended her on her pretty bonnet. Then she turned to Madeleine, who was gazing wide-eyed at the rolls of fabric of every type and colour and displays of braids, trimming, beads, flounces and feathers. ‘Mademoiselle has an eye for colour and fabric, I see?’

Madeleine Rose met her gaze steadily and smiled. ‘I love colour, Madame.’

Ferdy Shilton said, ‘I would like to see what gowns you may have already made that might suit Miss Rose. It’s to replace a favourite one that was damaged.’

Madame Carteret turned to Madeleine and asked, ‘What is the colour of the favourite dress?’

‘It was rose gauze over pale green.’

Madame Carteret’s piercing eyes appraised Madeleine’s face and form for a minute or so and eventually she said, ‘I think to enhance your colouring, rose is a very good colour, but I would suggest lace for the bodice over gold tiffany with the skirt embellished with lace panels. It’s my own design and I have a cancelled order you can try. The lady was as petite as you. Let’s see.’ She bustled out and returned with an armful of shimmering fabric and Madeleine gasped. The mantua maker smiled at her in a motherly way. ‘I had two dresses made, but this is the one I favour for you. Would you like to try it on?’

While Madeleine was behind a screen being helped into the lace and silk dress by Polly, Madame Carteret’s assistant, Miss Payton turned to Mr Shilton and said sotto voce, ‘Why not consider something simpler? Miss Rose is quite a plain little thing, I’m sure she doesn’t quite need such an extravagant dress.’

‘Well, I disagree, my dear, on both counts.’ Mr Shilton’s voice was quiet and reasonable, and it took a second or two for his betrothed to understand his meaning.

As Miss Rose emerged shyly from behind the screen, all eyes were turned on her and she knew by the expressions on their faces that she was transformed. She certainly felt beautiful. She had barely believed the image she saw in the looking glass. The colour somehow made her skin look as if it emitted light and her eyes became mysterious and compelling. Was this what was meant by the power of good clothes? Was this why the rich were more attractive than the poor?

Dot was sitting on a chair behind her and Madeleine heard her gasp, ‘Oh Miss!’

Miss Payton leaned forwards with a smile. ‘It’s certainly lovely, but perhaps think of a gown like this one.’ She pointed to the smart grey and white striped sarsenet Madame Carteret had also brought to show. ‘You may find there are more occasions to wear something like this.’

Madeleine felt so obligated to Mr Shilton for his generosity, she did not wish to insist on the more expensive of the two and so answered amenably, ‘I think Miss Payton may be right.’ She picked up the garment and held it under her chin and the light in her face was extinguished.

Mr Shilton spoke for the first time. ‘But, Miss Rose, which one do you prefer?’ When Madeleine hesitated, he continued, ‘Which one would best befit the heroine of a gothic novel?’

Taken by surprise, her distinctively joyful laugh rippled out of her. As she said, ‘The lace one,’ she realised no one else knew to what Mr Shilton referred. Determined as Madeleine had been not to tell anyone of her writing, the most precious venture of her life, nevertheless, she had told Mr Shilton in a surprising burst of confidence, the first time they had met. This private understanding they shared was like an arrow piercing her loneliness, and it thrilled her that he referred to it too without giving her away. Her laugh became a disarming smile.

Ferdinand Shilton got to his feet. ‘Then that’s settled. The lace one it is. Thank you, Madame Carteret. If you can box that up, we will take it with us.’

As they all climbed into the chaise once more, Madeleine sat opposite an enigmatic Mr Shilton and Miss Payton, whose beauty was constrained by a tightening round her lips. Dot was grinning with the precious bandbox on her knee. Madeleine was confused with the emotions of excitement and embarrassment, of being filled with astonished gratitude and joy, but also a sense of obligation. ‘Even if I may not have as many occasions to wear it, the fact I have such a beautiful dress in my possession is very special to me. Thank you, Mr Shilton, and Miss Payton, for your advice.’

When later, Madeleine was alone in her room, she carefully unpacked the dress from its box, folding back the interleaved tissue paper and hanging the lace and silk garment like a work of art on a hook on her wall, to gaze at in wonder. But somehow, she did not wish her cousins to know of its existence just yet; it still felt private and tender, and she could not countenance any cynical interpretations to spoil its magic.