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Madeleine shifted uneasily on the seat. The weather was growing more ominous, as was the rebellion in her heart; she did not like being considered only worth marrying because she was now an heiress, or indeed the least disagreeable of heiresses on offer. ‘You know, if that’s the bargain, I’d rather not marry at all.’

‘Don’t be foolish, Maddie. All women must marry. What else is there for them to do?’

Madeleine’s voice became emphatic. ‘Why, be a painter like Mrs Wolfe, or a writer like Mrs Edgeworth and Mrs Burney!’

‘Ah, but they’re all married women to begin with.’ Lord Lockhart’s manner suggested he thought he had won the argument.

Madeleine’s impassioned feelings on the matter meant she suddenly confided in him, something cool reason might have suggested unwise. ‘I really would like to make a small difference to the suffering in this world.’

Lord Lockhart scoffed. He had turned the horses for home. ‘Now you’re becoming pious. Best join a nunnery and give your money to charity, then.’

‘No, I thought of something more practical. As you know, I’d like to make the dower house at Great Cheney into a home for abandoned children.’

He turned a scornful face her way, but before he could answer, the curricle was surrounded by a milling pack of feral dogs, barking and snapping. One of the horses suddenly reared skywards, whinnying in fright, then bolted, transmitting his fear to his equine companion. They both started to gallop in blind panic back the way they had come. The heavens too opened with sudden ferocity as dark clouds roiled above them and rain drilled down with unrelenting force.

In some alarm, Madeleine looked across at Lord Lockhart who was pale and swearing as he struggled to control his horses. They were completely oblivious to any intervention from their driver and were heading at breakneck speed towards the perimeter fence. Just as she herself seemed to become infected with the animals’ panic, Madeleine caught sight of a rider galloping out of the maelstrom of wind and rain. With coat-tails flying, he and his horse were so elegant in flight they seemed to be mythological beings. Was this Pegasus himself, with the heroic Perseus, slayer of monsters, on his back?

Then suddenly she recognised the rider, his curly-brimmed beaver pulled low on his brow, his fair curls darkening in the rain, his athletic form riding out of the saddle to help speed the horse onwards. ‘Mr Shilton!’ she said under her breath. Of course it was him, it would only ever be him. She watched as he turned his own hunter to ride alongside Lockhart’s bolting horses and leaned across to grab the bridle of the nearest. Madeleine felt the rushing, unstable movement of the carriage slow and eventually the horses came to a halt, exhaustion having drained them of distress.

Mr Shilton’s eyes met hers, anxious and intense. His face was flushed and rain-streaked and he was breathless from the urgency of his ride. In this moment of crisis, with nerves stretched to breaking point, Madeleine was surprised by the frisson of excitement between them, aware of the secret intimacy that crackled through the rain. This feeling was what she dreamed of, what she wrote about and, most importantly, what she longed for herself.

Madeleine glanced across at Lord Lockhart, who was as thunderous as the sky and surly in his thanks. How could she contemplate marrying this sulky boy when such a man as Mr Shilton existed in the world? What an example of nobility, of manly courage and depths of soul; he could have walked straight out of her novel, and she laughed at her own girlish fancy.

Edwin Lockhart drove them off at speed and Madeleine felt the chill, in the blustery wind, of wet fabric against her skin. She began to shiver and neither she nor her cousin had the energy for conversing. Back in the mews, she clambered down from the curricle with a hasty thanks and dashed into the house to change into dry clothes. She was due at Mrs Wolfe’s in an hour.

* * *

When Madeleine arrived at the Wolfe door, Gibbons’s genial old face lit up. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Rose. Mrs Wolfe said to take you to the nursery as she thought you’d like to see how the young scamp is doing.’

Taking her bonnet and pelisse, the old butler led the way up two flights of stairs towards childish voices and laughter. As Madeleine entered, she was confronted with a scene of mayhem, as if a whirlwind had just passed through the room. Felted animals had been knocked off a chair and paper with scribbled drawings was strewn about the floor.

Attempting to tidy the room, Mabel looked up with a flustered smile. ‘Miss Rose, as you can see, Master Billy is well settled in.’ She pointed to where Emma, the elder Wolfe child, was attempting to teach him the names of animals, to much hilarity on both sides. ‘Little Miss Bossy finds Billy much more entertaining than her own brother, who is still just a babe in arms.’ Indeed, the Wolfe son and heir was fast asleep in his crib at the far side of the room, where Meg, the nursemaid, was folding linen and humming to herself.

Billy was already managing to walk around the furniture and on seeing Madeleine, let out a whoop and, holding tight to three-year-old Emma’s hand, staggered towards her. He lifted his arms to Madeleine who picked him up and sat with him on her lap. She said, ‘I can’t stay long as I’m helping Mrs Wolfe with a portrait she’s painting, but are you well suited here, Mabel?’

‘I am. It’s a friendly household and a happy nursery. Billy’s a lucky boy. He continues to entertain everyone as he did in the master’s house. But I shall be pleased to return home when Billy’s future is secure.’

At that point, Corinna Wolfe came into the nursery and Emma threw herself at her mother’s skirts. She was picked up and Mrs Wolfe smiled across at Madeleine. ‘If you’re ready, we can start work.’

Madeleine put Billy on the floor and followed her downstairs to the back of the house, where the studio looked over the garden and the mews. Filled with canvasses and smelling of linseed oil and turpentine, Madeleine gazed at the half-finished portrait on the easel.

A sultry beauty with dark eyes leant seductively against a pillar, dressed only in a diaphanous gown that barely disguised her breasts and limbs. Corinna Wolfe laughed at Madeleine’s expression. ‘Yes, it is rather revealing, but this is how Lord Wotton wished La Bambolina portrayed. She wears no undergarments, but I do not expect you to divest yourself of everything. I just need to get the folds of the fabric right, and your arms and hands.’ She pointed to a screen over which the wisp of pink silk was placed.

‘I’m pleased to help you in any way I can, Mrs Wolfe,’ Madeleine said as she walked behind the screen.

‘’Do you need any help with the fastenings, Miss Rose?’ Corinna asked.

‘As I’m keeping my stays, I can manage, thank you.’ Madeleine slipped out of her lilac mourning dress and into the flimsy shell-pink stage costume used for the consummation scene in Les Amoureuses. She emerged feeling her arms were almost entirely exposed, as were her throat and the top of her breasts, but grateful for the protection of her undergarments.

Corinna looked up from her painting. ‘That suits you very well, Miss Rose. You’re more fine-boned than the subject and, as I’ve said before, she will be happy for me to paint her with your elegant hands, I’m sure. If you could stand there.’ She motioned to a cross on the floor. ‘And turn your left shoulder towards me. Just so.’ As she painted, Corinna chatted. ‘Mr Shilton tells me you are without parents?’

‘They died in the influenza outbreak when I was fourteen. I miss my mother particularly.’

‘I think the memory of such loss can return sharply at the happiest and unhappiest moments of our lives.’ Corinna was looking at Madeleine with narrowed eyes as she sized up the proportions of her arms.

‘I used to be haunted by her. In dreams, her melancholy voice would come to me as if distant music I could never quite hear. Then I’d awake and think of her imprisoned alone in her coffin in the cold earth. Kept from the warmth of the sun and the blossom in summer, kept from me…’ Her voice tailed off. Then her beautiful eyes began to sparkle once more. ‘But ever since I brought her back to life in my novel, I’ve never worried about her again.’ Madeleine caught her breath. She had not meant to talk about her novel. Now she had told Mr Shilton and Mrs Wolfe, it was becoming a badly kept secret.

‘So now she’s always with you?’ Corinna Wolfe’s lovely face was sympathetic and Madeleine longed to confide in her more.