He must have sensed her presence.

He suddenly turned and looked straight at her. She found herself catching her breath, because he was the most handsome man she had ever seen in her life.

He smiled at her, put his finger to the brim of his hat and tilted it toward her. Her answering smile lit her face, as if she had suddenly met someone she had known long ago and hadn’t seen for a while.

“Esme, how could you?” Rosemary took Esme’s arm and almost dragged her away.

Esme looked back over her shoulder and discovered the young man was staring after them….

A Desirable Husband

Harlequin®Historical

MARY NICHOLS

Born in Singapore, Mary Nichols came to England when she was three, and has spent most of her life in different parts of East Anglia. She has been a radiographer, school secretary, information officer and industrial editor, as well as a writer. She has three grown children and four grandchildren.

A Desirable Husband
MARY NICHOLS

Available from Harlequin® Historical and MARY NICHOLS

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Chapter One

March 1850

‘Are we nearly there?’ Esme turned from watching the countryside flying past the carriage window at a speed that would have frightened her had she been a young lady given to attacks of the vapours, which she certainly was not.

It was not her first ride in a train because she had travelled by this means the short distance from her home in Luffenham to Leicester to visit her married sister, Lucy, but that went at the pace of a snail. This was the first time she had undertaken such a long journey, and without her parents, too. Lucy had intended to accompany her, but five-year-old Harry had gone down with a cold and she would not leave him. So here she was, being escorted by her brother-in-law, who had business in town, and Miss Bannister, her old governess, who was going to act as companion and maid.

‘Not long now,’ Myles told her. ‘Are you tired?’

‘Not especially, I’m simply impatient to arrive.’ Papa had said he could not give her a Season—at least, not one befitting the daughter of the Earl of Luffenham—and she would have to take her chances on finding a husband among the local gentry, which would be very nearly impossible. She knew them all and there wasn’t one she liked well enough to want to spend the rest of her life with. The whole family talked about it, arguing to and fro as if they were talking about what to do with a problem servant. Both Lucinda and Rosemary had had come-out seasons and it didn’t seem fair that Esme should be deprived of one, for how else could she find a suitable husband? In the end, Rosemary, who was married to Rowan, Viscount Trent, and lived in a smart mansion in Kensington, had persuaded her husband to provide the wherewithal. Esme could not wait to see what social occasions had been arranged for her.

At nineteen, the youngest of the Earl of Luffenham’s three daughters, Esme was as excited as a child. With her flawless skin, rosy cheeks and big blue eyes, she looked younger than her years—a state of affairs she was anxious to correct. She was a young lady, a marriageable young lady, and she wished everyone would not treat her like a schoolgirl. Mama and Papa and Lucy had spent the whole of the day before giving her advice on how to behave. ‘Do this. Don’t do that. Remember you are a lady. Be courteous and friendly, but do not allow any of the gentlemen to whom you are introduced to take liberties.’ She wasn’t quite sure what they meant by liberties; she supposed kissing her would be one. She wondered what it would be like to be kissed by a man, but she hadn’t dared ask.

The journey had begun very early when they boarded the local train at Luffenham Halt to take them to Peterborough, where they changed on to the London train. It was all made easy for them because Myles was someone important in the railway world; porters and guards and everyone working on the railway, fell over themselves to ease his passage. But even so, sitting in a closed carriage for five hours was about as much as she could bear.

‘Another few minutes,’ he said. ‘We are slowing down already.’

She turned her attention back to the window and realised they had left the countryside behind and there were smoke-begrimed buildings on either side of the line. A minute or two later they drew into the Maiden Lane terminus and the platform came into view with people standing about, perhaps to meet others coming off the train, perhaps to board it for its return journey. Porters scurried here and there, carrying luggage, mysterious parcels, boxes of cabbages and crates of squawking chickens. A dozen empty milk churns stood ready to be sent back whence they came, no doubt to be returned full the next morning.

They stopped in a hiss of steam and the door of their carriage was opened by a porter. Myles stepped down, then turned to help her. She remembered just in time that she was supposed to be a decorous young lady and resisted the temptation to jump down on to the platform and allowed him to hand her down. Miss Bannister followed while he was giving instructions to the porter about the delivery of their luggage.

Esme felt firm ground beneath her feet; she was here at last, in the great metropolis. The excitement bubbling up in her was hard to contain, but overexuberance was one of the things Mama had warned her against, so she walked sedately beside Myles as they left the station and he hailed a cab to take them to Kensington. Familiar only with Leicester and Peterborough, the two towns nearest her home, the city seemed never ending: warehouses, shops, poky little houses and grand mansions in juxtaposition lined their route, and then a long wide avenue running alongside a park.

‘That’s Green Park,’ Myles told her. ‘Buckingham Palace is on the far side of it. We’ll come to Hyde Park soon. That’s where the Exhibition is going to be held next year.’ He leaned forward and pointed. ‘That’s the Duke of Wellington’s house.’

‘Shall I meet him?’

‘I don’t know. You might.’

‘But he is your friend?’

‘He is certainly an acquaintance, I would not be so presumptuous as to claim him for a friend.’

‘Shall I meet Prince Albert? Will he be present when I make my curtsy?’

‘Goodness, child, I don’t know.’

‘I am not a child, Myles. You sound just like Banny.’

He grinned ruefully at Miss Bannister while addressing Esme. ‘Then I beg your pardon. I shall remember in future to address you as my lady.’

‘Now you are being silly.’

Nothing could repress her for long and she was soon smiling again. A few minutes more and the cab driver turned into a wide street lined with imposing town villas and pulled up outside one of them. ‘Trent House,’ he announced.

Myles got out, handed Esme down and then her companion. He was always courteous and polite to Miss Bannister and treated her like a lady, for which he received her undying support.

Esme was standing uncertainly, looking about her, when the front door of the nearest house was opened and her sister, in a dove-grey dress and white cap, stood waiting to greet her. Esme started to run to meet her, but remembered in time that running was not ladylike and walked to the door.

‘Here at last.’ Rosemary offered her cheek to be kissed. ‘Did you have a good journey?’

‘Yes, very good, but I’m so glad to be here.’

‘You are very welcome, sister dear.’ And to Myles, offering her hand, ‘Myles, welcome. Come along in. I’ll take you to your rooms, then when you have settled in, we shall have some refreshments and you shall tell me all the news from home.’

Ignoring Miss Bannister, she led the way into an imposing entrance hall and up a flight of stairs. ‘The drawing room,’ she said, waving at a closed door. ‘And that’s the dining room. The door farther along is the small parlour where we sit when we are alone. That’s where I shall be, so come there when you are ready.’ On she went up a second flight of stairs. ‘Bedrooms on this floor,’ she said, flinging open a door. ‘This one is yours, Esme. I have put Miss Bannister next door, for your convenience. Myles, a room has been prepared for you at the far end of the corridor.’ She pointed at a farther flight of stairs. ‘Nursery suite and servants’ quarters up there, though they have their own staircase. That’s it, except for the ground floor, which contains anterooms, a large room we use for dancing, soirées and suchlike, the library and Rowan’s study. I’ll show you those later.’

Miss Bannister and Myles left them and Rosemary followed Esme into her room and sat on the end of the bed to watch as her sister removed her gloves, cloak and bonnet to reveal a tiered skirt in a soft blue wool. It was not new. Nothing she had was brand-new. ‘Esme, did you have to wear that dress?’

Esme smoothed her hands over her waist. ‘What’s wrong with it? Mama said it was perfectly adequate for travelling.’

‘It’s years old. I remember you having that when I was still at home.’ She stopped speaking to answer a knock at the door. Two footmen had arrived with Esme’s trunk. They were waved inside and told to put it on the floor at the foot of the bed. They had no sooner gone than Rosemary had it open and was pulling out the contents. ‘Esme, I could swear this was Lucy’s jacket. And this skirt.’ She delved deeper into it. ‘And this gown…’

‘So they are—Mama said no one would ever know.’

‘Haven’t you brought any clothes of your own?’

‘Not many,’ Esme confessed. ‘They are all so old and some of them are too short for a young lady and Lucy said I could have these. She has grown a little plumper since she had Vicky and they are the very best materials. We hardly had to alter anything, except to shorten them. Lucy is inches taller than I am.’

‘Whatever was Mama thinking of, to send you with nothing but hand-me-downs? You’ll never find a husband that way.’

‘No one knows they are hand-me-downs.’

‘Myles knows.’

‘Of course he does, but he’s family, and Lucy asked him if he thought it was all right for me to have them and he said they were her clothes and she could give them to whomever she pleased.’

‘He would.’ There was a deal of meaning in those two words and conveyed perfectly what Rosemary thought of her brother-in-law. He was an upstart, a nobody, for all he was Lord Moor-croft’s heir; it was a new peerage and meant nothing at all, except that the working classes were aspiring to become nobility, which they never could do. They did not have the breeding. She tolerated him, even managed to be polite and treat him like an equal, but that was for Lucy’s sake, not his. ‘I can’t take you out and about unless you are dressed appropriately. Whatever will people think of me?’

‘I shouldn’t think they will think anything of it.’ Esme had forgotten how repressing Rosie could be. Nothing and nobody was good enough; even her poor husband was bullied into conforming to her ways.

‘Nevertheless, you shall have a new wardrobe. Thank goodness the Season hasn’t started yet and there will be plenty of choice in the shops and dressmakers with little enough to do.’

‘I am sure Papa cannot afford it. He has been lecturing us for years about not being extravagant and it’s got worse since he lost money investing in the Eastern Counties railway.’

‘More fool him for doing it. No doubt he listened to Myles.’

‘It wasn’t Myles’s fault, he advised against it. I believe it was Viscount Gorridge, though his lordship cannot have taken his own advice because he is richer than ever.’

‘Well, whatever it was, you are going to have new clothes. Rowan will pay. He always gives me whatever I ask for.’

‘Aren’t you lucky,’ Esme said, which made her sister look sharply at her, but there was no malice in Esme’s expression.

‘Yes, I am.’ She went to the door to the adjoining room. ‘Miss Bannister, Esme requires your help changing her dress.’ To Esme she said, ‘Hurry up. I’ve lots to tell you. And I want to hear how Mama is.’ And with that she took her leave.

Esme turned to look at the room. It had a large canopied bed, a huge walnut wardrobe, a table and two upright chairs, a little desk with another chair, a chest of drawers and, beside the bed, a bookcase containing several matching books. She went over to the window, which had view of a park, neat gardens and a stretch of water.

‘Did you hear all that?’ she asked Banny, who had joined her.

‘Yes.’

‘She made me feel like a poor relation. I was so pleased when Lucy gave me those clothes; they fit me very well and I do not feel such a schoolgirl in them. I am not a schoolgirl and I do hope that Rosie isn’t going to buy me a lot of silly frilly stuff. I am grateful to her for having me, but I want to be me, not her baby sister.’

Miss Bannister smiled. ‘I think you can stand up to her, my pet, but take my advice, be diplomatic about it. What shall you wear now?’

‘I don’t mind. It’s not important if I am going to be lectured about it.’

Twenty minutes later, washed and dressed in a green-and-yellow striped jaconet with her hair freshly brushed and held back with combs, she went down to the small sitting room to find her sister presiding over the teapot. Myles was standing looking out of the window. He turned to smile at her as she entered and she felt at least here she had an ally.

They drank tea and nibbled little cakes; Myles told Rosemary all the news of Lucy and young Henry and baby Victoria and was regaled in turn with the cleverness of Master John Trent, who had just had his first birthday. Esme sat and appeared to be listening, but her mind was wandering. In spite of her defence of Lucy and her gratitude for the clothes, she was looking forward to having a wardrobe of her own, something bought and made especially for her. Shopping would be a rare treat, but after that…

Mama had told her what her own come-out Season had been like and said all Seasons followed an established pattern. The first and most important event was her presentation to the Queen. Along with a long line of others, she would have to walk sedately into the room without falling over her ten-foot train and on reaching her Majesty make the deepest curtsy, until her knee was almost on the floor, and hold that position while kissing the Queen’s hand and bowing her head. And then she had to get up again without falling over. The trickiest bit was scooping up her train and making her way backwards out of the room.

After that she would be well and truly out and could accept invitations to soirées and routs and balls at which she would meet many new people, including some young men out looking for a wife, who would flatter and cajole. She was not, under any circumstances, to have her head turned by them. Rosie would say who was and who was not suitable and whom she could safely encourage.

She came out of her reverie to hear Rosemary saying, ‘Esme is a hopeless romantic and is unlikely to make a push to find a suitable husband herself, so I will have to take her in hand and point her in the right direction.’

‘Is it like a paper trail, then?’ Esme asked and was gratified to see a smile crease Myles’s face, which he quickly stifled.

‘Don’t be flippant, Esme,’ her sister said. ‘It is a serious business. You have to choose a husband carefully because you have to spend the rest of your life with him.’

‘But the same must be said of him, surely? He has to spend his life with me.’

‘It’s different for a man.’

‘How?’

Rosemary looked discomforted. ‘It just is. A man is looking for a lady to be an asset to his position in life, someone to be a credit to him, someone to manage his household, entertain his friends, be a good mother to his children, look elegant on his arm.’

‘What about being in love?’

Rosemary suddenly found it necessary to fiddle with the tea caddy and it was left to Myles to answer her. ‘He must be in love with his wife and she with him, that goes without saying, otherwise the marriage is doomed to failure.’

‘Well, of course,’ Rosemary said, and rang the bell for the parlour maid to come and remove the tea things. As soon as they had been taken away, she stood up. ‘I always have a half hour with John about this time before he is put to bed. Would you like to come and say hallo to him, Esme? Myles, I am sure you can amuse yourself. There is a newspaper on the side table. There’s little enough news in it, except the plans for the Exhibition. “The Great Exhibition of the Industry of All Nations.” What a title!’

The proposed exhibition was the brain child of Henry Cole, a man of many talents, who had been involved in smaller exhibitions all over the country. He had approached Prince Albert with the idea of combining the art and manufacture of the whole world in one enormous exhibition and his Highness had embraced it enthusiastically and become its principal patron. It was why Myles had come to town, invited to a banquet by his Royal Highness and the Lord Mayor of London aimed at furthering the project among influential people in the provinces.

Esme followed her sister from the room. She wanted to be married, like her sisters, but she was not going to let herself be pushed by Rosemary into marriage with someone she did not love. Myles had said it was important and so had Lucy. Lucy had managed to win Papa round to let her marry Myles who was not at first considered a suitable husband for the daughter of an earl, being a man who liked to work and was not afraid to dirty his hands, though he was rich enough not to have to. Since then he had been a rock for all the family, the man they all turned to for help and advice—all except Rosemary, of course. She had never changed her original opinion of him; he was a labourer, one of the operative classes and far beneath her. Esme would be happy if she could find another Myles, but she did not suppose there could be two such as he.

Having admired her nephew, watched him being petted by his mother until he dribbled all down her gown and was hastily handed back to his nurse, Esme returned to her room to rest before dressing for dinner. At the sound of the first gong, signalling that dinner would be in a half hour, Miss Bannister helped her into one of the gowns Lucy had given her. It was a cerise silk that had suited Lucy, who was darker than she was, but Esme was not sure that it was the best colour for her pale complexion, but she would never have dreamed of hurting her sister’s feelings by saying so.

She heard the second gong as she was going down to the drawing room where she found the family gathered. She barely had time to greet Rowan before dinner was announced and they went into the dining room and took their places at the long table.

Esme had met Rowan twice before, once when Rosie had first become engaged to him and then again at the wedding at which she was a bridesmaid. He was tall and thin and had a long nose, which was unfortunate because it seemed as if he was perpetually looking down on everyone. Except Myles, of course; no one could look down on Myles who was well over six feet tall.

While the meal was being served they exchanged pleasantries, but the conversation flagged after that. It was then Rowan filled the void by asking Myles what had brought him to London, apart from escorting Esme.

‘Myles has an invitation to Prince Albert’s banquet at the Mansion House,’ Esme put in before he could answer for himself. ‘It’s huge. It has gold letters and a gold border and his Highness’s coat of arms on it. You should see it.’

‘Is that so?’ Rowan turned to Myles. ‘Am I to conclude you are going to add your name to that ridiculous idea for an exhibition?’

‘I do not consider it ridiculous,’ Myles said evenly. ‘It will be a showcase for everyone, no matter what country, creed or branch of endeavour they are engaged in. It will show the world that Britain leads the way in innovation and engineering and bring exhibits and visitors from all over the world.’

‘That is just what I have against it,’ Rowan said pithily. ‘We shall be inundated with hoards of people roaming the streets, filling the cabs and omnibuses, frightening the horses and servants who will not dare venture forth on their lawful business for fear of being set upon by thieves and cut-throats. And there is the risk of troublemakers from the Continent spreading discontent among our own workers who will undoubtedly find the means to flock into London. And with all that building going on, goodness knows what it will do to property values in the area, and that includes this house.’

‘I am given to understand the building will only be a temporary one and will be taken down as soon as the Exhibition is over.’

‘And how long do you think that will take?’

‘I cannot say. I am sorry you do not feel inclined to support it, Rowan.’

‘Inclined to support it!’ Rowan snapped. ‘I am totally against it and intend to do all I can to prevent it from happening.’

‘Then we shall have to agree to differ.’

Esme, who had been listening to the exchange with growing dismay, wished she had never mentioned the invitation. Lucy had been so proud of it when she showed it to her and it seemed a good way to counter all Rosemary’s boasting about how well-thought-of in society her husband was, how everyone envied her taste in her furnishings and the cleverness of her precious child, and now she had set the two men against each other.

‘Esme, let us retire to the drawing room and leave the men to continue their argument over the port,’ Rosemary said, rising from her chair.

‘I didn’t mean to cause dissent,’ Esme said as she followed her sister to the drawing room. ‘I had no idea—’

‘No, that’s the trouble with you, Esme, you tend to speak before you think. I beg you to curb it or you will upset the very people you should be pleasing.’

‘I am sorry, Rosie. I know you have put yourself at great inconvenience to bring me out and I am truly grateful. I will try very hard to be a credit to you.’

‘Then we will say no more. Men like to argue, especially strong-minded men like Rowan and Myles, but I don’t think it will lead to a serious falling out.’ She busied herself with the tea things while she spoke. ‘Now, let us talk of other things. We will go shopping tomorrow and see if we can get you kitted out ready for the season, though it will not get properly under way for a good two weeks. We shall have to amuse ourselves in the meantime.’

‘Oh, I am sure we can do that. We can go for walks and visit the sights and I should like to ride. Will that be possible?’

‘Perfectly possible. Hacks are easily hired.’ She handed Esme a cup of tea. ‘Do you know how long Myles is planning to stay in town?’

Myles, when he offered to escort Esme, had been invited to stay at Trent House while he was conducting his business, but at that time she had expected Lucy to be with him. She had no idea of the nature of his business, whether it was simply to attend the banquet or if it were something to do with his railway or engineering concerns.

‘I know he is anxious to return to Lucy and see how Harry is, so I think he cannot be planning to stay above a couple of days. Are you wishing you had not asked him?’

‘Good gracious, no! He is family and it would have looked most odd not to have invited him. I cannot think why he does not buy a town house; he could easily afford it.’

‘Lucy prefers to live in the country and says it would be a dreadful waste to keep a house and servants in town when she would hardly ever be in residence.’

The men joined them at that point and appeared to have overcome their hostility. They sat and drank tea and made light conversation, most of it of a social nature, carefully avoiding renewing the subject of the Exhibition and the Prince Consort’s banquet.

Rowan agreed that it was impossible for Esme to go out and about in Lucy’s cast-off clothes, which very nearly started Myles off on another argument, but he wisely held his peace. The carriage was put at Rosemary’s disposal for the next morning so that she could take her sister shopping and Rowan readily agreed to foot the bill for the new wardrobe.

When they dispersed to go to their beds, Esme contrived to walk a little way with Myles. ‘I am so sorry,’ she whispered. ‘It was not my idea to buy new clothes and I would not for the world have Lucy think ill of me.’

‘I am sure she would understand.’ He grinned. ‘And it will be grand to have a new wardrobe, won’t it?’

‘Yes, as long as I am not put into frills and flounces. I hate them.’

The shopping expedition was not a leisurely affair; Rosemary knew exactly what was wanted and was determined Esme should be a credit to her good taste. In every shop they entered the assistants hurried forward to serve her, though Esme would have liked a little more time to browse and view what was on offer, she was obliged to admit that Rosemary’s choice was excellent and flounces, frills and bows were kept to a minimum. ‘You have a very good figure,’ Rosemary told her. ‘Simple clothes will show it off to advantage.’ The material and pattern of the gown she would wear for her curtsy to the Queen took the longest to be decided upon and was to be made up by Madame Devereux, Rosemary’s own dressmaker. The bodice of the dress had to be low cut and the skirt very full with a long train. Accessories like slippers, fan, jewellery and feathers had to be chosen with care to conform to the rigid rules laid down by protocol.

By the middle of the afternoon, they were on their way back to Trent House with the carriage loaded down with purchases and more to be delivered in the coming days. Shopping with her mother in Leicester and Peterborough was never like this. There, it would be an all-day affair with her mother complaining of the lack of choice and the high prices and wondering aloud what her father would say when presented with the bill, though it never stopped her buying something she wanted. Rosemary had never once mentioned the price of anything.

They turned from Oxford Street, where Rosemary had purchased some lengths of ribbon, into the northern end of Park Lane. Esme glimpsed green grass through the trees and longed to go for a walk. At home in Luffenham she walked or rode everywhere and already she was missing her daily exercise. ‘Is that Hyde Park, Rosie?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Is it possible to walk home through it?’

‘Yes, perfectly possible.’

‘Then do let’s walk. Banny can take the coach home and put the shopping away.’

‘We have to go to Lady Aviemore’s to tea.’ Her ladyship was, according to Rosemary, a notable hostess and knew everyone of any importance and she could—if she took to Esme—be influential in introducing her to other young people, among whom might be a suitable husband. She would know the history behind every one of them. Who could safely be cultivated and who best to avoid. ‘Once you are out, she can help us get you seen and noticed,’ Rosemary had told her sister. ‘So it is important you make the right impression.’

‘That is hours away. Come on, Rosie, I want to explore.’

‘Very well.’ Rosemary asked the driver to stop and they left the coach and entered the park by Brook Gate and were soon strolling along one of the many walks towards the Serpentine.

In spite of the fact that London was, according to Rosemary, quite empty, they met several people she knew and they stopped to chat. Esme was presented to them and exchanged the usual pleasantries, but she was not particularly interested in what they had to say and her attention wandered to her surroundings. The park, once on the outskirts but now in the heart of London, was an oasis of green. There was a wide tree-lined carriageway and several paths for pedestrians and the famous Rotten Row where horsemen and women showed off their mounts. Her curiosity was aroused by a slim young man in a single-breasted green riding coat and biscuit-coloured riding breeches, who was very deliberately pacing the ground and making notes on a pad he was carrying. Every now and then he looked up at a group of elms that graced that corner of the park and appeared to be sizing them up and drawing them. She took a step closer to see what he was about.

He must have sensed her presence because he suddenly turned and looked straight at her. She found herself catching her breath because he was the most handsome man she had ever seen in her life. His eyes, she noted, were greenish brown and they were laughing, not at her, she was sure of that, but in a kind of amused empathy, as if he understood her curiosity and was not in the least put off by it. His hair, beneath a brown beaver hat, was a little darker than gold and curled into his neck. His hands, holding his notepad and pencil, were lean like the rest of him, the fingers tapered. An artist, she decided. He smiled at her, put his finger to the brim of his hat and tilted it towards her. Her answering smile lit her face as if she had suddenly met someone she had known long ago and hadn’t seen for a while.

‘Esme, who is that?’ Rosemary had said goodbye to her friends and turned to see her sister apparently on nodding terms with a young man.

‘I’ve no idea. I’ve never seen him before, but he’s handsome, isn’t he?’

‘Esme, how could you?’

‘Could I what?’

‘Smile in that familiar way at a man to whom you have not been introduced.’

‘But he smiled first and—’

‘Then he cannot be a real gentleman. It is the lady’s prerogative to acknowledge a gentleman when she is out and until she does so, it behoves a gentleman to show no sign of recognition. You should have ignored him.’

‘Would that not have been impolite?’

‘Not at all. Now come away before he decides to approach us, for I should feel mortified to have to speak to him.’ She took Esme’s arm and almost dragged her away.

Esme looked back over her shoulder and discovered the young man was staring after them, which made her giggle.

‘Esme!’ Rosemary reprimanded her. ‘I see I shall have to take you to task about what is and what is not acceptable behaviour. You do not smile at strange men. Goodness, it is asking for them to take liberties.’

‘What liberties?’ Esme asked. ‘Do you mean kissing me?’

‘Good heavens, I hope not. I mean speaking to you without an introduction.’

‘Oh, that.’ Esme was dismissive.

Rosemary’s reply to that was a decided sniff.

Felix watched them go, wanting to laugh aloud. The young lady, who was very lovely with her rosebud complexion and neat figure, was evidently being given a scolding, but it did not seem to be subduing her. He wondered who she was. Was she one of those young ladies who came to London for a Season with the express purpose of snaring a husband? It was early in the year for that and she seemed a little young to be tying herself down to marriage.

His mother might not agree; she had been urging him ever since he returned from France without Juliette to find himself a bride. ‘Someone young and malleable,’ she had said. ‘Then you can mould her to your way of doing things. Besides, a young bride is more likely to produce healthy offspring.’ He smiled to himself; this particular young lady did not look as if she were especially malleable, not that he would want a wife who dare not say boo to a goose. He pulled himself up short. How could the sight of a pretty girl make his thoughts suddenly turn to marriage. He wasn’t ready for that yet; time, the healer, had yet to do its work.

He was not a hermit by any means. To please his mother, he had attended tea parties and dances in the assembly rooms in his home town of Birmingham, taken tea with the matrons and danced with their daughters, making superficial conversation, even flirting a little, but, as his mother was quick to point out, that could hardly be called a serious pursuit of a bride. He supposed he would have to marry one day, but he never felt less like falling in love again and it would be unfair on any young lady to use her simply to beget an heir and have an elegant companion, if she were expecting a husband to love her. It would be better to choose someone more mature than the young miss with the friendly smile, someone worldly wise who wouldn’t expect declarations of eternal love, but would be content with wealth and position.

He smiled ruefully to himself; whatever had set his thoughts on marriage had better be stifled. If this idea of a great exhibition came about, he would be too busy to think of anything else. He looked down at the pad in his hand. There was a series of measurements and a rough sketch of the elm trees, which were going to be a stumbling block to any good design. The Exhibition building committee were working on a design but he thought it was ugly, and it took no account of the trees, assuming they would have to be felled. Even the committee was dissatisfied with it and an idea was being mooted for a competition to design the building and he thought he might enter it.

His pencil moved over the pad, roughing out the plan of a building with an open central courtyard to accommodate the elms and then for no reason that he could fathom, added people to his drawing: the urchin bowling a hoop, a man on a horse, a carriage on the drive, the cake-and-fruit stall beside the water and the two ladies he had just seen. He laughed at himself for his fancifulness. Pulling his watch from waistcoat pocket, he was startled to discover it was already four-thirty; his valet would be dancing up and down in impatience. He hurried to where he had tethered his horse and cantered off in the direction of Hyde Park Corner and his house in Bruton Street.

‘Rosie, could we not go and see the guests arriving for the banquet?’ Esme asked when they were on their way home in the carriage after Lady Aviemore’s tea party. Esme had expected the company to be mixed, but they had all been ladies, some young, some older, who spent the time between sipping tea and nibbling wafer-thin sandwiches, in exchanging gossip, some of it shockingly malicious, but the outcome was several invitations to soirées and musical evenings and little dances.

‘It is too early in the year for balls,’ her ladyship had said. ‘But I intend to hold one as soon as the town begins to fill up. Lord Aviemore is on the committee dedicated to raising funds for the Exhibition and we thought a subscription ball would be just the thing. Very exclusive, of course. You will come, dear Lady Trent, won’t you, and bring your delightful sister?’

Rosemary declared she would be delighted, which surprised Esme, considering Rowan’s implacable opposition to the project, but a look from her sister stopped her making any comment.

‘Lord Aviemore is to attend tonight’s banquet,’ her ladyship continued. ‘It is being held to encourage the towns in the provinces to raise funds. After all, it is a countrywide endeavour, not just for the capital.’

‘I thought it was an international project involving the whole world,’ Esme put in.

Lady Aviemore looked sharply at her as if surprised to hear her daring to take part in the conversation. ‘Indeed it is,’ she said. ‘But it is the idea of our own dear Prince and it is this country which will organise and build it.’

‘I believe the banquet is to be a very grand affair,’ one of the other ladies put in. ‘I intend to go past the Mansion House on my way home to see the guests arrive.’

It was that which had prompted Esme’s question. Ever since she had returned from her walk in the park, she had felt unsettled, as if she were waiting for something extraordinary to happen, though she had no idea what it might be. The tea party had done nothing to dispel it. They had no engagement for the evening and, as both Rowan and Myles were to be out and they only had themselves to please, she could not see that a little diversion would do any harm. Myles was off to the banquet at the Mansion House and Rowan was going to have dinner with Lord Brougham, a former Lord Chancellor, who was one of the prominent figures working to scotch the idea of an exhibition. She smiled to herself in the darkening interior of the carriage, wondering if Myles and Rowan had encountered each other on their way out and, if they had, what they had said.

‘Whatever for?’ Rosemary demanded.

‘It will be such fun to see all the coaches and carriages arriving and the guests dressed in their finery. I should like to be able to tell Mama and Papa I had seen Prince Albert. Oh, do tell the coachman to take us that way.’

Esme could see she was tempted to see the spectacle herself, though she still hesitated. ‘What Rowan would say I cannot think.’

‘Why should he say anything? You do not have to tell him.’

‘Goodness, Esme, I would never deceive him or keep anything from him, and I sincerely hope that when you are married, you will be completely honest and open with your husband.’

‘I am sure he would not begrudge me a sight of the Queen’s consort arriving for a banquet.’ She did not add that if he did, she would have made a terrible mistake in her choice of husband. She was beginning to think this idea of deliberately setting out to find a husband was full of pitfalls and she must be on her guard. ‘Go on, Rosie, it won’t take long, will it? There is no one waiting for us at home.’

‘Oh, very well. I suppose it cannot do any harm.’ She used her fan to lean forward and tap the coachman on his back. ‘Croxon, take us round by the Mansion House.’

Without giving a flicker of reaction to this strange way of getting from Russell Square to Kensington, he obediently turned the carriage and headed down Kingsway to Aldwych, Fleet Street and Ludgate Hill, an area new to Esme. This was the financial heart of the City and was a mixture of imposing buildings and little alleyways and courts. They began to notice the crowds as they approached St Paul’s and from then it was difficult for the coach to proceed. ‘There’s nothing for it—but we shall have to get out and walk,’ Esme said when the carriage finally came to a stop, closed in by the hordes, and, before her astonished sister could stop her, had opened the door and jumped to the ground. Rosemary felt obliged to follow.

They pressed forward until they managed to find themselves a good position where they could see the guests arriving, with Rosemary grumbling all the way. ‘We’ll be trampled to death,’ she said, holding tight on to Esme’s arm.

‘Of course we won’t. You saw how everyone made way for us, they probably think we are guests.’

‘I don’t think there are any lady guests. They will all be men.’

‘Really? Then we shan’t see any sumptuous dresses.’

‘No, did you think we would?’

Esme did not answer because the police were forcing everyone back to make way for the cabs and carriages bringing the guests. There may not have been any ladies, but the men were got up like peacocks. There were foreign ambassadors in court dress, high-ranking military men in dress uniform, glittering with medals, mayors from provincial towns in red robes and regalia, bishops in their vestments, others in colourful livery, who Rosie told her were the Masters of the City Guilds, and there were men in plain evening dress, wearing honours on their breasts.

‘Oh, look, there’s Myles,’ Esme said, pointing. ‘Doesn’t he look grand?’

Myles was wearing a double-breasted black evening coat, narrow black trousers, a blue brocade waistcoat and a shiny top hat. He did not appear to see them as he walked into the building beside the Mayor of Leicester.

But someone else did notice them. The young man they had seen in the park was right behind Myles. His evening coat sported several decorations. His waistcoat was black with silver embroidery, which glittered as he moved. And he moved gracefully, Esme noticed, a sight which set her heart pumping. Oh, but he was handsome! He turned to follow Myles and caught sight of her animated face under a fetching blue bonnet and, smiling, stopped to doff his hat and give her a slight bow of recognition before disappearing inside.

‘The effrontery of the man!’ Rosemary exclaimed. ‘You should not have encouraged him to be familiar, Esme.’

‘I didn’t encourage him. I cannot help it if he chooses to tip his hat to me. I do not know why you are making such a fuss.’

‘It is the second time today. I begin to wonder if you do know him after all and that is why you wanted to come here.’

‘No, Rosie, I promise you I have never met him. It is pure coincidence.’

‘If you ever meet him again, I want you to cut him dead. I cannot have him think you wish to know him.’

Esme did not answer, though she could have told her sister she would not mind knowing him. He must be someone of importance if he had been invited to the banquet. Instead she turned back to the road in front of them as a crescendo of cheering signified that Prince Albert was arriving. Dressed, according to Rosemary, as an Elder Brother of Trinity House, he was met at the door by the Lord Mayor of London in full regalia, as soon as they had gone inside, the doors were closed.

‘There’s nothing more to see,’ Rosemary said. ‘We might as well find the carriage and go home.’

It was easier said than done; the crowd seemed reluctant to disperse and were still milling about talking of what they had seen and those guests they had recognised. Rosemary and Esme linked arms and pushed their way through. By the time they reached the carriage, Rosemary’s bonnet was awry and she was decidedly nervous, unlike Esme who did not realise the dangers inherent for two women walking about the city streets alone after dark, for night had fallen while they had been standing and it was now nearly seven o’clock.

‘Thank heaven for that,’ Rosemary said, when they had gained the safety of the carriage and she was able to set her hat straight. ‘Don’t ever inveigle me into doing anything like it again, Esme, for I declare I’m done in.’

‘Oh, but I shall have such a tale to tell Mama and Papa when I write.’

‘No, Esme, I beg you not to. They will think I do not know how to look after you and Papa will come and fetch you back and you will have no come-out. It will make me look an idiot to my friends and all those people who have invited you to their homes. You wouldn’t want that to happen, would you?’

Esme agreed that she wouldn’t. After all, there was a handsome young man in town whom she seemed destined to run into and who was she to argue with destiny? She could not help wondering about him. He was very self-assured, perhaps a little conceited, but he had every right to be, considering how handsome he was. She wondered how many young ladies were falling over themselves to be noticed by him. If he was still around when the new débutantes were released on to the town, he would be seized upon by every hostess and hopeful mama and bombarded with invitations. Unless, of course, there was something unacceptable about him—a shady past, some scandal, or perhaps he was not as financially independent as he appeared. Oh, she did hope that was not the case.

Chapter Two

Felix followed the procession of guests down the corridor, lined with greenery, to the Egyptian Hall where the banquet was being held. In honour of the occasion, the columns round its walls were decorated with symbols to represent the different British counties and their products. At the head of the table were two figures representing peace and plenty and at the other Britannia holding a plan of the Exhibition, which could only have been the committee’s own plan, surrounded by four angels delivering invitations to all the countries in the world to send exhibits. ‘What do you think of that?’ he murmured to the man beside him, nodding at Britannia.

‘The statue?’

‘No, the plan of the building in her hand.’

‘I think we could do better.’

‘I am sure we can.’ He held out his hand. ‘Felix Pendlebury.’

‘How do you do?’ Myles took the hand and shook it. ‘Myles Moorcroft.’

‘Oh, I’ve heard of you. A railway entrepreneur, aren’t you?’

‘Among other things. I have heard your name somewhere, too. Lord Pendlebury, if I’m not mistaken. Something to do with the manufacture of glass.’

‘Among other things,’ he said, echoing Myles’s own words.

‘You intend to submit an exhibit?’

‘More than that—I’m going to have a go at designing the Exhibition hall. It needs to be light and airy, something to make people want to come to visit, not a mausoleum.’

Myles laughed. ‘Glass?’

‘Well, why not?’

‘No reason at all, if it can be made safe.’

‘I think it can. Glass is much tougher nowadays than it used to be.’

They stopped speaking as Prince Albert arrived and took his seat. ‘Have you met His Highness?’ Myles ventured.

‘Yes, we both belong to the Society of Arts, which is how I came to be involved with the idea of the Exhibition. What about you?’

‘I met him through the Society to Improve the Condition of the Working Classes. We are both passionate about that.’

‘Ah, now I place you. You’re the gentleman who calls himself a navvy. I heard tell of a wager about filling a truck with forty tons of earth in a day. Is it true? Did you do it?’

‘Yes, though that was some time ago. Nowadays I only go on site to inspect the works and make sure the men are content. A contented workforce works better than one that is constantly bickering.’

‘Then we are in agreement. What is your interest in the Exhibition?’

‘Apart from raising funds, I might be interested in supplying the builders with girders and other metal products from my engineering works in Peterborough. And I would like to exhibit a locomotive.’

‘A locomotive! How would you bring it to the site?’

‘Ah, that’s the challenge.’

Felix laughed and they continued to talk animatedly through all the courses—turbot soup, fish, lobster, game pies, pigeon and mutton, fruit cakes and ices—and only stopped when the traditional loving cup was passed round the whole company. After that the loyal toast was drunk and the National Anthem sung before the speeches. First to speak was Prince Albert, who outlined the reasons for having an exhibition and was vigorously applauded when he said it should be paid for by public donation and not government funds. ‘Which is the reason we are all here,’ Felix murmured.

The Prince was followed by several more, all echoing the same theme. Sir Robert Peel, an elder statesman and former Prime Minster, said he was confident they would succeed in spite of the objections of some, a pointed reference to people like Rowan. The Earl of Carlisle was the last speaker and he said the Exhibition should encompass all nations, classes and creeds, saying it was predominantly intended as a festival of the working man and woman.

‘Which hardly includes anyone here,’ Felix said, as everyone applauded.

The evening was judged a great success and everyone went away determined to drum up support from their own towns, villages and industries. Felix and Myles strolled out side by side, still talking. ‘Can I offer you a lift?’ Myles asked as he hailed one of the many cabs that had arrived touting for business. ‘I’m going to Kensington.’

Felix accepted and asked the cabbie to drop him off at the end of Old Bond Street. ‘I can walk from there,’ he said.

Before they parted they arranged to meet the following afternoon at Brooks’s club to continue their discussion.

Felix was in a mellow mood as he made his way to Bruton Street, where the family’s London house was situated. It had been a successful evening, he mused, everyone was enthusiastic and it looked as though they might soon sink the opposition. He had met a new friend, a man whose outlook on life and championing of the working classes matched his own and, besides all that, he had glimpsed one of the loveliest young ladies he had seen in a long time.

He wasn’t quite sure what it was that made her lovely. Was it her perfectly oval face, or her nose, which was neither too big nor too small, or her blue eyes, which were large and intelligent, or perhaps her trim figure with its small waist and rounded bosom? Was it all those things or something else entirely, the essence of the woman that shone through and set his pulses quickening? Judging by the way she reacted to her companion’s scolding she was a spirited chit, not one to be easily cowed. And then to see her again outside the Mansion House, dressed simply but elegantly, hemmed in by the hoi polloi, had made his day, especially when she responded to his salute with a brilliant smile. But who was she?

He ran up the steps and let himself into the house, chuckling at the memory. He didn’t know why, after so long, he suddenly found he could laugh again when thinking of a woman, but it felt good.

Esme woke next morning to find the sun shining and the birds singing. After a very wet winter, spring was at last on its way. She scrambled out of bed, washed in water from the ewer on the washstand, dressed in a light wool gown in a soft lime-green and hurried downstairs to greet the new day. She found Rowan sitting in the breakfast room munching toast and marmalade.

‘Good morning, my lord,’ she said, helping herself from the dishes on the sideboard: scrambled eggs, a rasher of bacon and a slice of toast.

‘Good morning, Esme, you are up betimes.’

‘Yes, it is too nice to lie abed. I was hoping I might ride today. Rosie said you could find me a mount.’

‘Croxon will hire something for you, but you are not under any circumstances to ride alone. It is not done in polite society and, besides, your parents would never forgive me if you took a tumble while in my care.’

‘I won’t take a tumble. I haven’t fallen off a horse since I was five years old and that wasn’t my fault.’

He smiled. Everyone smiled at Esme, even when scolding her. ‘Nevertheless I want your promise.’

‘You have it. Shall I go and ask Croxon now?’

‘No, I will do it. He is no doubt preparing the carriage. I shall want it today.’ He rose as Myles came into the room. ‘Morning, Moorcroft.’ The greeting was polite, certainly not jovial.

‘Good morning.’ In contrast, Myles was very cheerful. ‘Did I hear you talking about riding?’

‘Yes,’ Esme put in. ‘Rowan is going to ask Croxon to hire a mount for me.’

‘No need to trouble Croxon,’ Myles said, addressing Rowan. ‘I can save him the bother. I was going to Tattersalls to hire one for myself. I’ll do the same for Esme. We can take a ride together.’

‘My thanks,’ Rowan said. ‘I am somewhat busy today.’ And with that he left the room.

Esme laughed. ‘I don’t think he likes you, Myles.’

‘He doesn’t like what I stand for. I don’t think it’s personal.’ He helped himself to food and sat at the table opposite her.

‘Did you have a good evening?’ she asked.

‘Yes, it was a great success.’

‘Oh, that is why Rowan is so grumpy.’

‘Is he? I hadn’t noticed.’

‘We saw you going into the banquet, Rosie and I. We were standing on the pavement, watching everyone go in, and there you were. I thought you looked very elegant.’

He ignored the compliment. ‘How did you get there?’

‘In the carriage. At least as far as St Paul’s. We walked from there.’

‘I am surprised at Rosemary agreeing to it.’

‘Oh, I think she secretly wanted to go.’ She paused. ‘Myles, can I ask you something?’

‘Ask away.’

‘Is it very wrong to smile at a gentleman when he doffs his hat and bows to you?’

‘No, why should it be?’

‘Rosie said I should have ignored him. You see, we had not been introduced. He was a complete stranger.’

‘Oh, I see. Then your sister was probably right.’

‘But I’m sure he was a gentleman. We saw him going into the banquet and he was so handsome and elegant and his smile was catching. I could not help responding.’

‘I think,’ he said solemnly while trying to hide the twitching of his lips, ‘that you had better be guided by Rosemary.’

She sighed. ‘I don’t suppose I shall ever see him again, so it does not matter.’

‘Bear it in mind if you meet other men who smile at you.’

‘Oh, I am sure I shall not be tempted by other men.’

He looked sideways at her and decided not to comment. ‘What else did you do yesterday?’

‘Shopped for clothes. I think Rowan must be very rich because Rosemary did not once query the price of anything. It is all very extravagant and I feel dreadful.’

‘Because of the extravagance?’

‘Not only that, but because Lucy gave me all those lovely clothes and I shall not wear them.’ She brightened suddenly. ‘I will wear the riding habit though, if you will take me riding. You did mean it, didn’t you?’ There was a new forest-green habit, among the clothes being made for her, but that had not yet arrived.

‘Yes, but it will have to be this morning. I have an appointment this afternoon and tomorrow I must go home and leave you.’

Rosemary entered the room and bade them both good morning before helping herself to some breakfast and sitting at the table opposite Esme.

‘Myles is going to hire hacks and take me riding this morning,’ Esme told her. ‘Shall you come? We are going as soon as I have changed and Myles has arranged for the horses.’

Rosemary, who had been denied the use of the carriage that day, agreed that a ride would be just the thing to blow away the cobwebs and asked Myles to instruct a groom at the mews to saddle her horse, then both ladies finished their breakfast and went to change.

Esme came downstairs half an hour later in Lucy’s riding habit, a dark blue taffeta with military style frogging across the jacket. The matching skirt was plain and the hat was a blue tricorne, with the brim held up one side by a curling peacock feather. Rosemary joined her five minutes later and by that time Myles had returned, riding a huge mount and leading two others, one Rosemary’s own horse and another for Esme.

They mounted and set off, entering Hyde Park by a gate close to Knightsbridge barracks, and were soon riding down Rotten Row.

‘I suppose we shall be denied this pleasure when they start building the Exhibition hall,’ Rosemary said.

‘Possibly,’ Myles agreed. ‘The details have yet to be worked out.’

‘Well, I think it is too bad. It is so handy for me if I want to ride or come out in the carriage and it will all be spoiled. I am disappointed in you, Myles, really, I am.’

‘It is not my project, ma’am.’

‘You support it. I should have thought you would have had more family feeling.’

‘My feelings for the family have not changed. I support the idea of an exhibition because I think it will be good for the country and good for the working man.’

‘You will give him ideas above his station. There will be unrest and violence, fuelled by all the foreigners roaming about with nothing to do but cause trouble. Indeed, Rowan thinks…’

‘Oh, please, do not argue over it,’ Esme put in. ‘It is too nice a day to be at odds with each other.’ She looked about for a way of diverting them. ‘Oh, look, there’s that gentleman we saw yesterday.’

‘What gentleman?’ her sister asked.

‘That one.’ She lifted her crop to point him out. The young man, dressed in a single-breasted brown wool jacket and matching trousers, was busy as he had been the day before, sketching and making notes.

‘Oh, no. I do believe he does it on purpose.’

Felix looked up and, catching sight of them with Myles, stood watching them approach.

‘Do you know him?’ Myles asked.

‘No, we do not,’ Rosemary said sharply. ‘But he is insufferably impudent. He seems to think he can smile and doff his hat and that is as good as an introduction.’

‘Oh, in that case, let me do the honours.’ Myles drew rein beside Felix and the two ladies had perforce to stop beside him. ‘My lady, may I present Lord Felix Pendlebury? Pendlebury, Viscountess Trent. And this…’ He turned to Esme with a twinkle in his eye, which told her he had connected her question earlier that morning with Rosemary’s comment about smiling and doffing hats. ‘This is Lady Trent’s sister, Lady Esme Vernley.’

‘Ladies, your obedient.’ Felix bowed to each in turn.

Rosemary’s slight inclination of the head was the smallest she could manage without snubbing him, which she could not do, since he had now been properly introduced.

‘Oh, it is so nice to have a name for you, my lord,’ Esme said. ‘What are you drawing?’ She indicated his sketching pad.

‘It is an imaginary scene, my lady.’ He proffered her the pad, which she took.

‘And you have put us in it. Look, Rosemary, there’s you and there’s me.’ She held it out for her sister to see, but Rosemary hardly glanced at it.

‘If it is meant to be us, then I think it is an impertinence.’

‘None was meant, my lady,’ he said. ‘I was simply drawing what I thought the scene might look like when the Exhibition building is completed.’

‘I like it,’ Esme said, handing it back to him. Their hands touched as he took it from her and she found herself tingling all over from the shock of the contact. But it was far from an unpleasant feeling and she wondered if he felt it, too. He was looking up at her in such a strange way, his eyes moving over her face, as if he were studying her features, trying to memorise them. She found that that was what she was doing to him, storing up a picture of his lean face, high cheek bones, the well-defined brows, green eyes with their little flecks of brown, his smiling mouth, his proud chin held above a purple silk cravat. Was he teasing her? Did she mind? She did not.

‘I did not know you knew Myles,’ she said.

‘We met last night at the banquet and found we had much in common.’

‘He tells me it was a great success. Did you find it so?’ She ignored Rosie’s fidgeting beside her.

‘Indeed, I believe it was.’

‘Did you come to town especially for it?’

‘No, I have other business and visits I must make on behalf of my mother.’

‘Then perhaps we shall come across each other again. I am here to visit my sister for the summer—’

‘Esme!’ Rosemary’s tone was furious. ‘I am sure Lord Pendlebury does not wish to know that.’

‘On the contrary, my lady, I am delighted to hear it,’ he said. ‘Since my father’s death brought me back from the Continent two years ago, I have been kept busy at home in Birmingham and have sadly lost touch with the beau monde; I shall be glad to see someone I know.’

‘The horses are becoming restive,’ Rosemary said. ‘Come, Esme, it is time we resumed our ride.’

‘Then I bid you au revoir, ladies.’ As they moved off, he turned to Myles, who had watched the exchange with some amusement. ‘Until this afternoon, Moorcroft. Two o’clock we said, didn’t we?’

‘Yes, two o’clock,’ Myles answered and hurried to catch up with his sisters-in-law.

‘Esme, your behaviour has put me to the blush,’ Rosemary was saying. ‘You were openly flirting with the man and we have no idea who he is or anything about him. I am ashamed of you.’

‘Why, what did I do wrong?’

‘Telling him you were here for the summer and hoped to meet him again. I never heard anything so brazen. You would have been asking him to call on us if I had not stopped you.’

‘Oh, no, I wouldn’t do that,’ Esme said blithely. ‘It is your home, not mine; besides, if he came to the house he would only quarrel with Rowan, considering they are on opposing sides over the Exhibition.’

Myles was chuckling. Rosemary turned to him in exasperation. ‘It is all very well for you to laugh, Myles, you do not have the responsibility for this wretched sister of mine. I shan’t be able to let her out of my sight for an instant all summer long. She will talk to anyone. I cannot remember Lucy or I being allowed such licence.’

‘Times are changing,’ he said evenly. ‘Young ladies are allowed a little more freedom to say what they think nowadays.’

‘That is what worries me. Just who and what is Lord Pendlebury? I have never heard of him. He says he has returned from abroad. Where abroad?’

‘France, I believe. Or it might have been Venice. He was working abroad when his father died and he returned to take over the family estate near Birmingham.’

‘Working! Oh, now I see what you have in common, you both like to get your hands dirty.’

‘He doesn’t have dirty hands,’ Esme protested. ‘They are very clean and long-fingered, an artist’s hands. Is he an artist, Myles?’

‘I have no idea,’ he said. ‘But judging by that sketch he was doing he has a talent in that direction. I believe his business is in the manufacture of glass.’

‘Well, I think he is an artist,’ Esme said.

‘What you think of him is of no account,’ Rosemary said. ‘He is a manufacturer, a tradesman, and you will not think of him at all, do you hear?’

‘I hear.’ Esme told her, but she didn’t see how she could obey. Her thoughts could not be commanded like that. They wandered about in her head, jumping from one subject to another, and she could not say when a thought of the handsome Lord Pendlebury might pop into her mind, let alone tell it not to. She was thinking of him now, especially of his eyes. She had thought at first they were laughing; indeed, they had been full of amusement when Rosemary had been so haughty towards him, as if he understood and did not care, but when he spoke of being abroad, a shadow had passed across them, like a cloud on a summer’s day suddenly excluding the sun. There had been unhappiness in his life. She wondered what it was that made him suddenly sad and wished she could banish it and bring back the sunshine. Which was nonsense, of course.

Felix watched them go and then break into a canter. The ladies were both accomplished horsewomen and he could admire that, even in the stiff-backed Lady Trent. As for her sister…Esme, a pretty name for a pretty young lady. He flipped over the page of his sketching pad and began drawing her face, every line of which seemed to be etched into his memory.

He was being a fool, he knew that. He knew nothing about her. Was she, for instance, capable of breaking hearts? He rather fancied she was. He was beginning to envy the young men who might aspire to court her, but he did not envy them their broken hearts when she tired of them. He looked at what he had drawn and knew he had failed utterly to reproduce the joie de vivre that showed in her eyes, in her smiling mouth, in her trim figure, which seemed to buzz with barely controlled energy. Her whole demeanour seemed to say, ‘Here I am, ready for anything, put me to the test.’ He did not suppose that she, watched over and cosseted, had had a moment’s unhappiness in her whole life. She did not know what it felt like to be betrayed, to discover that what you had fondly believed was honest and wholesome was nothing of the sort. He hoped she never would.

He saw the trio returning back at a neat trot and hastily flipped back to his plan, pretending to concentrate on the lines of his proposed building. He looked up as the horses approached him and tipped his hat to the ladies. Rosemary dipped her head in brief acknowledgement, but Lady Esme, riding slightly behind her sister, lifted her crop and gave him a broad smile. It was almost conspiratorial. It was the memory of that smile he carried back to Bruton Street with him.

He was still thinking of it when he met Myles at Brooks’s later that day. The club was quiet at that time and the two men found a corner to enjoy a bottle of wine and talk, and though he would have liked to talk about Lady Esme Vernley, that was not the reason for the meeting and they settled down to discuss the Exhibition and how they could promote it. Knowing that it was meant to celebrate the work men and women did and the things they achieved, most of those who were referred to as the ‘operative classes’ were as enthusiastic as he was and were already giving their pennies and sixpences to the fund.

‘It won’t be enough,’ Felix said. ‘It’s the business owners we must aim at, people such as we are with money to spare. If we set a good example…’

‘I have done so already,’ Myles told him. ‘I do not doubt we shall manage it if we keep the momentum going. We have to. Already there are inquiries from abroad to display their wares.’ He chuckled. ‘My brother-in-law, Viscount Trent, is convinced that the capital will be overrun with foreigners, none of whom are honest or clean, and if they have nowhere to stay will be living in parks and doorways. Not only that, he is positive they will stir up unrest among our own workers.’

‘Accommodation will have to be provided for them and the troublemakers weeded out. The Duke of Wellington won’t hear of enlisting the help of foreign police. He is relying on our own police and the army to keep order. I know because he has asked for my help, on account of the fact that I came into contact with some of the revolutionaries when I was in Paris and was able to pass on intelligence to our government. I think he is worrying unduly, but I have said I will do what I can. We are to meet next week to discuss it.’ He paused. ‘I tell you this in confidence, of course.’

‘Of course. You will be staying in town, then?’

‘For the moment.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘I also have courtesy visits to make to my mother’s friends, which I had been looking on as an irksome duty, but if your delightful sister-in-law should happen to be present at any of their at-homes, it will change from a duty to a pleasure.’

‘She is a delight,’ Myles agreed. ‘And I hope nothing happens to spoil that.’

‘Why should it?’

‘Because she is an innocent and ripe for adventure and could easily be led into accepting flattery and flirtation as reality and falling head over heels in love when the attraction might well be that she is the daughter of an earl.’

‘Are you warning me to stay clear?’

‘I would not be so presumptuous. I hope you are old enough and wise enough to understand and perhaps look out for her.’

‘Does she not have a dragon of a sister to do that?’

Myles laughed. ‘Oh, she will contrive to slip her rein if the watchfulness becomes too unbearable.’

‘A scatterbrain, then.’

‘Far from it. She is the youngest daughter and her parents and sisters, Rosemary in particular, tend to treat her like a schoolgirl and a delicate one at that, but she is twenty in two months’ time and not nearly as fragile as she looks. She embraces everything with enthusiasm and is afraid of nothing, but underneath it all, I think she is capable of deep feeling.’

‘You know the family well, then?’

‘I am married to Esme’s other sister, Lucinda—have been for six years now. Esme is more like Lucy than Rosemary, a free spirit. I wish I could stay and keep an eye on her, but I am anxious to return to my wife and children. Henry, our three-year-old, had a nasty cold and Lucy would not leave him to accompany me and I am not comfortable in the Trent household without her. I am the upstart, a man who likes to earn his living, and though the Earl, their father, has come to accept me, Rosemary has never thought me quite good enough for her sister. Matters are made worse by my support for the Exhibition. Trent is implacably opposed.’

‘I see I shall have to avoid crossing swords with him. When do you leave town?’

‘Tomorrow morning.’

‘Then I shall bid you adieu now. No doubt we will meet frequently as the year advances.’

‘I certainly hope so.’ He paused, smiling. ‘Does your mother count Lady Mountjoy among her friends, my lord?’

Felix’s grin was one of understanding. ‘Do you know, I believe she does.’

They left the building together and parted on the street, Myles to return to Trent House, Felix to take a stroll about the town. It was necessary to become familiar with every street, every alleyway, every court, every hotbed of dissent if he were to discharge the duty the Duke of Wellington had set him.

It was at the end of that perambulation, when he was on his way home again, that he decided to call on Lady Mountjoy in Duke Street.

Her ladyship received him in her drawing room. She was thin as a rake, dressed in unrelieved black, even down to black mittens and a black lace handkerchief. He bowed and explained the purpose of his visit was to pay his respects to his mother’s old friend.

‘Fanny Pendlebury,’ she mused. ‘Haven’t seen or heard of her in years. What made her suddenly think of me?’

‘Unfortunately she seldom comes to town nowadays,’ he said. ‘But one day she was indulging in a little sentimental remembrance and spoke of the times when you both arrived in London for a come-out Season and what happy times they were. She wondered what had happened to you and how you did, and I undertook to make inquiries. I have lately returned from a protracted stay on the Continent and am rediscovering London.’

‘You will not find it much changed, except for all the new houses and railways stretching into the countryside. And I am, as you see me, widowed and living alone.’

‘My condolences, my lady.’

‘It happened many years ago and I have become used to pleasing myself. I have a great many friends. I go out and about and entertain. I am about to go out now, so I am afraid I cannot stay and entertain you, but come back another time. I am at home on Tuesday afternoon. Married, are you? Or affianced?’

He thought briefly of Juliette and nearly changed his mind about the whole idea. It was all very well for Myles Moorcroft to ask him to look out for Lady Esme, but Moorcroft did not know the story. Nor, for his pride’s sake, would he tell him, or anyone else, for that matter. ‘No, not married,’ he said. ‘Nor yet affianced.’

‘Good. How old are you?’

‘Twenty-seven, my lady.’

‘Old enough to settle down.’

‘That is what my mother tells me.’

‘Ah, now I see. She sent you to me, knowing I knew everyone in town and could help you find a wife.’ She did not give him the opportunity to confirm or deny this before going on. ‘Have no fear, I will introduce you to some nice young fillies. A handsome man like you should have no trouble. No trouble at all.’

He bowed and took his leave, wondering what he had let himself in for. If Lady Mountjoy wrote and told his mother of their conversation, she would die laughing. Or perhaps she would not; perhaps she would thank her ladyship for taking her recalcitrant son in hand.

Esme felt she had lost an ally when Myles went home. Rosemary was becoming impossible, lecturing her morning, noon and night and ordering Miss Bannister to keep a close watch on her. ‘See she does not speak to any strange men,’ she told the old governess when they went out without her. ‘Before we know where we are, she will be carried off and goodness knows what ills will befall her. Just because a man has a title does not mean he is a gentleman.’

‘You cannot mean Lord Pendlebury,’ Esme put in.

It was Sunday and they had just returned from morning service at St George’s Hanover Square, where, to Esme’s astonishment, Lord Pendlebury had been in the congregation. Rosemary had been outraged, convinced he was hounding them, but when Esme pointed out that he had a perfect right to attend whatever church he chose, just as they had done, considering St George’s was not their nearest place of worship, she was forced to agree. He had not approached them, which in one way had disappointed Esme, but in another she had been relieved. Even so, the sight of him tipping his shiny black top hat to them in the churchyard after the service had set her sister off again.

‘I speak as I find,’ Rosemary said, drawing off her gloves and removing her hat and handing them to her maid. ‘We do not know him, we do not know his background and yet you smile and flirt with him like some…some…Words fail me.’ Her fine blue wool coat followed the hat and gloves.

‘He cannot be so objectionable if he is known to Myles and Myles saw fit to present him,’ Esme protested, taking off her own outdoor things and giving them to Miss Bannister who had accompanied them to church.

‘Myles only met the man the evening before, so that does not signify.’

‘I think it is unkind of you to judge him badly on so little evidence. A man may smile, may he not?’

‘Not at a young unmarried lady to whom he has not been properly introduced.’

‘Myles did—’

‘We will hear no more of Lord Pendlebury, if you please. Peers who go into trade and manufacturing are betraying their birthright and not to be considered. I can and will introduce you to other young gentleman who will make far more suitable husbands.’

‘Rosie, I was not thinking of him as a husband.’

‘I am glad to hear that. You are in London to see and be seen in the hope of finding a husband, as you very well know. It is why I offered to sponsor your come-out and keep you by me for longer than a Season, which is too short when all is said and done. You are here ahead of the others and that will give you a flying start. You are, after all, the daughter of an earl.’

‘I sincerely hope no one considers that the prime reason for marrying me. If I thought that, I should most certainly turn him down.’

‘Of course it must not be the main reason, but it certainly makes a difference. Is that not so, Banny?’ she appealed to Miss Bannister, who nodded sagely. ‘There, you see! I am right. Now let us go into the drawing room and have a glass of something before luncheon is served. I want to tell you about the outings I have arranged for next week.’ She led the way into the drawing room, leaving Miss Bannister and the maid to toil up the second flight of stairs with the discarded outdoor clothes.

‘Now, let us see what is on offer,’ Rosemary said, picking up her engagement diary. ‘Nothing much happens on a Monday, so perhaps a little sight-seeing. There is St Paul’s or the Tower, though I find that a dismal place. We could go to the British Museum or the National Gallery. If you like, I am sure Rowan could arrange for us to see round the new Houses of Parliament.’

‘I should like to see it all.’

‘Not all at once, I hope.’

‘No, a little at a time whenever you have the time to spare.’

‘We shall see, but once you are out and the town fills up, we shall be inundated with invitations. You know how many we received when we went to Lady Aviemore’s. On Tuesday, for instance, we are expected at Lady Mountjoy’s at-home.’

‘Are we? I don’t remember her.’

‘She was the tall, thin lady in widow’s weeds. She is another like Lady Aviemore, a prominent figure in the beau monde, knows everyone. She can do you a great deal of good.’

‘How?’

‘By introducing you to other important people who will introduce you to more. Before you know it, you will be the asked out everywhere.’

‘Will you be doing any entertaining?’

‘Of course, invitations must be reciprocated. And I have it in mind to hold a ball for you later, when the Season gets under way.’

‘Really? Oh, Rosie, you are so kind. I shall like that,’ Esme said, thinking of Lord Pendlebury. She had managed to banish him from her thoughts for all of half an hour, but now he was back, filling her mind with an image of him in evening dress, taking her on to the floor to waltz. She would be in a beautiful ball gown with her hair done up in coils and jewels at her throat, and they would dance and dance in perfect harmony and smile at each other. But it was a futile image because he would never be invited.

What had made him so unacceptable? The fact that he smiled and tipped his hat to her? The fact that she had smiled back? Or was it that he was an acquaintance of Myles, and Rosemary had always looked down on Myles, for all he was Lord Moorcroft’s heir and one of the richest men in the kingdom, certainly richer than Papa. Or was it that he supported the Exhibition, which Rowan was determined to sink without trace? Or that he manufactured glass? What was wrong with making glass? Some of it was very beautiful.

‘If we cannot find you a suitable husband by the end of the Season, I shall have failed utterly,’ Rosemary said.

‘Suitable does not necessarily mean desirable,’ Esme said. ‘I should like to desire the man I marry.’

‘Esme!’

‘What is wrong with that? Did you not desire Rowan?’

‘That is none of your business.’ Her sister’s face had turned bright pink. ‘And not a subject for an unmarried lady.’

‘Surely it is too late after one is married to discover that one’s husband is not at all desirable? Suitable would not mean much then, would it?’

‘You don’t know what you are talking about.’

‘No, I don’t and I wish I did. What is it like to feel desire, Rosie? Is it the same as love? Shall I recognise it?’

‘Oh, you are giving me a headache. Go and ask Miss Bannister your foolish questions.’

‘Oh, do you think she might know the answers?’

‘I do not know, do I? I never asked her.’

Esme did not ask Miss Bannister because Rowan came in at that moment and a few minutes later luncheon was served.

Lady Mountjoy did not believe in seating her guests unless they were very frail, on the grounds that they should move about and mix with each other. It also meant they did not become too comfortable and overstay their welcome, but for some reason her at-homes were very popular. Esme found herself in a crowded drawing room, trying to keep firm hold of a cup of tea in case it was knocked out of her hand by the constant stream of people who came and went.

Nevertheless her ladyship made sure that every young lady who arrived with her mama or guardian was introduced to every other young lady and every young gentleman, whom they outnumbered by at least four to one. Esme found herself trying to memorise their names, while listening to Rosemary explaining who they were. ‘Toby, the son of old Lord Salford, very wealthy but something of a rake; James, Lady Bryson’s son and the apple of her eye, and Captain Merton. As an army officer he would never be at home, though his wife might travel with him; and there is Lord Bertram Wincombe, the Earl of Wincombe’s heir.’ She stopped speaking suddenly and gave a little gasp of annoyance. Esme, who had her back to the door, turned to see what had caused it. Lord Pendlebury, smart in a blue tailcoat and narrow matching trousers, was striding into the room and making for Lady Mountjoy.

His entrance had caused a sudden lull in the conversation and everyone turned as the handsome stranger bowed to his hostess. ‘Lady Mountjoy, your obedient,’ he said, taking the hand she offered.

‘You are welcome, young man. Let me make you known to everyone. Take my arm and we will perambulate.’

Esme giggled at her antiquated turn of phrase. She wouldn’t be a bit surprised if the lady did not think of herself as one of those old-fashioned matchmakers who did nothing but suit young men to young ladies and she wondered how successful she was. Everyone had stopped talking to watch the two proceed round the room and more than one mama nudged her daughter into showing some animation at being introduced to this handsome creature. He was charming, remembered their names, made some flattering comment to each and passed on. By the time he reached Esme, she had put her cup and saucer down to stop it rattling and was trying—and failing—to hide her laughter.

‘Lady Trent, may I present Lord Pendlebury,’ their hostess addressed Rosemary while looking severely at Esme.

‘We are already known to the gentleman,’ Rosemary said stiffly. ‘Good afternoon, your lordship.’

‘Lady Trent.’ He bowed. ‘Lady Esme.’

She looked up into his face and realised he was also trying to control his laughter. It made it all the more difficult to keep a straight face. ‘My lord, I did not expect to see you here.’

‘Lady Mountjoy is an old friend of my mother. I came to pay my respects. It is a small world, is it not? You said we might come across each other and you were right.’

‘Yes.’ She wished he had not reminded her of that comment. She still smarted from the dressing-down she had had from Rosemary over it. When she said it, she had had no idea the significance her sister would put on it, nor that he would remember it.

‘Are you enjoying your stay in town?’ He did not take his eyes from her face, though some part of him registered that she was wearing a pale blue gown that was plain apart from a few narrow tucks and satin ribbon trimming, but its very plainness spoke of quality cloth and superb workmanship. It made her stand out from all the other young ladies in their fussy lace and flounces.

‘Oh, very much. We went to the National Gallery to look at the pictures yesterday.’

‘What did you think of it?’

She was acutely aware of Rosemary standing beside her, unable to stop her speaking to him and thoroughly put out that he was undoubtedly acceptable in society when she had made up her mind that he was not. ‘Wonderful. It made me realise how poor my talent is.’

‘You like to paint?’

‘I draw a little and paint in water colours, but I am not very good at it. I envy people who can draw a few lines and produce a likeness without apparently trying very hard. It did not take you many strokes of your pencil to draw Rosemary and me the other day and we were instantly recognisable.’

‘You are kind, Lady Esme, but I cannot reproduce your animation on paper. I only wish I could.’

She smiled at the compliment, but did not comment, being more interested in finding out all she could about him. ‘You are not an artist, then?’

‘No, a designer. I like to design things to manufacture.’

‘What sort of things?’ The noise that came from Rosemary’s throat sounded very much like a snort. Both ignored it.

‘Anything that takes my fancy—household articles, inventions, but particularly objects made of glass.’

‘Drinking glasses, bottles, that kind of thing?’

‘Yes, dishes, vases, ornaments. I have a small manufactory in Birmingham.’

‘Is that where you live?’

‘Just outside it. The estate is called Larkhills. I live there with my mother.’

‘Is your mother in London with you?’

‘No, she rarely travels these days. I came down for the Mansion House banquet.’

‘But that is over and you are still here.’

He smiled, amused rather than annoyed, by her questions. ‘There are other attractions to keep me here.’

‘A lady?’

‘That would be telling.’

She heard Rosemary’s sharp intake of breath and knew she had breached another of her sister’s strict codes. ‘Oh, I should not have asked.’ She saw his lips twitch and nearly laughed aloud. Instead she posed another—to her, less contentious—question. ‘What were you doing in the park when we saw you sketching? You spoke of the Great Exhibition. Are you an architect, too?’

‘No, but I thought I might try my hand at designing something to house the exhibits.’

‘Has that not already been done?’

‘There are architects working on it, but nothing has been finally decided.’

‘Then I wish you luck with it. Has it been decided where the building is to be sited?’

‘I think it is fairly certain to be in the corner of Hyde Park where we encountered each other.’

‘And that was why you were on that particular spot?’

‘Yes. No doubt I shall need to go there again to check my measurements.’

It was a mundane conversation, apparently meaningless, but Esme knew there was more to it than that. They were communicating with their eyes, with the way they looked at each other, even in the way they stood and occasionally lifted a hand to emphasise a point. There was empathy in the very air around them. It was a wonderful feeling that left her slightly breathless.

She did not realise it also made her cheeks rosier than usual and her eyes bright as stars. Felix saw it and felt it. Here was a child of nature, someone so open, so unafraid, he was afraid for her. He was afraid of life treating her badly, of his own emotions, which at that moment were playing havoc with his peace of mind. He had no right to feel like this, no right to engage her feelings when he had sworn never again to let a woman into his heart. She was too young to understand what was happening, too young to be hurt. He did not want to hurt her.

He bowed. ‘I must not keep you from your friends. Good day, Lady Trent, good day, Lady Esme.’

He moved on and Esme found herself watching his back disappearing through the throng and wanting to cry. His departure had been so abrupt, as if she had said something to upset him. But she hadn’t, had she? She had complimented him on his drawing skill—that wouldn’t make him want to disappear, would it? Perhaps he found her conversation boring? Or had he realised Rosemary had not spoken a single civil word to him since her first formal greeting? Was he sensitive enough to feel her sister’s animosity? If she met him when Rosemary was not present…

She pulled herself together to listen to Rosemary making arrangements with Lady Bryson to attend a charity concert the following week, after which they took their leave and returned to the carriage which took them back to Trent House. The whole journey was one long scold, mainly directed at Lord Pendlebury and the way Esme had encouraged him.

‘I cannot understand what you can have against him,’ Esme said. ‘I think you made up your mind not to like him right from the first when he tipped his hat to me and smiled. It was just his way of being polite.’

‘Impudent, you mean, and then to draw pictures of us without even a by-your-leave.’

‘You surely did not mind that. It was only a sketch and very tasteful.’

‘I mind when my sister, for whom I am acting in loco parentis, makes a fool of herself,’ she said, as Esme followed her. ‘And of me.’

‘No one is making a fool of you, except yourself, Rosie. Lord Pendlebury is accepted in society. Why, you could see all the unmarried ladies falling over themselves to attract his attention.’

‘That does not mean you have to. Always remember you are the daughter of an earl and should behave with more dignity.’

This business of protocol and etiquette and what was and was not proper behaviour was full of pitfalls and she seemed to be falling into every one of them. The trouble was, she did not know they were there until she had tumbled into them. The result was that, as soon as they arrived home, she was given a book on etiquette and told to study it.

Chapter Three

Esme’s study of the book of manners soon palled and, since Rosemary was otherwise engaged with household affairs the following morning, Esme prevailed upon Miss Bannister to accompany her on a walk in the park. ‘I might sit and sketch the riders,’ she said, picking up a pad and several newly sharpened pencils.

‘Don’t you think that is a little advanced for you?’ the governess queried mildly.

‘Perhaps, but I mean to try, then I can send it back to Mama in my next letter.’

If Miss Bannister thought her erstwhile pupil was up to mischief, she did not say so, but fetched her coat and bonnet and prepared to humour her.

It was the first really mild day of the year and the good weather had brought out the populace who had nothing better to do than stroll in the park, ride in their carriages or show off their riding skills. There were some workers among the idlers: road sweepers, park attendants, street vendors, grooms holding horses, coachmen who drove the carriages in which the rich paraded, cabmen hoping to pick up a fare, a soldier or two on his way to or from the barracks. Esme in a patterned gown in several shades of green from palest aquamarine through apple green to dark forest green and a long matching jacket, was alive to it all, drinking in the sights and sounds, chatting animatedly to Miss Bannister, all the while searching around her for a particular figure. He had meant he would be in the park, hadn’t he? But perhaps not today.

Miss Bannister was old and becoming frail and it was not long before she declared herself exhausted. ‘I must sit on this bench awhile,’ she told Esme, indicating a seat beside the carriage ride and suiting action to words.

Esme sat beside her and began sketching. Before long she was aware of gentle snoring and smiled to herself as she tried her best to draw the scene before her.

‘Very good,’ said a quiet voice behind her. ‘But you have made the horse’s neck a little too long and his head too small.’

Her heart began pounding, but she did not turn round. ‘I told you I was not very good, didn’t I?’

‘I didn’t mean it was bad.’ He walked round the seat and sat beside her. ‘Here, let me show you.’

She looked apprehensively at Miss Bannister as he took the pencil from her trembling fingers. The old lady gave no indication she had seen or heard the newcomer. ‘We must not wake your duenna.’ It was said in a whisper.

‘No, she is quite old and tires very easily.’ More whispering. She felt like a mischievous child, glorying in doing something forbidden. It would not have been the least bit necessary if Rosemary had not taken against his lordship, she excused herself, they could have met openly. But, oh, the need for secrecy was fun.

He moved closer, so that he was very near indeed, his grey trousers brushing against the folds of her skirt and his warm breath on her cheek. ‘Now, you do this. And this.’ The pencil skimmed over the page. ‘Think of the muscles in the horse’s neck, how strong they are, how they support the head and how they are attached to the shoulders.’

‘Oh, I see what you mean. It is perfect now. Is it the same for drawing people?’

‘Of course. It is the bones and muscles that govern the shape of everyone.’

‘Fat, too, or lack of it?’

‘Yes, but that you can add that afterwards, along with the clothes, when you have the underlying structure right.’

She smiled mischievously. ‘You mean I should imagine everyone naked?’

He laughed aloud and then stifled it when he heard Miss Bannister stir. ‘If you like.’

‘I do not think I could do that. It would be most improper and Rosemary has been lecturing me on being proper. I am, according to my sister, a very improper young lady. Myles says I must be guided by her, but it is so difficult, when I want to ask so many questions. It is not polite to quiz people, so I am told.’

He gathered from that statement that she had been scolded over her questioning of him the day before. ‘I do not mind it,’ he said. ‘But I can see that a lively curiosity might lead you into trouble.’

‘You were not offended? My sister said that was why you hurried away from us yesterday.’

‘Did I hurry away?’

‘Oh, yes. We were in the middle of a conversation and you suddenly took your leave. Were you angry?’

‘No, of course not.’ But he had been angry, not with her, but with himself. He had found himself succumbing to her charm, a charm she seemed completely unaware she wielded. Or was she? Ladies could be accomplished deceivers. It was that which had driven him from the room. How could he so soon forget the vows he had made to himself? He was sorry afterwards and afraid he had hurt her feelings, which was why he was here with her now. And it was happening all over again. Would he never learn? ‘I had an appointment.’

‘Then I forgive you.’

He smiled. ‘I am obliged, though I do not remember asking forgiveness.’

She let that go. ‘How is your design for the Exhibition hall coming along?

‘I do not seem able to concentrate on it.’

‘Oh, the lady.’

‘What lady?’ He was genuinely mystified.

‘The lady who is so attractive she is keeping you in town when you ought to be going home.’

‘Oh, that one.’

‘Yes. I am a little jealous of her if she commands so much of your time.’

‘No need to be. I—’ He stopped suddenly as Miss Bannister gave a loud snort and opened her eyes to find her charge apparently in intimate conversation with a strange young man. She had heard Lady Trent scolding Esme—Rosemary never had learned to lower her voice—and it was plain that a young gentleman was involved. No doubt this was he.

‘Miss Bannister, may I present Lord Pendlebury?’ Esme said, knowing perfectly well that she was flattering the old lady by the formal introduction. One simply did not introduce one’s servants to one’s acquaintances. But Banny was more than a servant—she was a friend, a confidante, an ally.

Miss Bannister hastily adjusted her bonnet. ‘How do you do, my lord?’

‘Banny is my dear friend and companion,’ Esme told him.

‘You are indeed fortunate,’ he told Esme while smiling at Banny and quite winning her over, though she knew she had been very remiss in her duty towards her charge.

‘His lordship is an accomplished artist,’ Esme said. ‘He has been showing me how to draw a horse.’

‘So I see.’ She stood up a little shakily and Felix rose to take her elbow to steady her, but let her go the moment she had found her balance. ‘Now I am rested and it is time we returned home. Come, my lady.’ The formal address was for his lordship’s benefit. ‘Good day to you, my lord.’

Esme gathered up her sketching pad and pencils and murmured, ‘Goodbye, my lord’, before following her.

He sat down again, picking up his own sketching book from the seat beside him. He flipped over the top page on which he had outlined his building and worked on the drawing of Esme. If only he could get her to sit for him, he could really make a shot at making the picture come to life, but that would need the permission of the dragon who resided at Trent House and he knew he would never get that.

‘I suppose I am to say nothing to your sister of that young gentleman?’ Miss Bannister said, as they walked.

‘We met by accident, Banny. He saw what I was doing and stopped to help. There was no harm in it. He behaved perfectly properly.’

‘I do not think your sister would agree.’

‘But you won’t say anything, will you? She will only give me a scolding.’

‘Esme, you are nearly twenty years old, a grown woman, and it is time you learned to behave like one. If you want that young gentleman to court you, then you must persuade Lady Trent to accept him, not meet him in secret.’

‘There was nothing secret about the park, Banny. There were hundreds of people there.’

‘That’s what I am afraid of,’ her mentor said repressively.

‘Banny, how shall I know when I am in love? And what is the difference between love and desire? Is there one?’

‘My dear child, you are asking quite the wrong person,’ Miss Bannister said. ‘Your mama should be the one to speak to you of such things and no doubt she will do so when the time is right.’

‘And when will the time be right?’

‘Why, when you have become betrothed, a day or two before your wedding day.’

‘It will be too late then. Banny, I do not want to make a dreadful mistake.’

‘You won’t make a mistake, Miss Esme, you are too level-headed for that.’

‘I am not, I am feeling all topsy-turvy, very far from level-headed. How will I know if I have met my match? And what if he is not at all acceptable to Rosemary? She is determined to find me someone she calls suitable. I have a dreadful feeling that her idea of suitable and mine are not the same thing at all, and Mama and Papa are bound to be guided by her.’

‘Your sister can be a little dogmatic, I own,’ the old lady said. ‘But she is only thinking of your good.’ She paused and laid her gloved hand over Esme’s. ‘I fancy these questions have been sparked by that particular young man, is that not so?’

‘Is it so obvious?’

‘I am not blind, child, I can see he is having a very powerful effect upon you, but do not be misled into thinking it is love.’

‘You don’t think it is? When he looks at me, my knees wobble and my heart beats so fast I can hardly speak.’

‘Goodness, that sounds alarming.’

‘Have you ever had that feeling, Banny?’

‘Once, but it doesn’t signify.’

‘Why not?’

‘He was most unsuitable and in the face of my papa’s opposition he disappeared. I believe he married a servant girl in the end.’

‘Oh, how sad for you.’

‘No, for I think he went to the bad and I had a lucky escape. So you see, it pays to listen to one’s parents and those who know more of the world. All the glisters are not gold.’

‘Oh, I wish I had not asked you. You are no help at all.’

‘Because I did not tell you what you wanted to hear.’

Esme did not answer and they walked the rest of the way in silence.

Almost the whole of the following week was taken up with preparations for her presentation at Court. For some reason Esme could not fathom, a feather headdress was a must and as her Majesty disliked small feathers, they had to be large enough to be seen by her when the débutantes entered the room in a long line, one behind the other together with their sponsors. In Esme’s case that would be Rosemary who rehearsed her over and over again until she was reduced to a trembling jelly. ‘Esme, for goodness’ sake, Mama taught us all to curtsy, do you have to look so clumsy? If you fall over, I shall die of embarrassment.’

The evening arrived at last and she set off with Rosemary to make her début into society, resplendent in a dress of pure white silk and a white gauze veil topped with the mandatory feather headdress, which made her keep her head bowed in the carriage. The journey took only a matter of minutes but there was a long line of vehicles outside St James’s Palace and they had to sit there for over an hour until it was their turn to enter. Others, whose fathers were not so high-ranking as the Earl of Luffenham, had even longer to wait. By the time they were called, Esme was shivering with cold and nerves, especially as no cloaks, capes or shawls were allowed. Once in the palace they waited in line in the gallery until it was their turn to move forward. Esme looked at Rosemary and received a smile of encouragement as she finally entered the throne room.

A couple of attendants helped to arrange her train and she walked slowly and sedately forward, following the girl in front of her, until she found herself standing before her Majesty, who was seated surrounded by standing courtiers. After Rosemary had presented her, she sank down into her curtsy and took the hand that was offered, kissed it, bowed and carefully straightened her knees, quickly righting herself when she began to wobble. The Queen was smiling at her. She dipped her head again and felt behind her for her train. A waiting footman picked it up and laid it over her arm and then indicated the direction she should take. Slowly, step by step, she retreated backwards until she was at the door.

‘Good,’ Rosemary said, taking charge of the train. ‘That’s over. Now, you are out.’

‘Out’ meant she could take her place in society and attend balls and functions and meet that desirable husband. All that expense, all that practising, all those jangling nerves, for the sake of two or three minutes in a crowded room and even less time in the presence of her Majesty.

They were soon outside, a shawl put about her shoulders because it was very late, and on their way back to Trent House. Tomorrow her Season could begin.

Between visits to Rosemary’s friends, tea parties, the odd soirée and a concert or two, Esme amused herself by riding, when she was accompanied by Rosemary, or walking when her companion was more often than not Miss Bannister. On one never-to-be-forgotten day, she and Rosemary were walking home through Hyde Park after a shopping expedition, having dismissed the carriage in Park Lane, when they found themselves being jostled in a crowd of people craning their necks to see something going on in the middle of the park. Esme, ever curious, pushed her way through, with Rosemary reluctantly behind her.

‘Why, it’s a balloon,’ she said as she came to a roped-off enclosure in the middle of which a long colourful mass of silk material was being gradually inflated.

A man with a megaphone was explaining to the crowd how it was being filled with hydrogen gas. ‘The gas is made by the action of sulphuric acid and water on the iron-and-zinc shavings in those casks over there,’ he said, pointing. ‘In passing through the water, the gas is rid of its impurities and is passed through a tube into the neck of the balloon. The gas displaces an equal volume of atmospheric air and, because it is lighter than air, the balloon rises until it reaches a layer of air equal in density to its own and there it remains, floating above the earth with the basket beneath it.’

‘How d’ you get down again?’ someone shouted.

‘We let the gas out a little at a time and admit an equal quantity of atmospheric air. The balloon descends and reaches the ground when all the gas has been expelled.’ As he spoke the balloon rose above them and the basket, which had been lying on its side, righted itself, held beneath the balloon by a network of ropes. Only the tethering ropes held the whole contraption to the ground. The crowd, including Esme, looked upwards as the huge globe, painted in red, blue and yellow, filled up. ‘Now we are ready to ascend,’ he said, standing beside the basket. ‘I can take three passengers. Who will come with me on a voyage of a lifetime?’

There was no immediate response, possibly because the watchers were mostly ladies and a few gentlemen who were out for an afternoon’s stroll, and would not demean themselves by volunteering. One lad walked across the grass and shook hands with the balloonist and clambered into the basket. ‘Any more?’ the man shouted. ‘Come along, the panorama of London at such a height is a wonder to behold. You won’t be carried away. The balloon will be tethered at all times. You will return to this very spot.’

The prospect of such a ride was too much of a temptation for Esme. ‘Oh, Rosie, wouldn’t it be fun? Shall we try it?’ She looked round for her sister, but Rosemary had been swallowed up by the crowd and was some distance away. Undeterred she ducked under the ropes and walked across the grass towards the balloon, unsure if she really would have the courage to step into the basket.

‘Why, here’s a little lady putting you all to shame,’ the balloonist called out, as he bowed to Esme and took her hand. ‘Well, miss, are you game?’ he asked.

She nodded. He opened a little door in the side of the basket and, picking her up, deposited her inside it beside the boy. She looked round her and was met with a sea of faces, all smiling and cheering. Except one. Rosemary had made her way to the front and was looking wildly round her as if appealing to someone, anyone, to fetch her sister back. Esme could not hear what her sister was saying, but she was already beginning to regret her foolhardiness. Pride would not allow her to change her mind, especially when the balloonist began shouting again, ‘Come on, you brave men, you aren’t going to let the little lady show you up, are you?’

A man pushed his way through the onlookers and began sprinting across the grass, followed by several others. They were making a race of it, each wanting to be the last passenger. Esme, who had recognised the front runner, willed him to win, which he did, jumping into the basket and closing the gate as the men helping the balloonist let out the slack in the tethering rope.

‘You are quite mad, you know that, don’t you?’ he told her.

She smiled a little weakly as the balloon rose and began to sway as the breeze caught it. ‘I wanted an adventure.’

‘Now you have it.’

‘Yes.’ Her voice conveyed her nervousness and made him smile. ‘What about you?’

‘The same, I especially could not forgo the pleasure of having it with you. Are you afraid?’

‘Certainly not!’

‘Good.’ He grinned. ‘Then let us enjoy it. Look down there.’

Tying her bonnet firmly under her chin, she peered downwards. Already the people watching them were colourful dots and the houses little squares with tiny gardens and the parks large green patches. Apart from the wind in the rigging, there was little sound. ‘See, there is the Thames and that’s St Paul’s and there’s the Tower. And just down there is Buckingham Palace and, if you look over this way, you might be able to pick out Trent House.’

It was wonderful and as the wind lifted her hair she looked back at him with shining eyes. ‘I’m flying!’

‘Yes, you are.’

The balloonist smiled at her. ‘She has courage, that one,’ he said to Felix.

‘Yes, she has.’

Higher and higher they went. Noticing she was shivering in the cold air, he took off his coat and put it round her shoulders. He did not take his hand away, but kept it across her shoulders, steadying her, as he listened to the aeronaut explaining the technicalities of ballooning, the size of the balloon, the weight in the basket, the height they had attained, the rate of ascent and descent, all of which he found fascinating. ‘When we take passengers, we remain tethered, not only to give them peace of mind but in order to return to the spot from which we started,’ he said. ‘When we fly free, we are looking for wind and currents of air to carry us along.’

‘I should like to try that some time,’ Felix said.

‘How far can you go that way?’ Esme asked. With Felix beside her and the confident tones of the balloonist explaining everything she did not feel afraid. She felt exhilarated. But the ground was an awfully long way down and she hoped the mooring ropes would hold.

‘Flights have already been made between England, France and Germany,’ he said. ‘Perhaps, who knows, one day a balloon will circle the earth.’

They were no longer rising, but suspended in space. For a few minutes they enjoyed the view of London and even some of the surrounding countryside spread out beneath them. ‘It makes me feel humble,’ she whispered. ‘Human beings are such small things when you think of the vastness of the universe.’

‘Yes, but small does not mean insignificant. The human race and its endeavours are what makes the world go round. It is the men of vision that keep us moving forward.’

‘Yes, I can understand why you and others like you are so keen on the Exhibition.’ She was aware of his hand on her shoulder and knew she ought to object to his impertinence, but it was reassuring to have it there and she let it lie.

It was only when the balloonist busied himself with the descent that she began to worry about what Rosemary would say. The nearer they came to the ground, the more apprehensive she became. But it wasn’t only Rosemary she had to face—it was a battery of reporters who circled the descending balloon. ‘Oh, dear, I did not expect that,’ she said. The balloon touched down with a jolt that sent her into the arms of Felix as the basket tipped over.

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