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resisted the temptation to laugh. ‘Oh, Annabelle, it is too soon.’

      ‘No, it is not. If we are to find husbands, then we must do it quickly, you know that.’ She paused. ‘The only difficulty I can see is my lack of a dowry. Lord Baverstock would expect one, wouldn’t he?’

      ‘Yes, I think he would.’

      ‘Then the sooner you marry Sir Arthur the better. Mama said—’

      ‘I know what Mama said,’ Lydia interrupted her, as they made their way to the exit, standing in the crush while everyone waited for their carriages to be brought up to the door. In the euphoria of meeting the young man again she did not want to be reminded of her duty.

      ‘Ah, Miss Fostyn.’

      Lydia turned to find Sir Arthur at her elbow and wondered if he could possibly have heard Annabelle’s remarks. He was wearing a long overcoat which he had buttoned from neck almost to hem to hide his stained suit. It looked as though he had borrowed it from his coachman.

      ‘Sir Arthur. I am sorry for your mishap.’

      ‘Oh, ’twas nothing. I am only sorry you were deprived of your supper. May I escort you home?’

      ‘No, thank you, sir. We have our own coach.’

      ‘Then may I call and pay my respects to your mama in the near future?’

      ‘I am sure she will be pleased to receive you, sir.’

      The crowd had thinned while they had been talking and Lydia was suddenly aware of her umbrella man watching her, watching them both with a look on his face which was both quizzical and disapproving. He stepped forward and bowed. ‘Goodnight, my lady.’

      She found herself dipping a small curtsy and smiling. ‘Goodnight, my lord.’

      ‘Who was that?’ Annabelle demanded, when they were settled in the chaise and were trotting towards Colston.

      ‘I have no idea.’

      ‘But you called him “my lord”.’

      ‘He called me “my lady”, so why not?’

      ‘Who does he think you are, then?’

      ‘I don’t know that either. We are perfect strangers.’

      ‘It didn’t look like that to me. Is that why you are wearing your best gown? You expected him to be here. Oh, what will Mama say?’

      ‘She will say nothing, because you are not to tell her.’

      ‘Oh, a secret. Have you an assignation with him? Oh, Lydia, he is so handsome, but supposing he is a mountebank?’

      ‘I am sure he is nothing of the kind. And I do not have an assignation with him. Whatever gave you that idea? We spoke half a dozen words while you were busy fluttering your eyelashes at Peregrine Baverstock…’

      ‘At least I was doing it to some purpose. You seem to have gained nothing. But there, I suppose we should hold to the maxim that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.’

      ‘Whatever do you mean?’

      ‘Sir Arthur. He is going to call, is he not? He would not do that if he were not serious.’

      ‘Annabelle, if you mention Sir Arthur just once more, I shall slap your face, really I will. Let it be, will you?’

      ‘Oh, if you are going to fly into a temper, then I shall say no more. But if you want me to keep your secret from Mama, then you will have to find a way of persuading me.’

      ‘Oh, Annabelle,’ Lydia said, laughing, ‘you are such a mischievous child…’

      ‘Not so much of the child, if you please. I am old enough to fall in love.’

      ‘Are you, indeed?’

      ‘Yes, indeed. And do not tell me you do not know what it feels like, for I am persuaded that you do. I saw the look you had for the handsome stranger. Who is he, Lydia?’

      ‘I told you, I do not know the gentleman.’

      ‘So what are you going to do about it?’

      ‘The stranger? Why, nothing. Why should I?’

      ‘No, I meant about persuading me to hold my tongue.’

      ‘You can have my silk fan, the one Grandmama gave me.’

      ‘Can I? Oh, can I?’ her sister said eagerly, then laughed. ‘You must love him very much to part with that.’

      ‘Don’t be silly. I have been thinking of giving it to you ever since we made that pink gown up. It matches it exactly and would certainly not go with my yellow brocade.’

      ‘Oh, you are a darling!’ And Annabelle flung her arms about her sister in the rocking vehicle, making it sway more than ever. ‘The best sister anyone could have.’

      They continued in silence for a few minutes, but Annabelle was still bubbling over and could not keep quiet. ‘Do you think the Earl will allow the ball to go ahead?’ she asked.

      ‘I don’t know, nor do I care very much.’

      ‘Oh, Lydia, do not be such a misery. If we go to the ball I shall see Perry there and, who knows, your fine gentleman might attend.’

      And what good would that do? Lydia asked herself. Annabelle had said a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush. She knew nothing whatever about the handsome young man, not even his name, but she knew all she wanted to know about Sir Arthur Thomas-Smith. Tears pricked at her eyes and she was thankful that the darkness in the coach hid them from her sister’s eyes.

      Their mother had not waited up for them so, as soon as they arrived home, Lydia pleaded tiredness and went to her own room, thankful that now her older sisters no longer lived at home she had a room to herself. She could not bear another minute of Annabelle’s excited chatter, her bubbling optimism which hinged on Lydia marrying Sir Arthur in order to smooth the way for her own marriage. He was a respectable gentleman who had done nothing wrong; in truth, had done everything right, at least in her mother’s eyes, but she did not want to marry him.

      Oh, she knew perfectly well that most young ladies bowed to the superior knowledge and experience of their parents in the matter of matrimony and usually married the men chosen for them. Sometimes, it worked very well; if it did not, both discreetly took lovers. She did not think she could bring herself to do that. But if someone like her man from Chelmsford came along… Oh, no she could not commit that sin, not even with him; she believed in the sanctity of marriage and if she married Sir Arthur she would be faithful to him. If… Had she any choice?

      She tossed and turned and fell asleep at last.

      Next morning Lydia rose bleary-eyed and not in the least prepared for the bombshell her mother delivered at the breakfast table.

      ‘The Earl is back,’ Mrs Fostyn said, picking up a sheet of paper which lay beside her plate. ‘I have had a letter from him, or, more precisely, from Mr George Falconer, his lawyer.’

      ‘What about?’

      ‘Our tenure of this house. It appears he wishes us gone.’

      ‘Gone?’ Lydia repeated.

      ‘Yes, read it for yourself.’ She handed the letter to Lydia, who read it through quickly.

      ‘One month to leave,’ she said, her face white with fury. ‘He has given us a month’s notice. The fiend! The indescribable charlatan! I have always hated him and I was right to do so. He cannot bear to have us on his land because it reminds him of his guilt. I knew this would happen as soon as he came back. You thought so too, didn’t you? That’s why you spoke to me about marrying.’

      ‘I thought it might. You see, if…’ She paused, then went on. ‘If the old Earl did not correspond with his son, then

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