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is, anything in my power...’

      ‘It is the Corsican, you see.’

      ‘The Corsican?’ His eyes widened. ‘Napoleon?’

      ‘The very man. Fact is, he is to be exiled. Elba, you know. All agreed this week.’

      ‘Yes, of course. The news reached us here in London a few days ago, though we didn’t know where he was to go. Just grateful the war is over, really.’

      ‘Well, Castlereagh doesn’t like it, but the Czar must be magnanimous. I’m with Campbell, who will stay to see it done.’

      ‘Er...quite, quite. Important business, that.’ Freddy adopted a knowing look.

      ‘Indeed—and delicate. Can’t let that little upstart think he actually was an emperor! The thing is—I think it is time Charlotte came home to England. I’m going back to Paris with the Foreign Office chaps. Everything seems to be settling down, but I wouldn’t trust the French—not suitable for her at all.’

      ‘No, no!’ said Buxted, much struck. ‘But is there no one—?’

      ‘No one in London I would know and trust like you, Freddy. You’re Maria’s cousin, got two daughters of your own. Seems an ideal situation for my Charlotte.’

      ‘Yes, I see, but—’

      ‘You needn’t worry. She won’t give you any trouble, Freddy. She is not one of those demanding females. Quiet little thing, but got a good head on her shoulders, my Lottie. In fact, shouldn’t be surprised if you like her, Freddy—everyone does.’

      ‘But for how long would we be expected to have her?’

      ‘Not more than a couple of months, Freddy. You know how it is with these things—hard to tell.’ Freddy nodded sagely. ‘It will be my last mission, though. After making sure Napoleon is safely on his way I’ll need to tidy things up—regimental business, you know—then I’ll be coming home for good. The job is done and I’m looking forward to retirement.’

      ‘To be sure, yes. But—’

      ‘And don’t worry, Freddy, I’ll stand the blunt. You won’t have to lay out a penny on her behalf. I shall arrange her pin money, but I will need to stable Charlotte’s mare with your horses, if you are agreeable?’

      Mr Buxted, his shoulders slumped, could not object.

      ‘Then it is all settled! I shall ask Charlotte to write to your wife to confirm the date of her arrival.’

      Sir Edward, entirely satisfied, took his leave without further ado, leaving Freddy Buxted with the happy duty of informing his dear wife Louisa of their impending guest. He sank back in his seat as the enormity of his task slowly dawned on him.

      ‘For this,’ he muttered to the empty room, ‘I shall need the assistance of a power greater than myself.’ He raised his voice. ‘Biddle! Biddle! Oh, there you are, man. Get me some ale!’

      * * *

      A little over three weeks later, on the date appointed in her polite correspondence with Mrs Buxted, Miss Charlotte Wyncroft arrived at Buxted House. She was accompanied by her groom, Joseph, leading a fine bay mare, her abigail, Miss Priddy—who was also Joseph’s sister—and an enormous number of trunks and bandboxes, piled high behind the coach.

      ‘Finally, Priddy, we have arrived!’

      ‘Now, then, Miss Charlotte, no need for over-excitement.’

      ‘But, Priddy, this is London! You know how long I have wanted to visit England, and especially London. It is hard to call oneself English when England is a distant memory. Ooh, there are my cousins—what attractive girls!’

      Charlotte peered out through the carriage window, trying to see everything without making it obvious that was what she was doing. Two young women stood with their mama at the top of the steps. Both looked fair, pretty and elegant.

      As the carriage door was opened Charlotte overheard snatches of their conversation.

      ‘Mama, what a lot of luggage!’ exclaimed the younger-looking Miss Buxted.

      Faith was her name, Charlotte remembered from the letters she had exchanged with Mrs Buxted these past weeks. A pretty young lady with blue eyes and flaxen curls, she was a paler imitation of her older sister. She glanced anxiously at her mother and sister as they stood waiting for their guest to mount the steps.

      Miss Henrietta Buxted, at twenty, was two years senior, and was stunningly beautiful. Guinea-gold curls, wide blue eyes and a stubborn chin—she would be much sought after among the young men, if Charlotte was not mistaken.

      Henrietta sniffed. ‘I hope she will not be an inconvenience, Mama.’

      ‘Charity begins at home,’ said Mrs Buxted.

      A stout lady on the shady side of forty, with a certain hardness about her eyes and mouth, she still showed faint traces of the former beauty that, Papa said, had attracted young Freddy Buxted to offer for her.

      Standing stiffly in a burgundy Norwich crepe round gown, she remarked, ‘I still don’t understand how your father agreed to this. To have an unknown girl foisted on me, when I have two daughters of my own to see settled... It is beyond belief!’

      Mr Buxted, who had been standing quietly behind his wife and daughters, looked alarmed. Muttering what sounded suspiciously like, ‘Fortitude!’ he stood his ground.

      Charlotte glanced at Priddy, who looked shocked. Did Mrs Buxted and her daughters think she could not hear them?

      Schooling her features into a polite smile, Charlotte tripped lightly up the shallow stone steps.

      ‘Mrs Buxted, I am so happy to be here. Thank you so much for agreeing to let me visit. What a beautiful house! And these must be my cousins.’

      ‘My daughters, Henrietta and Faith.’

      The girls made their curtseys.

      ‘It is lovely to meet you all! Mr Buxted!’

      ‘Do call me Uncle. I should happily be your uncle. I’m so glad your father agreed to let you visit.’ Mr Buxted, moved by Charlotte’s enthusiasm, gave her an avuncular kiss.

      ‘Now, now, Mr Buxted—Uncle! I can imagine quite well that my father pressured you into it. He normally gets what he wants.’ She leaned forward, and added with a twinkle, ‘It is what makes him such a good colonel.’

      Mr Buxted laughed, at which his wife and daughters looked quite startled. He stepped back and made a study of her.

      ‘Well,’ he pronounced, ‘you look nothing like my dear cousin Maria.’

      ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘She was a famous beauty, was she not? I am thought to favour my father.’

      Henrietta sighed dramatically. ‘To live without a mother. It must be so sad for you.’

      ‘Not at all!’ said Charlotte cheerfully. ‘I don’t really remember her. She died when I was six, you see.’

      ‘But you have not had the guiding hand which every young lady needs,’ offered Mrs Buxted evenly. ‘Growing up without a mother, you must lack the wisdom only a mother can offer.’

      ‘Oh, probably,’ agreed Charlotte. ‘I do not think I am very wise sometimes.’

      ‘Then perhaps,’ offered Henrietta, ‘we may help improve your mind during your visit.’

      ‘I wouldn’t be sure of that,’ said Charlotte sorrowfully. ‘I was a terrible student. I finished school last month, thank goodness, and I did try to be sensible and obedient, but I admit I found it a struggle sometimes.’

      She twinkled at Faith, who—thankfully—returned an understanding smile.

      ‘Reverend Welford—our chaplain in Vienna—has quite given up on me, but says he likes

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