The evening twilight was warmly caressing as Captain Burnside took up his station at a spot close to the residence of the Duke of Cumberland. He chose a convenient recess, from where he had a view of the side door. He waited patiently. The occasional carriage passed, and the occasional strollers appeared. Captain Burnside remained unobserved, but observing. At twenty past nine the side door opened and a passage light glimmered. It outlined the head and shoulders of the maidservant Betsy. She stood at the open door, nervously peering. Captain Burnside moved, looked up and down the street, saw that it was clear, and advanced quickly and silently.
‘Oh, be that you, sir?’ whispered Betsy anxiously.
‘I am me, Betsy, and all is clear, my pretty one,’ he murmured.
‘It be all clear inside too, sir, and I’m glad I be pretty. Come in, but very quiet, like, for I be trembling all over in fear someone might hear. His Highness be out, and Mr Erzburger, his secretary, and the servants all be downstairs. Follow me, sir.’
He stepped in. She closed the door soundlessly, and tiptoed along the passage. She turned into a lamplit corridor. He followed, and she turned again to ascend the back stairs of the house. Their feet were cautious and quiet, their tongues still. She traversed another corridor, stopped outside a door and opened it very carefully. She took him into a room where the curtains were drawn, and illumination came from a wall lamp burning a candle. Betsy whispered she had lighted it minutes ago, so that he would not be blind or have need to open the curtains.
‘Splendid girl,’ he murmured, and she pushed herself close to let her warm body brush against his for a friendly moment. In her nervous excitement she was in need of reassuring contact.
‘I be fair gone on you, sir, that I be,’ she whispered.
‘Well, that shows sound judgement, Betsy, for I’m a fine fellow and a credit to my Lord Chancellor. Now, let me see.’ He eyed the furniture. In the light of the candle flame, it seemed solid and businesslike. A huge desk interested him. He opened the central drawer, and saw at once what he was looking for, a leather-bound diary. He took it out, placed it on the desk and sat down. Betsy breathed a little noisily at his unhurried coolness.
‘Be you staying long, sir? I be in tremors if you are.’
‘A few minutes, Betsy.’ He thought. ‘Say ten or fifteen.’
‘Fifteen?’ Betsy swallowed. ‘Oh, I daresn’t think who might be wanting me and calling for me.’
‘Then leave me to it, Betsy. Trust me. A thousand honest men will vouch that I’d never let a partner down. Take yourself off, and I’ll make my own way out.’
‘Sir, I aren’t sure—’
‘Oh, you can be very sure, Betsy.’
‘Well, I’ll go down, sir, and come up again in ten minutes. It’ll take care of some of my tremblings, going down and showing myself.’
‘Good girl,’ he murmured, and she flitted away. He opened the diary, and scanned it, remarking Erzburger’s neatly inscribed entries relating to appointments, official and private. He was not sure he would find a plain pointer, or any kind of pointer at all. He got up, went to the door, closed by Betsy, and he opened it and listened. The house was quiet. He closed the door again, and moved to an inner door. It opened on to Cumberland’s large study. Quickly, he crossed it, opened another door and entered Cumberland’s private suite. He made a speedy survey of the rooms, then returned to the study. The twilight was turning to dusk, but the open curtains saved the room from darkness. A larger inlaid satinwood escritoire caught his eye. He took a bunch of keys from his coat pocket. Choosing the smaller ones for his purpose, he attempted to unlock the desk. Unsuccessful, he made use of a thin metal rod, finely corrugated. The delicate lock clicked, and he opened the desk.
The faintest smile touched his lips. Before him was Cumberland’s treasure trove of separate little bundles of letters, all neatly stowed. He did not disturb them. He looked for a single letter. The unfortunate lady in question had written only the one. And there it was, of pale blue parchment, visible between two tied bundles. Carefully he extracted it, opened it, glanced at the signature. It was confined to a solitary ‘H’.
He put the letter in his pocket, closed the desk and used the thin steel rod to lock it. Swiftly, he returned to Erzburger’s office. He seated himself at the desk again, and began a new examination of the diary. Some six or seven minutes had passed. He was looking for the date of a certain appointment, if that appointment had been set down. He thought it would be, for Cumberland, through his secretary, was a meticulous and methodical man, given to ensuring that everything of consequence was recorded in one way or another, as was every royal personage.
The captain ran his eye quickly over one page after another, concentrating on the immediate future. He noted the entry for 29 July: ‘3 p.m. Geo. Pn. from Lady K.’
He construed that as ‘George, Prince of Wales. Petition from Lady K.’ Cumberland, no doubt, had received a cry for help from one of the many foolish ladies who had allowed herself to be bedded by the prince. Distraught by the consequences, and finding the prince typically out of sympathy with her, she had probably turned to Cumberland for help, perhaps because she had once been his own fancy. Ladies were foolishly eager to bed with royalty. The captain did not think this one would receive too much help from Cumberland. It was very unlike him to intercede with Wales on behalf of any lady.
Betsy returned with a hastening whisper of garments. ‘Oh, be you still looking, sir?’ she breathed.
He nodded. He was examining a further entry for 29 July. Betsy regarded his bent head and his profile. Oh, he were such a pleasing gentleman in his looks and manner, just the kind she would like to set her up. He had promised her nine more guineas. Perhaps he would give her kisses too. Her fingers stole to her laced-up bodice and loosened it.
The captain was absorbed by that further entry, in Cumberland’s own hand: ‘3.30 p.m. Fd, Wm & Ed also. Concerning poss. marriage to Lady CP. Bty and riches.’
Lady CP. Lady Clarence Percival, of course. Caroline. Beauty and riches both. Very true. So, hereby hangs a tale that would make the telling painful to Annabelle. But what man of Cumberland’s ilk would not prefer the magnificent elder sister to the pretty younger? What was Cumberland’s interest in the younger? Her virginity, probably, and the challenge this represented to a man who would find it an amusing pleasure to be the first to bed her. Or was his leisurely pursuit of her motivated by another reason? It was Caroline he wanted. Perhaps he thought he could win her if he promised to leave her sister with her virginity intact. Would a woman sacrifice herself for her sister to that extent? Lady Caroline had expressed utter dislike and contempt for Cumberland. But were they her true feelings? Cumberland had a strangely magnetic effect on all kinds of women. Yet if Lady Caroline did have a weakness for him, she would have found it easy to outshine her sister and so save her. If not, Captain Burnside doubted she would sacrifice herself for Annabelle. Some women did not consider virginity as sacred as most men thought they did. What concerned them primarily was not preservation, but the attendant risk. Did Lady Caroline know Cumberland was to discuss marriage to her with his elder brothers? Was her dislike simulated?
Something was not quite right; something did not make sense. Unless Lady Caroline had said she would favourably consider a proposal, Cumberland would not make a fool of himself by asking for his brothers’ approval of a marriage that was only a hope in his mind. He was not a man to make himself look a fool. And he would still require the King’s sovereign approval. The King, of course, would refuse, and ragefully. Under no circumstances would Cumberland be allowed to marry a commoner, an American commoner at that. Cumberland must know that. His discussion of the proposed marriage with his brothers was an absurd and empty gesture.
There was another curious aspect. Why was Cumberland arranging to receive only his elder brothers? Why had he excluded his younger brother, the Duke of Cambridge? Cumberland could insult people by being casually indifferent, and not spare members of his family, but it made no sense for him to be as indifferent as this to Cambridge.
The pointer, thought Captain Burnside, was here, at 3.30 p.m. on 29 July. But what was it pointing at?
‘Sir?’ It was a worried whisper from Betsy. The captain closed the diary, restored it to the drawer, and stood up. ‘Oh, you be done, sir?’ Betsy breathed in relief.
‘Done and finished, Betsy.’
‘Then come down quick, sir, I be quaking in my everythings.’
‘Your everythings?’
Betsy stifled a sweet giggle. ‘All of ’em, sir,’ she said, and led the way cautiously. He followed her down. He heard murmurs from below stairs, murmurs from the servants’ quarters, but no one came to question Betsy during her careful journey to the side door. In the passage she faced him, the candlelight revealing the faint flush on her face, and the limpid look of melting eyes. ‘Sir, you be giving me the dibs now?’
‘What I promised, you shall have, Betsy. And if I need to come again?’
‘Oh, you’re a sly one, sir, that you are, with them guineas still in your pocket and poor me not knowing how to say no to you in case you diddle me.’
‘Come, come, pretty buttercup, would any fine, honest fellow diddle a girl as obliging as you?’
‘Oh, you be a straight-up, loving-speaking gentleman, sir. There be no flash Harry about you. You’ll give me what you said, you’ll play fair with me?’
‘As fair as fair comes, Betsy,’ he whispered, and placed nine guineas in her eager hand. She peered at them in delight, then lifted her dark blue servant’s gown and stowed the gold coins. There were faint little chinks of sound as the coins dropped into the pocket of an undergarment. Her breathing was quick and excited, for she had received ten guineas in all, a sum that was a regular, palpitating windfall. Her face beamed blissfully.
‘I be fair knocked out, sir. Ten guineas be rapture to a girl. It won’t matter now if anyone comes and finds us, I can say you’re a gentleman friend who’s stepped in to buss me. You be wishful of bussing me, sir, and kissing? I be willing.’
‘Sweet puss, never think I wish to ask more than help from you. Tell me, do you know which visitors come and go each day?’
‘I see some, I don’t see all, sir.’ Betsy pushed herself to him. ‘It be Mr Pringle’s job to receive visitors and to take ’em to Captain Heywood, who takes ’em up to Mr Erzburger, who takes ’em to the duke if they be on the reception list, sir.’ Betsy paused for thought. She was always a thinking girl. ‘Mostly visitors be high and haughty people, sir.’
‘So anyone not high and haughty would stand out as unusual? Have you noticed anyone unusual lately?’
‘No, sir, I ain’t.’ Betsy wriggled amorously. ‘But I noticed Mr Erzburger’s been unusual, going out regular every day and carrying a bag.’
‘That’s unusual, sweet puss?’ They were conversing in murmurs.
‘It be unusual for him, sir, him being haughtier sometimes than His Highness.’
‘Does he go out at the same time every day?’
‘Thereabouts, sir. Say near to four o’clock.’
‘Four o’clock. I fancy our Lord Chancellor would commend you for being an observant young beauty.’
‘Oh, I be a young beauty to you, sir?’
‘And observant. Thank you, Betsy.’
‘You be off now, sir? Without no kissing? You be a confusion to a girl, loving her with words but not kissing her, and I hardly mind you kissing me at all.’
Business being his first consideration, Captain Burnside said, ‘If I need to see you again, how shall I let you know?’
‘Oh, push a note under this door when the evening’s dark, sir, and I’ll look each night to see if it’s there. Just put day and time, sir, evening time, like tonight.’
‘You can read and write, pretty puss?’
Betsy pushed herself against him and murmured, ‘That I can, sir, or I wouldn’t be working in His Highness’s household, would I? Mr Erzburger be very particular about them kind of things. Best you buss me now, sir, before I die blushing.’
There were no blushes that Captain Burnside could see, but there was a lifted, pouting mouth, and a bosom that pushed. Since she was invaluable as a thinking young accomplice, when she might have been a muddle-headed one, he kissed her pursed lips, several times. Betsy sighed like a girl gently languishing, and her warm breath left moisture on his lips.
‘That wasn’t too confusing, I hope?’ he said.
‘It were terrible weakening on my knees, sir, being so pleasuring. I don’t know how I could say no if you asked me to visit you in your lodgings, but I dare say you’d treat me fair with the presents you’d give me.’
He murmured with laughter and kissed her again. Betsy shivered with delight.
‘There, saucy puss, take that to bed with you.’
‘Oh, you be a rare pleasuring gentleman, sir, with the way you kiss, and if you wanted to set me up and be my regular gentleman, I can’t think how I could bring myself to say no.’
‘Egad, that’s an enchanting proposition, Betsy, but an honest fellow must consider the feelings of his wife.’
‘Oh, you needn’t tell her, sir,’ whispered Betsy eagerly, ‘for I won’t, nor ever would.’
‘Not a word to anyone, Betsy, about anything, or the Lord Chancellor would lay the axe on our necks himself.’
‘I be able to hold my tongue, sir, for I couldn’t abide having my head chopped off, nor being hanged till I’m dead.’
‘Well, it’s unpleasant, being dead when one is so young. So?’
‘Yes, sir, I know. Not a word to no one.’
‘Splendid puss. Goodnight.’
Captain Burnside slipped quietly away, knowing the golden guineas ensured her discretion, since she would be hoping for more. And why not? The labourer was worthy of his hire. He was worthy himself.
Betsy was left sighing. She had never known a gentleman more pleasuring.
Arriving back at Lady Caroline’s house, Captain Burnside found her still up. Mr Wingrove had departed, and Annabelle, who had found the evening lacking sparkle, retired to dream of how determined she would be with the Duke of Cumberland tomorrow. Captain Burnside had given her so much confidence in herself that she imagined the impossible. She imagined she could be Cumberland’s equal in sophistication.
Caroline, reclining in languorous comfort on a long gilt Louis XIV sofa, upholstered in Cambridge blue, looked up from the book she was reading. Her gown was a vivid crimson against the blue of the sofa, its hem hitched. Around her silken-hosed calves, a froth of snowy white petticoats peeped. The lacy flounces of her pantaloons flirted with the froth of the petticoats.
Captain Burnside coughed and lifted his eyes to the ornamental ceiling.
Caroline regarded him coolly. ‘You have condescended to return?’ she said.
‘I have returned, marm. I ain’t given to condescension, except if it’s a professional requirement.’
‘You, sir, in your impudence, can be more condescending than any man I know. Is something wrong with my ceiling?’
‘Nothing at all, marm. It’s an embellishment of gracious splendour.’
‘Really?’ Caroline, after an evening that had been annoyingly unsatisfactory, found herself quickening to the challenge of confrontation with her wretched hireling. ‘Is that why you are staring at it?’
‘It’s a work of art, marm. Yet there are prettier spectacles.’
‘Such as, sir?’
‘Ah,’ said Captain Burnside obliquely.
‘Speak, sir. Your tongue is usually facile enough to keep you from mumbling.’
‘Perhaps, marm, you’ll give me leave to retire?’
‘No, Captain Burnside, I will not,’ said Caroline in the firm manner she adopted whenever it was necessary to let him know hers was the right to command. ‘I require from you an explanation for your absence. Heavens, do stop looking at the ceiling. Show me your face, sir, for I suspect a shiftiness in you at this moment.’
Captain Burnside looked at her. It was impossible not to notice how her garments softly traced the lines of her body and the long length of her legs. And her silk-stockinged calves and lacy flounces were indeed the prettiest of spectacles. He coughed again.
‘Faith,’ he said, ‘at this moment, marm, shiftiness apart, I can see that a ceiling is only a ceiling.’
‘Are you drunk, sir?’ she asked.
‘Slightly intoxicated, I confess, but not from London gin or French wine,’ said the captain, and coughed yet again.
‘Fiddlesticks,’ said Caroline, surprising herself in her enjoyment of the dialogue. She sat up, and noticed her hitched gown and her peeping petticoats. She did not blush. She gave Captain Burnside the coolest of looks. He raised his eyes to the ceiling again.
‘Ridiculous wretch,’ she said, ‘are you trying to make me believe you have never seen a petticoat before?’
‘Oh, I’ve seen a hundred, marm, and quite a few pretty pantaloons, but …’ He coughed a fourth time.
‘But, sir, but?’
‘I ain’t ever clapped my eyes on the petticoats and pantaloons of a lady patron before. You’ll forgive me, marm?’
‘So, you have another talent, have you, Captain Burnside? A talent for pretending coyness? That is hardly much of a talent in a man.’ Caroline slipped her feet to the floor. A little smile showed itself. Now why should that happen, why should she smile? She frowned. ‘We will dispense with the absurd, sir. Where have you been, and what was the business that took you out? I am entitled to know, I think, since I believe I have exclusive use of your services and your time at present.’
Captain Burnside observed the chandelier that cast light over her dark auburn hair and tinted it with fire. Her magnificence was unquestionable. Cumberland would never find a German duchess to equal Lady Clarence Percival, eligible widow.
‘Oh, an appointment with Betsy, our pretty go-between at Cumberland’s town house—’
‘I thought so!’ Her interruption was fierce. If she could not understand why she had smiled at his ridiculous behaviour over her petticoats, even less could she understand why she felt so angry over his meeting with some flighty maidservant called Betsy. ‘How dare you conduct one of your disgraceful intrigues when you are wholly committed to my employ?’
‘Gently, marm …’
‘Gently, sir, gently? How dare you!’ Flushed, she was more magnificent.
‘The point, marm, is that servants gossip. One never knows just how much useful information one can extract from a sweet creature eager to see the glint of a golden guinea—’
‘And to be kissed, no doubt, and fondled!’ Again her interruption was fierce. ‘You are disgusting, Captain Burnside, disgusting.’
‘Only in a professional way, marm,’ he said placatingly, and her green eyes burned. ‘Servants can put one in touch with appointments, and you’ll agree, I’m sure, that it would be useful indeed to know in advance any appointments Annabelle might have arranged with Cumberland.’
‘Very well, I will concede that,’ said Caroline, but was still flushed, still angry, and perplexingly so to herself. ‘But Annabelle, infatuated though she is, would never arrange a clandestine appointment with Cumberland, not while she is hoping he’ll marry her.’
‘My own feeling, marm, is that one can never be sure what infatuated ladies will get up to.’
‘My sister does not get up to anything.’
‘I thought, marm, that the reason you hired me was because you were afraid she would.’
‘I am afraid of what might eventually happen because of Cumberland’s lack of all decency.’
‘Well, sweet Betsy—’
‘Must you, sir? She reads like a flirtatious baggage to me.’
‘Quite so, marm. However, she had no knowledge of anything relating to Annabelle. I thought it worth a question or two, without, of course, naming your sister. With all respect, marm, may I ask how you yourself truly see the Duke of Cumberland?’
‘See him?’
‘He has a devilish fascination for many ladies,’ said the captain.
‘He has none for me, sir. I consider him close to a reincarnation of Caligula.’
‘You’d not, then, favourably regard a proposal of marriage from him?’
‘That royal rake? How dare you! You are surpassing yourself tonight, and coming close to a slap on your face. Dismiss from your mind, sir, any thought that I would marry Cumberland for any reason at all. I despise rakes, philanderers and all other men who are dissolute and promiscuous. I despise you, sir.’
‘Well, so you do, marm, and not without cause, but it ain’t likely you’ll require to marry me any more than—’
Caroline delivered the threatened slap, and stingingly. Captain Burnside received it manfully, rubbed his cheek and eyed her in rueful fashion.
‘Leave my house, sir,’ she said stormily, ‘your commission is at an end. If my secretary is still up, ask him to bestow a shilling on you. That shall be your quittance money.’
‘Very well, marm, but before I go, allow me to give you this.’ He extracted the letter he had come by with professional ease, and handed it to her.
‘The letter,’ said Captain Burnside.
‘The letter?’ She gazed at the folded sheet of crisp paper as if it were an irrelevance. She was still too furious to comprehend, her gown still rustling from the angry vibrations of her body. It took long seconds for her mind to clear and for the impossible to dawn. ‘Captain Burnside?’ she breathed throatily.
‘I fancy you’ll find it’s the one Lady Russell has been so anxious about, though I assure you I ain’t read it.’
Incredulous, she opened up the letter. She glanced at the handwriting, with which she was familiar, and at the signature, the single letter ‘H’. Just as incredulous, she looked at Captain Burnside. He gave a nod that was both confirmatory and reassuring.
‘Am I to believe …?’ For once she faltered. Her bosom surged as extreme emotion engulfed her.
‘You may believe, marm, in a venture accomplished,’ said the captain. ‘That is, one half of it.’
In her emotion, born of the breathless wonder of knowing he had secured for her the means to deliver Hester from her anguish, moisture rushed to her eyes. Agitatedly, she turned her back on him, hiding her weakness.
‘Captain Burnside, I …’ Again she faltered.
‘Quite so, marm. I’ll go up to my room and pack.’
‘No, you will not,’ she breathed, ‘you will stay, I beg. Captain Burnside, how can I ever thank you? I declare myself in shame to have been so angry with you. Forgive me, please.’
‘The slap? Deserved, marm, deserved.’
‘No – oh, perhaps it was. But if you’re an unconscionable rogue, you have redeemed yourself in a way I cannot put words to. You have no idea what the return of this letter to Lady Russell will mean to her. She will be overjoyed. Captain Burnside?’ She turned and faced him, and he saw the glitter of wetness in her eyes. She extended her hand. He lifted it to his lips. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, striving to regain control of herself. It was not to be. She was too overwhelmed, too sensitively conscious that he had returned her furious slap with a gesture entirely breathtaking. Unable to say more, she picked up her skirts and made blindly for the door. Interceding, he opened it for her and she rushed out.
‘H’m,’ said Captain Burnside thoughtfully. She had omitted to ask him how he had procured the letter. Perhaps that was just as well. He would have had to mention the sweet puss Betsy again, and she had taken a fierce dislike to Betsy.
Caroline, her mind clamorous with the glad tidings she was going to bring to Hester, did not get to sleep for hours. Consequently, she awoke late and took a late breakfast in bed. Afterwards, her toilet finished, she dressed herself in radiant primrose and descended to the drawing room in search of her hireling. Annabelle, about to go shopping, informed her that Charles had gone to keep an appointment.
‘What appointment, pray?’ asked Caroline, feeling she was suffering a setback. She had intended to take the captain aside, speak graciously to him and ask questions of him.
‘He did not say,’ smiled Annabelle, aware that her sister had clothed herself in radiance. ‘But perhaps it’s to do with regimental matters, for I dare say we cannot expect him to be permanently on leave, can we? I shall be quite put out when he’s recalled. He is of all things a sweetly entertaining man.’
‘I’m happy to hear you say so,’ said Caroline.
‘Alas, dear sister, that he’s not here to see you looking like a morning goddess.’
‘Ridiculous child,’ said Caroline. ‘I am lunching with Lady Wingrove and Mr Wingrove.’
‘How enchanting for Mr Wingrove,’ murmured Annabelle, drawing on her gloves. ‘How boring for you.’
‘Boring? Mr Wingrove is the most agreeable gentleman in London.’
‘Mercy me,’ said Annabelle, ‘is he to be my new brother-in-law?’ She floated out, laughing.
‘That, Your Grace, is as much as I know at present,’ said Captain Burnside to the imposing, dignified-looking gentleman who stood with his back to an empty fireplace, hands behind him.
‘Well, the devil, but it’s as much as I can expect. However, the word from Ireland being as definite as it is, we can’t afford to be merely hopeful. Something very unpleasant is afoot. Wales is being watched, but it ain’t to his liking to have a guard pussyfooting around him. And Cumberland?’
‘Cumberland can look after himself,’ said the captain, ‘and will.’
‘I take your meaning. But what makes you think his meeting with his elder brothers has a significance?’
‘It’s unnecessary, Your Grace, if the subject to be discussed is as set down.’
‘And why did Cumberland set it down in such a way?’
‘It occurs to me,’ said Captain Burnside, ‘that a diary entry is an official notification. It can always be conveniently pointed to.’
‘Cumberland’s up to something?’
‘I fancy I can’t say yes, but I ain’t prepared to say no.’
‘Entirely magnificent, Your Grace, in appearance, character, intellect and sensibilities. She’ll not marry Cumberland.’
‘God’s life,’ said the dignified gentleman, ‘I hope not. She don’t deserve another impossible husband. But women are strange creatures, Burnside. They’re apt to be drawn more passionately to the wicked than the good. Cumberland has dined with Lady Clarence, frequently, yet she says she hates him.’
‘Faith, some women find a deal of pleasure in hating a man,’ said the captain.
‘Well, I’m relying on you to find every loose end and to tie ’em neatly together.’
Caroline left her house at eleven and called first on Lady Hester Russell, who received her with an emotional kiss on the cheek, and rushing words.
‘Caroline, how good to see you, and how ravishing you look. George will be sorry to have missed you, for he declares you the grandest sight in London. But he is out, walking again, would you believe. He is still determined to exercise his leg and cure his limp, which he says he will and despite the contrary advice of Dr Purvis, who he says is becoming an old goat and too fond of keeping patients in bed. Oh, am I going on a little foolishly? But everything is more and more unbearable, and it’s even a terrible effort to show my face to George …’
‘Hester, it need no longer be unbearable,’ said Caroline, ‘for I’ve called to give you this.’ She handed Hester the letter, tactfully and securely wrapped. She had not read it. ‘There, that is it, dearest. But don’t ask me how I came by it.’
‘Caroline?’ Hester was as incredulous as Caroline had been. Feverishly she undid the wrapping, opened the letter and scanned it. There was pain in her eyes to see what she had written in her excessive infatuation. Then tears welled. ‘Oh, darling Caroline, thank you, thank you. You have saved my life, and I hope too you have saved my marriage.’ She embraced Caroline, then sank into an armchair and wept tears that were bitter as well as joyful.
‘I cannot stay,’ said Caroline gently, ‘I am on my way to lunch with Mr Wingrove and his mother.’
‘Yes. Yes. I shan’t detain you.’ Hester brushed away her tears and smiled mistily. ‘Mr Wingrove is so exceptionally pleasant, and such an upright gentleman. He’ll be delighted to see you looking so ravishing. We must value gentlemen like him, and fight the weaknesses we have for the other kind. Oh, Caroline, how very, very grateful I am to you.’