Secrets in the Regency Ballroom. Joanna Fulford

frame.

      ‘My father,’ said Marcus, by way of explanation.

      Looking at the cold, aloof expression on that face, Claire remembered what the housekeeper had told her earlier.

      ‘I can see the family likeness,’ she observed.

      ‘There is a physical likeness,’ he acknowledged. ‘Otherwise we were chalk and cheese, and it wasn’t a case of opposites attracting.’

      ‘I’m sorry to hear it.’

      ‘He did have a lot to put up with admittedly. Greville and I were no saints. We sowed some wild oats between us. The old man was glad to see the back of me in the end.’

      ‘Was that why you went to India?’

      ‘I was sent to India in consequence of a scandal,’ he replied. ‘At the time I fancied myself in love with a most ineligible young lady. We planned an elopement to Gretna Green, but my father found out and scotched the scheme just in time.’

      ‘Just in time?’

      ‘Yes. He was right in that instance. The marriage would have been an unmitigated disaster. Of course, I only realised that with the wisdom of hindsight.’

      ‘And so you found solace with the East India Company.’

      ‘Very much so. The place suited me very well and the Company offered the possibility of an exciting and varied career.’

      ‘And you never looked back?’

      ‘At first, but less and less as time went on. Eventually I came to see that what I’d believed to be love was merely boyish infatuation.’

      ‘I see.’

      ‘Do you think me fickle?’

      She shook her head. ‘No, just young—and perhaps a little foolish.’

      ‘I was certainly young, and very foolish. However, India changed that. You might say I grew up there.’

      ‘It must have been exciting.’

      ‘It was, some of the time.’

      ‘I should like to hear about it.’

      ‘Some time perhaps,’ he replied.

      The tone was courteous enough and the words accompanied with a smile, yet she knew that there had been an indefinable shift, as if an invisible barrier had come down between them. Clearly there were things about those years in India that he did not wish to discuss, and she had no right to trespass there. Was the mysterious Lakshmi among them? What had happened? Clearly he had been very deeply in love with her. In that case, why had he returned to England without her? Surely a man like Marcus Edenbridge wouldn’t give a snap of his fingers for social convention. In his position he didn’t need to. Perhaps the boot was on the other foot and the lady had not cared enough for him. Perhaps she had loved someone else and jilted him.

      Before further contemplation was possible a maidservant arrived to inform them that some parcels had arrived. Marcus excused himself and she and Lucy took themselves off to investigate. The parcels in question proved to be from the seamstress. The next hour was spent trying on the finished garments. Claire could not but admire the workmanship. It was very fine indeed and far better than she could have done herself. The new muslin dresses were neat and functional, but the lilac evening gown was a more elegant creation, fitting close at the bust and then falling in graceful folds to her feet. The bodice, though modest, revealed her figure to advantage. In comparison to London fashion she supposed it to be unremarkable, but it was, nevertheless, a more fashionable gown than any she had owned before and she knew full well she would enjoy wearing it. The riding habit was neat and elegant, the severe lines of the military-style jacket relieved by gold frog fastenings. It fitted like a glove to the waist before falling away into the full skirt. A jaunty little hat trimmed with ostrich feathers completed the ensemble. The shade and style were well suited to her figure and colouring, and at a stroke transformed her from girl to woman of fashion. The thought was both welcome and disturbing. It occurred to her to wonder what her employer would think of the transformation. Then she told herself not to be foolish. He probably wouldn’t even notice. Uncle Hector never seemed to notice such things. At the very most a new gown had called forth a grunt from that quarter. Fortunately no one else was likely to see it, so it would not attract undue attention.

      Meanwhile, Lucy had been parading up and down in front of the mirror, admiring her new riding habit from every possible angle. The colour was a perfect foil for her brown curls and blue eyes. Lifting the hem of her skirt, she stuck out a toe to see the effect of the fabric against the polished leather of a new boot. Then she smiled as her gaze met Claire’s in the glass.

      ‘Now Uncle Marcus can teach me to ride,’ she announced.