Chapter One

      It was more than a year after the decisive battle at Waterloo that Jack Clifton returned to England. As he rode away from his comrades and the army, which had been his life for more than a decade, there were two commissions that he had assigned himself before he could attend to his own affairs. One was to return Allyngham’s ring and locket to his widow, but first he would make a trip to a small country churchyard in Berkshire.

      The little village outside Thatcham was deserted and there was no one to see the dusty traveller tie his horse to the gatepost of the churchyard. Jack shrugged off his greatcoat and threw it over the saddle. The rain that had accompanied him all the way from the coast had eased and now a hot September sun blazed overhead. He strode purposefully between the graves until he came to a small plot in one corner, shaded by the overhanging beech trees. The grave was marked only by a headstone. There were no flowers on the grassy mound and he was momentarily surprised, then his lip curled.

      ‘Who is there but me to mourn your passing?’ he muttered.

      He knelt beside the grave, gently placing a bunch of white roses against the headstone.

      ‘For you, Clara. I pray you are at peace now.’

      He rose, removed his hat and stood, bareheaded in the sun for a few moments then, squaring his shoulders, he turned away from the grave and set his mind towards London.

      Eloise clutched at her escort’s arm as they entered Lady Parham’s crowded reception rooms.

      ‘I am glad you are with me, Alex, to give me courage.’

      ‘You have never wanted courage, Elle.’

      She managed one speaking look at him before she turned to greet her hostess, who was sweeping towards her, beaming.

      ‘My dear Lady Allyngham! I am delighted to see you here. And honoured, too, that you should attend my little ball when everyone is quite desperate for your company! Some expected to see you in the summer, but depend upon it, I said, we will not see Lady Allyngham until the Little Season. She will not come to town until the full twelve months’ mourning is done. As the widow of a hero of Waterloo we should not expect anything less. And Mr Mortimer, too. Welcome, sir.’

      Lady Parham’s sharp little eyes flickered over Alex. Eloise knew exactly the thoughts running through her hostess’s mind and felt a little kick of anger. Everyone in town thought Alex was her lover. Nothing she could say would convince them otherwise, so she did not make the attempt. Besides, it suited her purposes to have the world think she was Alex’s mistress. She had seen too many virtuous women hounded by rakes and roués until their resolve crumbled away. At least while the gentlemen thought she was living under Alex’s protection they might flirt with her but they would not encroach upon another man’s territory. Yet occasionally it galled her, when she saw that knowing look in the eyes of hostesses such as Lady Parham.

      Twelve months of mourning had done much to assuage the feelings of grief and loss that had overwhelmed Eloise when she had learned of Tony’s death. Through those lonely early weeks Alex had always been there to support her and to share her suffering. He was a true friend: they had grown up together and she loved him as a brother. She did not want the world to think him a deceitful womaniser who would steal his best friend’s husband, but Alex assured her he was happy to be thought of as her cicisbeo.

      ‘If it satisfies their curiosity then we should let it be,’ he told her, adding with a rueful smile, ‘Much less dangerous than the truth, Elle.’

      And Eloise was forced to admit it kept the wolves at bay. Now she fixed her smile as she regarded her hostess, determined no one should think her anything less than happy.

      ‘Mr Mortimer was kind enough to escort me this evening.’

      ‘La, but you need no escort to my parties, dear ma’am. I am sure you will find only friends here.’

      ‘Yes, the sort of friends who smile and simper and cannot wait to tear my character to shreds behind my back,’ muttered Eloise, when her hostess had turned her attention to another arrival. Angrily she shook out the apricot skirts of her high-waisted gown.

      ‘They are jealous because you cast them all into the shade,’ remarked Alex.

      ‘I did not think it would be so difficult,’ sighed Eloise, ‘coming back into society again.’

      ‘We could always go back to Allyngham.’

      ‘If I were not so determined to get on with fulfilling Tony’s last wish to build a foundling hospital I would leave now!’ muttered Eloise angrily. After a moment she squeezed Alex’s arm and gave a rueful little smile. ‘No, in truth, I would not. I have no wish to be an outcast and live all my life in the country. I am no recluse, Alex. I want to be able to come to London and—and dance, or visit the theatre, or join a debating society. But I could do none of these things if you were not with me, my friend.’

      ‘You could, if you would only hire yourself a respectable companion.’

      She pulled a face.

      ‘That might give me respectability, but I would still be vulnerable. Even worse, it might make people think I was on the catch for another husband.’

      ‘And is there anything wrong with that?’

      ‘Everything,’ she retorted. ‘I have been my own mistress for far too long to want to change my situation.’

      ‘But you might fall in love, you know.’

      She glanced up at him and found herself responding to his smile.

      ‘I might, of course, but it is unlikely.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘I have some experience of a sincere, deep devotion, Alex. Only a true meeting of minds could persuade me to contemplate another marriage. But such a partnership