Startled, Anne-Marie jerked her hand back. Jane winced, for she had not wished to draw attention to the satchel nor its contents, and now she surely had done so.

‘If I am dressed as a man, it will appear strange if I let you carry a burden for me.’ Jane bent down and swung the satchel to her other shoulder, careful to keep the end with the glass Sphère well away from the easel. ‘I will, however, ask you to introduce me to the stable-master, who I am rather hoping will not recognise me.’

‘Of course, madame – or should I rather say “monsieur”?’ She waited until Jane nodded before continuing. ‘And how shall I introduce you?’

‘I am Henri Villeneuve, come to study with M. Chastain but arrived too late.’ Jane strode to the door, her trousers clinging to her legs. She would be grateful to return to her dresses when this was over.

‘But . . . your French. It is much improved, but you still have an English accent.’

‘My parents were émigrées. I am, of course, deeply embarrassed by my accent and long to return to my motherland.’ In truth, Jane would endeavour not to speak at all, for even if her accent would pass, her voice was too high to be a man’s.

At the stable, Jane encountered an unexpected problem. The stable master had saddled the bay gelding with a side-saddle.

Jane cleared her throat and then realized that she did not know the word for a gentlemen’s saddle in French. She leaned close to Anne-Marie. ‘What did you tell him?’

‘That I needed a horse for Mme Vincent.’

‘Then tell him you meant Mme Vincent’s friend. I cannot ride a side-saddle in these garments without remark.’

Anne-Marie twisted the corner of her apron. ‘I will not.’

‘You confuse me.’

‘You cannot ride astride in your situation.’

‘I am not going for a gallop. We will walk there and back. Having ridden astride before, it is easier to keep one’s seat.’

‘You have said that I have taken everything I could from you. There is yet one more thing, and I will not be blamed for the loss of your child.’ Anne-Marie crossed her arms and backed up a step. ‘No, sir, I know it must surprise you but there are things to which even I will not be a party. I will not put a woman who is increasing astride a horse. All of your actions today are a mark of nervous disorder, and I well know that the fault is mine, but this is wildest folly.’

Jane inhaled through her nose, jaw clenched. She recognised the truth of what Anne-Marie said, and though she did not want to admit it, she should not attempt riding. Yet she must get to Quatre Bras, and the distance was too great to cover on foot, particularly with the easel and satchel. ‘Is there a cart or phaeton of some sort?’

‘I will ask.’