“If only the critics agreed with you, but they can be so cutting. Do you know, after my debut performance in a burlesque, they said that my ‘idiotic dance in petticoats might stand for something in a competitive examination for admission into the Earlswood Asylum.’ Why does one only remember the bad reviews?”

“Have there been any good ones to recall?”

“A few. A very few, actually. My Roderigo was fairly well-received, but when one treads the boards with Mrs. Kendal and Ira Aldridge, one cannot help but shine. I don’t suppose you happened to see that particular production of Othello? It was on at the Haymarket a couple of years ago. August, I think it was.”

“A month after I was sent off to Dalkeith,” Margaret said, grimacing.

“Ah yes, after you fled the ball at midnight, just like Cinderella in the pantomime. I have not had the pleasure of appearing in it, which is a pity, as I do have a fine pair of calves for a pair of breeches.” Lewis raised his leg to be admired. “Actually I have decided to bring down the curtain on my acting career, so to speak.”

“Why?”

“Alas, I am never going to be an Edmund Kean. In any event, I am a bit of a butterfly, always flitting from one endeavour to the next. Now here we are arrived in Bray. I have asked the charming coachman to drop us off at the promenade, where we can take a stroll and enjoy the fresh air. What do you say?”

“An excellent idea. I can smell the sea already.”

The River Dargle widened as they neared the harbour, and the air became distinctively briny. The nondescript little main street gave way to much more imposing buildings as the landau came to a halt on the wide promenade upon which were located several very grand hotels. A long sweep of neat gardens with a bandstand in the centre was bustling with visitors, some clustered in deck chairs, others conversing in groups. The promenade itself ran in a long straight line next to the shore, where the waves pounded up the steep strand, spraying the unwary. Margaret clutched at her hat, for the breeze had got up, and closed her eyes, tilting her face towards the sun. The sound of the sea, the swoop and cry of gulls, and the smell of salt and sand, and something indefinable that was the seaside reminded her of the sands at Portobello near Edinburgh.

She opened her eyes to smile at Lewis. “Do you think we might go for a paddle?”

He shuddered. “Aside from the fact that the water is freezing, I have no desire whatever to roll my trousers up and totter about on those pebbles trying to keep my balance. It is a most undignified prospect. I sincerely hope you are jesting.”

“I expect I am,” Margaret said, looking longingly at the sea.