“It’s all this walking,” Sir Harry went on solicitously. “I never did take to it myself. The sooner the Prince goes back to the horseflesh the better for all of us.”

Gretna managed to laugh, but all the way back along the Stein she was thinking of only one thing – the Marquis and Eloise.

Eloise, whose name she had heard that very first night at Stade Hall. Eloise Jenkins, who had bewitched London with her acting in Mr. Sheridan’s plays, whose entrancing smile and graceful manner had seemed to Gretna beyond compare the only time she had seen her at the theatre.

She had felt then that she could understand why the Marquis had fallen for anyone so lovely, so talented and so graceful. But she had believed, as she had heard so often, that Mistress Jenkins had transferred her attentions to Lord Buckhurst.

Supposing now she desired the Marquis again? Gretna clenched her fingers together. She felt that she could hardly bear it.

To know that the Marquis was angry with her was one thing. To believe that he no longer cared or that he was indifferent to her was infinitely more painful to bear.

They arrived back at Maria’s house and the Prince and Sir Harry both stayed for a dish of tea and then made their farewells.

“We will not dine with you tonight, Sire.” Maria said as the Prince kissed her hand. “I have a slight headache and I am feared it may turn into a cold. I will go to bed early. It will be wisest, I am sure of it.”

“You must do as you wish,” the Prince replied. “But it will be a long evening without you! You know that, Maria, don’t you?”

“Nonsense, Sire,” she replied, smiling into his eyes. You know that you have some very agreeable company this evening. You will not miss me in the slightest.”

“I always miss you,” he added, “every moment and every second you are not there.”

Gretna saw his fingers tighten on Maria’s hand. For a long moment they looked at each other and then the Prince made one of his beautiful bows, which were the model for all the young beaux, and left the room.

“Is your head bad?” Gretna asked Maria.

“It is actually” Maria answered, “I cannot think why, unless I am indeed starting a cold. I pray that is not so. The Prince fidgets when I have an ailment, however slight.”

“Then retire to bed at once,” Gretna urged her. “I will order your dinner on a tray. What would you fancy?”

“You must have yours beside me,” Maria suggested. “Choose what you wish, dearest. I am not in the least hungry.”

That was obviously true. When the dinner was brought up to her bedchamber, Maria took a few mouthfuls of chicken soup and then set down her spoon and swore that she could eat no more.