Your letter of last night afforded me more satisfaction than I can find words to express, as it is an additional proof to me, which I assure you I did not want, of your having that true regard and affection for me that it is not only the wish but the ambition of my life to merit.

Make yourself easy, my dear friend. Believe me, the world will soon be convinced that there not only is not but never was any ground for these reports, which of late have been so malevolently circulated. I have not seen you since the Apostasy of Eden.

Believe me at all times, my dear Charles, most affectionately yours,

George .

Carlton House

Sunday morning, 2 o’clock, December 11, 1785.”

As Gretna finished reading the letter, she felt as if someone had given her a sharp blow. Her heart felt leaden and her lips were dry.

She folded the letter together and passed it back to the Marquis.

She turned again to the window, her back towards him.

There was a moment’s poignant silence and then the Marquis said in a matter of fact tone,

“My carriage is waiting. How long will it take you to be ready?”

Gretna closed her eyes.

It seemed to her as if her throat was constricted. She felt too as if the whole world waited for her answer – the world that she had known, a small world, but nevertheless her own. And then quite clearly it seemed to her that she heard her father saying,

“There is nothing more despicable than a man or a woman who change their loyalties merely through force of circumstance.”

Loyalty was little to the mind but everything to the heart. That was the answer. That was what she wanted to know.

There was no longer any difficulty in making her decision.

She turned round and faced the Marquis.

“I am not going with you,” she said simply. “I am staying here with Maria. She needs me.”

The Marquis’s eyes met hers. She saw the anger and what seemed to her the disdain in them before she dropped her head and her eyelashes swept her cheek as the colour rose in a crimson flood.

Something boiled up inside her, something that made her lose control of herself.

Her chin went up and she faced the Marquis defiantly.

Before she could prevent the words, they burst from her lips,

“G-go away,” she stormed. “You s-spoil everything, besmirch everything. I was happy and now – it is all spoiled. I h-hate you – yes, hate you!”

The Marquis bowed.

It was an ironical bow that somehow managed to turn what was a courtesy into an insult.

“I think,” he said slowly, “that you will be well suited to the life you have chosen.”

Gretna met his eyes. She felt that the fire in his was echoed in her own.

She watched him cross the room, saw the door open and close behind him.