“Oh, goodness, no,” Bisquet said comfortably. “I heard as the ice is twenty fathoms deep. Look over there, madam, a horse and six, just as safe as if they were going down the cobblestone of our own street.”

“Where are the sleighs?”

“Beyond the ice-carving palladium,” her coachman said. “There, where you see the crimson awning? Supposedly the finest ice carvers in the kingdom are at work, and the king himself will judge them on Friday . . . if the ice lasts. Yet people are saying it might last two months, just as in the cold snap of ’40.”

Viola was waving her red-mittened hands. “Snow!” she crowed.

Behind them, the horses were stamping their feet.

Followed by Peters, the groom, Ophelia walked down the gentle slope and stepped onto the ice. It was covered by a trampled layer of snow, so it wasn’t slippery, and they set out happily for the row of stores.

They stopped at every stall, Viola clapping at the sight of hot cider, carved wooden horses, gingerbread men . . . Whatever was for sale, she applauded. Since she was an extremely pretty little girl, her sweet face encircled with a halo of white rabbit fur, even the most hard-bitten of London merchants found himself smiling at her and offering free samples.

Ophelia couldn’t allow people to give away their wares for free, so she kept nodding to Peters, following her with a purse. Before long he was festooned with string bags containing everything from apples to a carved dolly and, over his shoulder, a hobbyhorse with a red ribbon.

Now and then Ophelia and Viola met people whom they knew: the vicar and his wife, cheerily walking arm-in-arm; one of her cousins somewhat-removed who told her that he’d just eaten the best roast beef of his life; one of Peter’s school friends, Lord Melton.

He was a robust man with a neatly trimmed beard that turned his chin into an exclamation mark.

He greeted Ophelia with a smile and bow, while she racked her brain trying to remember whether he was married or not. She certainly didn’t want to be courted by Lord Melton. All the same, her arm was beginning to ache, and when he offered to carry Viola, she gratefully agreed.

Viola cheerfully went to him, patting his cheek with her red-mittened hands by way of greeting.

They strolled over together to sample a hot chocolate drink imported from the continent, and then headed toward the ice-carving pavilion. Lord Melton was so obviously admiring that Ophelia felt her spirits, dented by Maddie’s news about the Duke of Lindow, rise.

She might not have been desirable enough to ensnare the Duke of Lindow for more than one heady night, but Lord Melton was showing every sign of considering himself ensnared.