Perhaps it was only what he was here to do. Ousting Raymond de Guise from his position in the Grand had not been in Vivienne’s plans – but this was not to say that it did not entertain her. She had sent him that letter as a token of her affection, but as an apology too. The fact that he had not replied was a constant reminder of how he had spurned her.

But I won’t be spurned for ever. I’m going to show them – show my mother, show my stepfather – that I’m not a girl to be forgotten. Not somebody to be shut away and ignored. You can’t just drag a girl from her home and her society and deposit her here and expect her to be quiet.

Suddenly, she stood. ‘Nathaniel, I’ll show you why.’

*

Vivienne opened the door to the shadowy studio behind the ballroom but hovered in the doorway before permitting Nathaniel through. ‘You’ll be here with Miss Marchmont soon, I shouldn’t wonder. To show her how it ought to be done,’ said Vivienne. ‘Well, don’t you want to see it for yourself?’

Nathaniel knew he was being baited. There was a temptress’s look in Vivienne’s eyes, but she took him by the fingers and placed them on the door – and Nathaniel did not want to resist.

He stepped through and stopped short in surprise.

At this time of day, with the dancers preparing to step out into the ballroom, the practice studio ought to have been empty. And yet there he was: Raymond de Guise, still battered and bruised, still holding his body more rigidly than any natural dancer, slowly waltzing around the room with a girl in his arms. He did not look so mighty, thought Nathaniel. In a certain light, he barely even looked noble. Certainly not as noble as Vivienne’s father or Nathaniel’s, or any of the rest of their set. Yes, he thought, Raymond looked . . . like a common barrow boy. His nose had been ill-set and one of his eyes was barely showing through the swelling of his face. His broken foot was in an open boot but he barely put any weight on it as he moved. The girl was practically holding him up. Whoever had ambushed this man seemed to have taken all his dignity and bearing.

Nathaniel noticed the girl in his arms almost as soon as he noticed Raymond de Guise. She was petite, with dark hair and a delicate heart-shaped face, her expression alive with the enjoyment of the moment. But she moved awkwardly too. One of her legs hardly seemed to obey instructions; it lagged, a fraction of each second, behind the rest of her body.

‘Two cripples,’ Vivienne whispered cruelly, ‘fit only for each other.’