Author’s Note

The Duchess of Devonshire, Lord Alvanley and Lord Worcester were all real people and close friends of the Prince of Wales. Lord Yarmouth, who became the Marquis of Hertford, founded the Wallace Collection, the majority of treasures coming from the collection of George IV as described in this story.

The rest of the pictures, furniture, bronzes and porcelain from Carlton House are now in the possession of Her Majesty the Queen.

Paytherus and Company a year or so later became Savory and Moore and are today still in the same shop in Bond Street.

Chapter One ~ 1799

“I think you will find that a somewhat precarious position,” a deep voice drawled.

The girl standing on the balustrade and holding onto an ornamental stone urn gave a little cry.

Below her on the garden path there was a gentleman. Even in the faint light of the stars she could see that he was very elegant.

His frilled shirt and high cravat were white against the darkness of the shrubs.

For a moment she stared down at him and, as her skirts moved in the breeze from the river, she seemed to sway towards the darkness of the water.

Then she looked away.

“I am – all right. Please leave me – alone.”

“I have an uncomfortable feeling,” the gentleman remarked, “that I may have to ruin this new coat that has just come from my tailors. There is a strong tide at this point of the Thames.”

“I know – that,” the girl murmured almost beneath her breath.

Then, as the gentleman waited, she said with a note of defiance in her voice,

“It’s – none of your – business.”

“It is regrettable,” the gentleman replied, “but I have an irrepressible Samaritarian instinct. I find it impossible to ‘pass by on the other side’.”

There was silence.

Then the girl, still swaying above him, said in a voice so low that he could hardly hear it,

“There is – nothing else I can – do.”

“Are you sure of that?” he asked.

“Quite sure.”

“Let us at least discuss it,” he suggested. “If you have a problem, I am confident I will be able to solve it.”

“Not – mine.”

“Are you prepared to bet on that?”

There was a hint of laughter in the slow drawling voice, which seemed to arouse her anger.

Once again she turned to look down at him.

“Go away!” she cried almost rudely. “You have no right – to interfere! Go back to the ball. There will be no reason – for you to get your coat wet.”

She tried to utter the last sentence scathingly, but somehow her voice was only breathless and rather frightened.

“I want to talk to you,” the gentleman said. “If you can convince me that what you are intending is right, then I promise I will leave you alone.”

He stretched up his hand as he spoke.

There was something authoritative about him that made the girl instinctively put her hand in his.