‘So you have not given me up?’ Mary sank to the floor, weak with relief. The dog climbed into her lap.

‘Give up?’ He rubbed both hands through his hair and stared, all astonishment. ‘What can you mean? Every day, all hours, I have been out in search – Lord Byron is run ragged – I thought – I feared—’

‘Oh, dearest. They have not treated me ill.’ She froze as the door to the breakfast room opened; breathed again at the sight of a maid. ‘But they are taking me to London next week, intent on keeping us apart. I fear you will find my father’s mind is unchanged.’

‘Then it must fall to me to persuade that mind otherwise.’ The lopsided grin proved he still brimmed with self-confidence. He began to bounce on his heels, buoyant as if at the start of a game or a hunt. The very idea of defeat was to him an anathema. That he might find his match in the short, stocky person of Sir Edward Knatchbull was not a thought one such as Ned could begin to entertain.

Mary gazed down upon him – drank in his presence while she still had it before her – marvelled at his spirit, and loved him completely.

CHAPTER XXX

‘Well, at last and thank goodness,’ exclaimed Lady Banks from the depths of her armchair as the footman announced Mary’s name. ‘I know you have been in Town for three weeks and had started to think you have forgotten me. Indeed, I’d surrendered all hope.’

‘Dear Aunt.’ Mary traversed the gloom of the great Portland Place drawing room and planted a kiss on a cheek heavy with rouge. ‘Here you are, snug in your mansion, yet speaking as one who has dropped down a well and is waiting for rescue.’

‘My dear girl, you have quite put your finger on it.’ She tossed aside her embroidery ring which had not, Mary noticed, moved forward in more than a year. ‘Summed up old age. Half deaf, half blind: praying for release. Now.’ Lady Banks put both hands in Mary’s and squinted up. ‘Let me look at you. Ah, yes. Peak perfection, I’d call it. A remarkable specimen. If my husband – God rest his soul – were still with us, he’d put pins in both hands and frame you in glass. Is my god-daughter not lovely, Miss Fairfax?’

Mary had not before noticed the grey, almost elderly lady asleep by the fire. She was clearly the latest in a long line of companions; none was yet to find favour.

‘Miss Fairfax!’ This met no reaction. ‘The Lord only knows why one bothers. Now, tell me your news.’

Mary presented a careful, anodyne account of the last turbulent weeks.

‘Very good.’ Lady Banks pursed her lips and raised one emphatic brow, artlessly blackened with coal dust. ‘Thank you for that, dear. Now, why don’t you sit down and pay me the compliment of speaking the tr-r-ruth?’