Out on to the thick filth of the road stepped a pair of high black boots. Attached to them was a pair of neatly tailored doeskin breeches and a voluminous heather-coloured greatcoat. The traveller wore his high-crowned black hat set at a slight angle, so that one of his fair eyebrows could be seen, while the remainder of his long, pale face was hidden beneath a modishly alluring shadow. He held his nose aloft like a French courtier, and approached our wreck almost upon his toes. His coachman, footman and all of our party tripped anxiously behind him. It was only once he caught sight of my round blue eyes and pretty blond curls that his haughty look melted into one of pleasant surprise. He smiled boldly and then gave a gracious and slightly overblown bow.

‘Mademoiselle,’ he exclaimed. ‘What inconvenience you have suffered here! I have been informed that you and your maid are unharmed but that your axletree has given way. I pledge to aid you in any manner required. Please, may I assist you and your woman from the carriage and into the comfort of my own?’ He opened the door and extended a buff leather glove to me. Gingerly, I placed my half-boot upon the sludge, while lifting the hem of my brown riding habit. He then performed the same courtesy to my maid, simpering throughout, as if he had the pleasure of escorting a duchess through the muck.

‘I am Monsieur Andrew Savill of Thornton Hall in the County of Hampshire in England,’ said he, taking my arm and guiding me to his coach. ‘And pray tell me, mademoiselle, into whose service have I the honour of placing myself?’

I did not hesitate.

‘I am Lady Allenham, sir.’

At that, a ripple of amusement moved across his mouth. ‘An Englishwoman! Travelling unaccompanied upon the roads of France!’ he declared in our native tongue. His words were laced with an Irishman’s brogue.

‘Why yes, Mr Savill . . . and I must say, you sound like no Hampshire man I have ever chanced to meet.’

My rescuer’s expression deepened into a cordial smile.