‘There are messages contained within the pictures. The linings are made of dispatches: communiqués between émigrés, messages from spies here to others there, all variety of intelligence. You will be travelling with another, Monsieur Clement, who is an agent of the court at Coblenz. He is posing as a dealer of art and you will pass for his wife, an Englishwoman.’ Allenham paused and gazed down at his hands. ‘Dear Henrietta, I lament that too much of your life has been occupied in acting the part of a wife, whilst the advantages of that title have been denied to you.’ He sighed before raising his bold blue eyes to meet mine. ‘My angel, my dear sweet creature, you must understand, my existence has been a wretched one since our parting – upon both occasions. The existence I knew prior to my life here . . . I can never return to it. I can never undo that which I have witnessed and learned of men’s hearts. Ambition, wealth, pride: a gentleman’s life is predicated upon this . . . this flimsy tissue which is of no worth or meaning. If we exist for that alone, then we go to our graves without living. Here, I have watched men die for their passions, for that which they love; whether that be their convictions or those with whom they share their hearts. All that is true in this world is love. It is the stuff of our souls and it cannot be contained or directed like a channel of water to some place or person more or less appropriate. I love you, Henrietta, and I cannot think I should ever prefer the trappings of wealth and luxury, of false pride and surface pleasures to that.’ He stopped. His eyes narrowed and began to move anxiously between mine, as if he searched for something. Then he took my hands firmly into his.

‘My circumstances have not improved since we last parted. I fear that I shall one day lose Herberton and all that was bequeathed to me by my forebears. I shall not be able to maintain you in a manner befitting a gentlewoman. We shall have very little. It is likely we will be forced to live in retirement from society, or abroad for most of our days. But for the intercession of a relation – yours or mine – our children shall inherit very little, our daughters will not be provided for in marriage. However, if you will consent to accept my offer, though it is a paltry one and worthy of insult, I should like to make you my lawful wife in Rome.’