‘I would not dare,’ said she, attempting to catch my eye. She offered me a tender smile. ‘You have made your thoughts quite plain upon that matter, and if your lover failed to persuade you to do so, I do not anticipate enjoying much success at it. But if you have truly determined to remain upon these shores, then I would advise you not to pine away another hour. Nor should you permit yourself to become consumed in the fruitless pursuit of him. You must consider your lot as no different from that of a sea captain’s wife. She does not think herself abandoned when her husband’s frigate leaves port, for he has promised to return to her. It is not so dissimilar, is it, my dear?’

I contemplated her words. While her argument was a reasonable one, I was not so certain my heart wished to embrace it.

Mrs Elliot continued to peer at me with a hopeful look, as if she half expected me to give up my struggle that instant. I brightened my expression to please her.

‘Come then,’ she announced, rising from her chair. ‘Now that you are dressed, we shall tend to your bruise.’

As my hostess led me from the room, I glanced at Thérèse, who had returned to the task of sorting my attire, and prayed for Lucy’s swift return with my remaining boxes.

We passed through two sets of doors and across the black and white marble floor of the landing to her apartments. There she led me into her dressing room, which proved a marvellous spectacle: a veritable pageant of decoratively painted walls bearing ornate classical designs, lyres and staffs and vases in carnation pink, sea green and china blue. I had never spied a room so à la mode as this, with its Roman couches and tripod tables. She brought me to her dressing table, which was painted with scrolls of ivy and tiny colourful flowers. Upon it resided the greatest assortment of emulsions, powders, boxes, eaux de toilette and glass jars I had ever before seen.

‘Poor lamb,’ she sighed, leaning over me. ‘Only a monster would attempt to make a pudding of a face so fair.’ She then turned me towards the looking glass.

Until that moment, I had not possessed the courage to gaze upon myself, for I had imagined some great balloon of flesh to have risen from my left side. Instead, I was pleased to see only a black oblong bruise, encircled with burgundy, resting at the base of the cheekbone. I touched it lightly with my fingers, and then recoiled with pain. I could not think how long it would take to heal, nor how I might go about concealing it.