Not that she would be elsewhere. She’d never thought meanly of herself for being in service; but to be a governess was the occupation of respectable people, and she cherished her new-found respectability. Besides, although it was early days still, she found Georgiana most amenable. Indeed, she was certain that she herself learned more from her charge than the other way round. For what, in truth, could she, Annie Gildea, whose father had kept the tolbooth in Hounslow, impart to Miss Hervey, whose late mother had been ‘Lady Henrietta’, and whose paternal aunt, who’d raised her after her sad death, was lately married to a baron (and a German baron at that)?

Annie, too, had practised dry. She took up the pistol determinedly from the table and fixed on a percussion cap, Serjeant Acton handed her a cartridge and she bit off the end, trying not to grimace at the taste of the tallow as she took the ball between her teeth. She poured in the powder, spat in the ball and pushed in the wadding confidently enough, tamped it not too gingerly (she couldn’t let Georgiana see a moment’s hesitation – and she certainly wasn’t going to give Acton the satisfaction), then extended her arm in the prescribed manner.

‘I shall be well, Serjeant Acton,’ she said equally determinedly as he moved to support her. (It seemed unnecessary that he should take hold as if they were dancing.)

‘As you wish, Miss Gildea. In your own time, then; fire.’

The ball nicked the edge of the round, tell-tale bits of straw adding to Annie’s dismay. But she’d been ready for the recoil at least, and her feet remained as they were.

‘A little gentler with the trigger, Miss, and arm locked. That’s all.’

‘Another cartridge then, please, Serjeant Acton.’

He made to bite off the end.

‘No, I must do it for myself.’

She bit off the cartridge with every impression of meaning business, and loaded deftly (she’d long observed how a woman’s fingers were nimbler than a man’s, and told herself there was no reason it shouldn’t be so with powder and ball).

This time her arm was ramrod straight. She lowered the pistol and squeezed the trigger in one movement.

The ball was so close to the centre mark that even Acton couldn’t suppress a smile. ‘A fine shot, Miss. You need do no more.’

But Annie thought she must – at least as many as Georgiana had. Besides, she was not at all sure that her fine shot hadn’t been a chance one.

Three more were enough to demonstrate Acton’s pronouncement that accuracy was not the same as marksmanship – spread left and right of the centre mark – but both she and her charge could now leave the butts contented.

‘Thank you, Serjeant Acton,’ said Georgiana, smiling as winningly as ever her mother had, with the confidence of her station and the innocence of her years.

‘An honour, Miss.’

‘Thank you, too,’ said Annie, though careful not to smile quite so much as she would have done before she became ‘Miss Gildea’. She’d always found Acton the most decent of men – like Corporal Johnson and Serjeant Stray – and she wished to keep it that way. She’d been trusted beyond her station in being made a governess, and she’d no wish to let down Colonel Hervey – or indeed Mrs Hervey. What other secrets of her heart there were must bide their time, even if an eternity.