The mansion was too large for one child and she had been afraid of its endless corridors, certain there must be ghosts watching her from the shadowed alcoves. Now, on her wedding day, it felt much the same, except for the fact that the house smelled of blossoms and broken promises, and Beatrice felt alive and sure of herself for the first time.

She decided to go to the Blue Drawing Room. It faced the croquet lawn and she thought to catch Eustace’s attention by waving at him from the window. But when she opened the door, she found the room already occupied. Her huge wolfhound, Wilkie, wandered over to lick her hand, and her friend Rosa Warren looked up from the long table covered with crimson cloth on which the wedding gifts had been laid out.

Beatrice had first met Rosa at her aunt’s town house during the Season last year and, although she’d only known her a short time, she liked the nineteen-year-old American very much. Rosa was an heiress and a master artificer who never passed up an opportunity to flaunt her family’s immense wealth, even going so far as to decorate her opera box for the Season with a constant supply of prized and exotic white orchids. Not only that, but she brimmed with confidence and automatically assumed she was the social equal of everyone she met. Beatrice had never met anyone quite like her.

At the train station last summer, a gentleman in their party had explained how it simply wasn’t appropriate for Rosa to go into the buffet, since this was a male preserve. She had cheerfully told him not to be such a dolt and then marched straight in, her clockwork pug trotting at her heels, and ordered a stirrup cup. Everyone had been terribly shocked, and rather disapproving. Beatrice alone had smiled at her in quiet admiration, and from that moment the two women had formed an unlikely friendship, despite the fact that they could hardly be more different.

‘Why, honey!’ Rosa exclaimed now. ‘What a breathtaking dress!’

‘I’m the wrong b-bride to wear it,’ Beatrice replied.

‘Nonsense. You’re a vision,’ Rosa said. ‘I was just finding a place for your wedding gift, but as you’re here, I’ll present him to you in person.’

She held out both her gloved hands. Cupped inside was an extraordinary clockwork peacock. Sensing it was being looked at, the bird immediately spread out its tail. Its frame was made of pale gold with real sapphires studded amongst the metal feathers. In places it was possible to glimpse the delicate clockwork cogs within, clicking and whirring their constant heartbeat hum. It gave a tinny shriek in greeting and Beatrice stared at it, speechless. She recognised this peacock. She had seen it before, many years ago.