The room glitters with light. Most of the guests have already arrived and, like us, are costumed in an array of fantastical disguises. Angelica is trembling with excitement. The toile of her fairy skirt flutters as she hops from foot to foot, and the silver wings she has fastened to her back quiver as if at any moment she might fly. Clive, who has accompanied us to the party, disappears into the crowd. I watch him spinning from group to group like a child’s top. I hold on to Angelica and steer her toward the refreshment table. A woman dressed in breeches with a pirate’s patch over one eye waves. Immediately I change direction. It is too late. The figure bears down on us.

“Darlings! You look perfectly delicious! I could eat you both!” Lydia plants red lips on each of my cheeks before turning to Angelica.

“What an angel!” She links a hand through both our arms. The stuffed parrot on her shoulder lurches.

“Now, I demand all the news! Is it true that you and Duncan have been commissioned to decorate the royal yacht?”

Before I can contradict her, Lydia spies someone on the far side of the room and, with a final exhortation to help ourselves to water ices, dives back into the party.

To my relief I see you and Leonard standing by the window. We make our way across to you. You exclaim over Angelica’s costume then turn to me.

“You look as if you have been Lydia’d.”

“How Maynard can think of marrying such a creature is beyond me!”

We both laugh. You slip your arm through mine.

“Come on, let’s leave Leonard and Angelica to fight for ices and find ourselves somewhere to sit.”

We make our way to a quiet corner and settle ourselves on two empty chairs. You lean toward me.

“How are you feeling?”

I nod.

“Better. It’s lovely having Angelica. Billy . . .”

You stop me, as if you know what I am struggling to say.

“Dearest, don’t.”

Before I can protest, Leonard is hurrying toward us, his face pale.

“I’ve left Angelica with Duncan,” he begins by way of explanation. “I’ve just spoken to Mary. Lytton died this morning.”

Instinctively, you reach for my hand. This is the news we have all been dreading.

“And Carrington?”

“Ralph is with her. She’s in a terrible state, apparently.”

For a moment no one speaks. The news is too abrupt, too raw. We all remember Carrington’s suicide attempt when it first became clear that Lytton was seriously ill. You stare at the floor.

“I shall write to her. Ask her to come and stay.”

Leonard sits beside you and puts his arm round you.

“Ralph is terrified of leaving her alone.”

Suddenly you burst out.

“She must not be allowed to end it! Lytton loved her. As long as she lives, something of him—perhaps the best part of him—continues.”