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would not have tolerated it, had they not been almost the same age, and known one another all their lives.
    ‘No, he obviously wasn’t very interested in me, either,’ replied Eustacia in a deflated tone, after a brief pause.
    Trixie leaned across and grasped her mistress’s hand. ‘I told youhe wasn’t good enough for you,’ she said. ‘You’d do better to have a look at that rake that her ladyship was talking about.’
    ‘I don’t think so,’ said Eustacia, chuckling despite herself. ‘If Morrison wasn’t good enough for me, then I’m sure that Lord Ashbourne would be much too bad, as well as being far too old. And he probably has gout.’
    ‘How old is he then, Miss Stacia?’ asked Trixie, sitting back comfortably in her seat.
    ‘I think he is a little younger than Mama,’ replied Eustacia. ‘I know that my godmother is two years older than Mama, and that she is Lord Ashbourne’s older sister by a few years.’
    ‘Too old to be a match for you, then,’ Trixie observed. ‘Maybe not too old for a little flirtation, though.’
    ‘Trixie,’ said Eustacia in warning tones. But Trixie was already leaning back with her eyes closed, and a faint smile upon her lips.
    As the girl dozed off, to dream, no doubt, of being chased by rakes, Eustacia sat and thought about her godmother. She knew that Lady Hope and Lady Agatha had met in Bath when Lady Hope, then Claire Delahay was the toast of the town. Miss Delahay had appeared at one or two select evening parties, always accompanied by her chaperon, giving poetry recitations and then remaining as a guest. A drunken gentleman – possibly Lord Ilam, although Eustacia had never found out for certain – had made a nuisance of himself and Lady Agatha had intervened, rescuing the actress from serious assault. The two had been firm friends ever since, the earl’s daughter blithely disregarding those of the polite world who said that befriending a woman from the theatre would prove to be her social ruin.
    Had Lady Agatha ever been obliged to pay for that unwise friendship, Eustacia wondered. Was that why she had married a country clergyman, albeit of a good family, instead of enjoying the glittering career that should surely have been the lot of a wealthy earl’s daughter? What attitude had her mother and father taken?
    Her mind turned to her own home and parents, and a tear slid down her cheek. She could not remember the last time she had gone away without Mama and Papa. She had looked forward tothe idea of her own establishment; she had not anticipated leaving them like this!
    After a moment or two, she brushed her tears away determinedly and opened the book that she had brought with her to while away the journey. It was the volume by Mary Wollstonecraft that she had taken to her room after she had been jilted. She read for a little while before coming upon a sentence which seemed appropriate to her own situation.
    My own sex, I hope, will excuse me, if I treat them like rational creatures instead of flattering their fascinating graces, and viewing them as if they were in a state of perpetual childhood, unable to stand alone … I wish to persuade women to endeavour to acquire strength, both of mind and body…
    The author was right, she decided. She must not be so childish. She had become so used to thinking about her future as being entwined with that of Morrison that she had lost sight of her own strengths and abilities. It was time for her to stand on her own feet. Perhaps this time spent with her godmother would help her to do so. At length, like Trixie, Eustacia, too, closed her eyes, and soon she was asleep.
     
    It was only mid-afternoon when they arrived at the village of Illingham, set in the heart of the Derbyshire peaks. It was not a large village, comprising little more than a single street, a few houses around a village green, together with a pretty inn – the Olde Oak – a fine Norman church, a small shop and a manor house. On entering the