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painted fan. ‘And is this your new governess, my dear?’ She looked past Clementine at Sidonie, who curtseyed. ‘How kind she looks.’
    Mrs Garland beckoned Sidonie forward. ‘Clementine may remain downstairs for two hours,’ she whispered, slightly slurring her words. Her breath smelt strongly of red wine and violet pastilles. ‘We will be playing cards later and I want her back upstairs before then.’
    ‘Of course,’ Sidonie replied. There was no point pointing out to Mrs Garland that learning how to play cards properly in company was as important to an aspiring young noblewomen   these days as the ability to speak Italian, strum a harp or paint pretty watercolours of ruined castles.
    ‘So how long do we have?’ Clementine whispered as she and Sidonie went to sit down in the opposite corner to her mother. ‘I’m usually banished upstairs after half an hour.’
    ‘Well, you are in luck today then, because I have been instructed to keep you down here for a whole two hours,’ Sidonie replied. She sat down then looked around the room with an appreciative eye, taking in the pretty little crystal chandeliers that stood on marble pillars in the corners and the collection of rather clumsily executed mythological paintings that hung on the pale yellow painted walls. The drawing room was typical of rented houses everywhere - half empty and decorated with a blandly impersonal elegance.
    There were perhaps two dozen people present, which was rather more than she had been expecting and she watched them from beneath her lowered lashes as they sauntered tipsily around the room, champagne glasses in hand, mouths stretched wide in bright, glittering smiles.
    ‘So you must be Miss Roche then?’ A tall handsome man had come to stand before her. He was holding two glasses of champagne, one of which he handed to her with a smile. His dark eyes were appreciative as he looked her over and she found herself blushing a little. ‘I am Mr Garland. I am sorry that we haven’t yet had a chance to meet but I have been kept busy all day.’ He handed his daughter the other glass of champagne then briefly touched a finger to her nose. ‘And how do you like my girl?’
    Sidonie immediately rose to her feet and curtseyed. ‘I like your girl very much,’ she replied honestly with a smile at Clementine, who was gazing up at her father with eyes full of love. Seeing this made Sidonie feel much less uneasy about her pupil - that her mother was bordering on indifferent was plain to see so it was a relief to know that her father appeared to be genuinely fond of her.
    ‘What do you think of Papa?’ she asked as soon as he had wandered away again.  
    Sidonie laughed. ‘He is very impressive,’ she said, sipping her champagne. ‘He seems like a very kind man.’
    ‘Oh, he is!’ Clementine replied, spilling her drink a little in her enthusiasm. ‘The kindest ever! If I should marry then I hope that it is to someone just like him.’
    ‘We’ll have to see what we can do.’ Sidonie watched as Mr Garland walked around the room, very confident and at his ease as he paused to talk to one man, share a joke with another then laughingly clap the back of a third. Not once did he look across to his wife who, she noted, was staring at him intently as he walked back and forth but he did have a few sidelong admiring glances to spare for his daughters’ pretty friend, Phoebe Knowles, who looked gorgeous in a gown of sequin spangled peach coloured silk and gauze.
    She was so engrossed in watching Mr Garland that she failed to notice the drawing room door open until Clementine gently elbowed her. ‘The Comte,’ she whispered.
    Sidonie shrank back into her chair as the Comte Jules gave one swift look around the room, missing her totally, but sharing a warm smile with Venetia Wrotham, who tossed her hair and turned her back on him. Utterly undaunted, he gave a chuckle and strolled idly over to his hostess. Mrs Garland smiled and simpered as he