As Grace made her way back to the dining table she saw Tavington draining a glass of wine, a cigar poised in one hand. He was deep in conversation with her grandfather. She had the sudden urge to bolt in the opposite direction, but, unfortunately for her, Lord Cornwallis saw her and ushered her over.

'The violinists are about to play a jig,' Cornwallis said. 'Tavington, you and Grace will be expected to lead.' Tavington nodded. 'I will instruct the domestics to clear the floor.' He rose with a smile, leaving Grace to take the seat next to her husband.

'So,' he said, his eyes glinting, 'What present did your dear Uncle Joseph bestow upon you?' She looked at him coldly.

'A bracelet.'

'Excellent,' he said, pulling her wrist towards him to admire the thin silver band. 'My wealth increases by the moment. Lord Cornwallis has just presented me with this.' She flinched slightly as he drew a sword from his side. He looked amused at her reaction. In his hand was a curved, shining silver blade with an elaborate hilt crafted from smooth ivory and encrusted with jewels. 'A wedding present from your family - most charming.' Grace couldn't speak. Her entire body seethed with anger. Tavington could scarcely make it more obvious that he had married her for wealth – and it seemed that her grandfather, too, was happy with the arrangement; she was simply a commodity to be exchanged at their will.

The violinists played an introduction at the other side of the hall. Tavington sheathed his sword.

'Come Grace,' he said, rising and holding out his hand for hers, 'lets get this charade over with.' Grace turned away from him.

'I am not in the mood.' She cast her eyes away from where Cornwallis's guests were forming a circle around the polished dance floor expectantly; the ladies anxiously scanning the room for a partner and the men setting their goblets down still half-full so they would be free to take a hand. The night was now drawing in - the moon visible through the open window. Hundreds of candles had been lit in the silver candelabras that adorned the table and the chandeliers suspended from the ceilings. They twinkled pleasantly illuminating the entire room with a warm glow. It was the perfect setting for a wedding party – but Grace couldn't have felt more distant from it.

'It wasn't a request,' Tavington said. He thrust his hand under her elbow and yanked her harshly to her feet. Grace tried to shrug him off but he held her firmly, propelling her forward, the guests parting as they made their way to the center of the circle. 'Don't be shy,' he said dropping his voice low as they positioned themselves in readiness for the dance, 'I heard your mother was a very – good – dancer.'

Lord Cornwallis was announcing the start of the 'cotillon' (one of the favoured dances of King George III) in the background, smiling broadly at the newlyweds.

'Still, I would expect no less from a whore,' Tavington went on said, his face set into a rigid smile so that the younger ladies in the crowd whispered with excitement about the affection between the Colonel and his bride.

His fingers circled her wrist before she even had chance to draw back her hand. 'Not this time,' he said pulling her close as the dance started up. 'I think its time you learned that a young lady keeps her hands to herself, don't you? Now smile for Lord Cornwallis.' His nails were buried like rose thorns in the bare skin of her wrist as he held up her arm in readiness for the dance. He placed his other hand on the small of her back, pulling her body with a sharp movement close to his. With the attentive eyes of the room upon every inch of her, Grace had no choice but to comply. She smiled, pretending that it was the arms of any but he around her waist – Gabrielle perhaps.

'Begin,' said Cornwallis, clapping his hands together to signal the start of the dance.

The Colonel actually danced very well. He led Grace effortlessly, spinning her from one end of the room to the other, his movements matching her own with perfection. He held her with such rigidity that she could look nowhere but his glittering eyes, which did not leave her own for even a second. She could see her own reflection in them, a stretched, twirling head, dancing in deep dark pools. She felt herself grow once more faint. The ferocity of the music made her head to swim; her cheeks flushed a deep crimson and her breath quickened. Only the Colonel's arms holding her aloft, making her body move with his, prevented her from swooning. All around her couples were filing onto the dance floor to join them for the exchange of partners.

'Colonel,' she said, her breath catching in the back of her throat, 'I feel quite faint.' She did not like having to admit this to Tavington, but she felt that if she danced any longer she would lose control of herself, and she could not bear to do so in front of such an audience. He kept her dancing for a few moments until she could take it no longer. 'Please,' she said desperately. He curled his lips into a mocking smile.

'Very well.' He escorted her to one of the wooden stools that lined the floor. 'Sit here,' he commanded. He clicked his fingers and immediately one of the well-dressed servers crossed over to them.

'Yes Sir?'

'Bring her a goblet of water.'

'Yes Sir.'

Grace looked down, refusing to meet Tavington's eyes. A few moments later the attendant reappeared with the water, which she readily drunk. The Colonel stood watching her. After a few moments they were joined by Lord Cornwallis.

'Is everything alright?' he asked brightly.

'Yes General. Grace was overcome, but I think she is feeling much better now.'

'Well it's been a busy day for all of us.'

'Indeed.'

Lord Cornwallis opened his mouth to say something, clearing his throat slightly. Just as the words escaped his lips however, there was an overzealous toot from one of the brass trumpets which had joined the violins.

'General?' Tavington prompted.

'Well, I was just thinking. The guests are now occupied … ' – Lord Cornwallis's face had reddened slightly.

'Yes?'

'Er – perhaps this would be an apt time for you and your bride to – well – retire.' Grace looked up with horror at her Grandfather. She knew she could not avoid what was to come forever, but she had hoped that the free-flowing wine and brandy might keep Tavington at the reception for a while longer – perhaps even to the point where he passed out.

'An excellent idea, Sir,' Tavington said, with a sidelong glance at Grace - pleased at the reaction upon her face. Their dance had aroused him - her slender and graceful body pressed into his - and he was not at all reticent to comply with the General's request. He meant to enjoy his new bride, whether she wanted him to or not.

'Yes, well,' Cornwallis puffed, unable to meet the eyes of his granddaughter, 'please be discreet. I do not want the ridiculous procession that accompanies the weddings of the lower orders. Grace is too young for such an ordeal.'

'Of course,' Tavington replied. He himself did not care whether Grace's blushes were spared or not, but he decided that he would humour the General by not announcing (as was custom) that they were about to retire to the marital bed.

Resigned to her fate, and reluctantly grateful for this discretion, Grace allowed Tavington to lead her quietly to the staircase that was to lead to a room prepared for them in the west wing. The corridor was cold, and near deserted.

'Isn't that your cousin?' Tavington remarked as they made their way up the sweeping staircase, something like triumph in his voice. Grace turned sharply round to see a young couple in an obvious embrace in the shadows of the entrance hall. The man seemed to be one of the redcoats that Tavington had invited to the wedding, and though the lady was shielded by his bulk Grace thought she saw the pink silk of her cousin's gown from between his legs.

'Certainly not,' she said, with more conviction than she felt. Tavington smiled, but did not contradict her, simply tightening his hold on her arm as he led her slowly up the stairs.