Many of the Tutors under whom she had studied in London, and there had been several, had told her almost reproachfully that she had a man’s brain and it was not what they expected to find in a woman.

With her father she had been able to talk about a great number of things, subject to the handicap that Sir Denzil was not a good listener and preferred his own opinions to other people’s.

Her mother on the other hand, was an excellent listener, but, although Thalia adored her, she had to be honest and admit that her mother was not interested in anything that did not particularly touch her personal life.

Perhaps one of the reasons why she and her husband had been so happy together was the fact that, while he talked, she was completely content to listen and think that everything he said was wonderful.

But the Earl was undoubtedly a much cleverer man, although Thalia thought that he was somewhat dogmatic in what he asserted and was obviously surprised if ever she disagreed with him.

They had several spirited arguments, but it was only now when there were no longer any waiters in the room that she looked around her and was conscious of her surroundings.

She had, when she first entered the place where the Earl was giving her dinner, been apprehensive.

There was the sound of music and of voices and there were a number of servants standing about in crimson uniforms heavily over-trimmed with gold braid.

Then to her relief they were escorted up a staircase that led to the first floor and shown into a room where there was a table laid only for two.

‘If this is a private room,’ Thalia thought, ‘then it is not what I expected.’

She had always had a picture in her mind of something gaudy and rather vulgar, but this room was decorated in the French fashion in discreet good taste.

There were a number of French prints on the wall, a sofa and several chairs covered in brocade and at, one end of the room where Thalia thought there must be windows, turquoise blue curtains were hanging of a very attractive hue.

She thought to herself that it was the blue that François Boucher used in his pictures and somehow, because it was so different from what she had anticipated, it was reassuring.

The Earl took her cloak from her shoulders and she was tense because he was touching her. Then, because he did it in a manner that had nothing but politeness about it, she felt at ease as she sat down on the sofa.

“A glass of champagne or would you prefer Madeira?” the Earl enquired.

Thalia hesitated.

“It’s a very long time since I tasted either.”

“Then I think it should be champagne,” the Earl suggested.