These thoughts sent shockwaves through him. He had never felt quite like this about a woman. Not his wife. Not ever in his life before, and there had been a few.

‘Are you coming outside, Your Lordship?’ she called from the middle of the garden.

‘I am,’ he answered, walking forward, fully aware of the varied emotions running through him, surprising him, unsettling him.

She stood near a big old oak, and had put her glass of champagne on a garden table.

He joined her, and said, ‘Why haven’t I met you before? You said you’d seen me here, and I’ve been often.’

‘Nobody bothered to introduce us, I suppose because I’m the youngest. Not so important. And people were always flocking around you. After all, you’re the Earl of Harding, the great businessman everyone wants to meet.’

Her words took him by surprise, and he exclaimed, ‘I’m not famous. I just get on with it, and do my work.’

‘I decided I was going to meet you tonight, no matter what, and I planted myself down here because I get a good view of the room.’ She gave him a small smirk of a smile.

He laughed, but made no comment.

She said, ‘Can I ask you to lend me something? I promise I’ll never ask you for anything else as long as I live.’

Robert gave her a rather puzzled look, wondering if she was teasing or flirting, but she appeared to be serious. ‘What can I lend you, Vanessa?’

‘A cigarette, please. I’m dying for a smoke. Aren’t you?’

‘Actually, I would like a cigarette, and, of course, I will give you one, not lend it.’

‘My mother won’t allow smoking in the drawing room, so don’t be surprised if a few chaps step out here to have a smoke.’

He nodded, took out his cigarette case and offered it to her.

She took the cigarette, smiled at him sweetly. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured.

Robert took one for himself, and put it in his mouth, closed the gold case.

Vanessa, watching him closely, said, ‘I bet that’s from Cartier’s.’

‘You’re very observant,’ he remarked, and put the case in his jacket pocket, retrieved an elegant lighter and proceeded to light their cigarettes. They smoked in silence for a few seconds. Then he said, ‘You seem to know what I do for a living, but I don’t know anything about you. Want to fill me in?’

‘I will, but there’s not much to tell. I’m called a debutante, but I loathe being one, so I won’t go through the motions. I want to be a writer, you see.’

‘I do see, and I suppose your parents don’t like that idea, do they?’