In Cadogan Square at the start of the Season, hustle and bustle engulfed Hugh’s London house. He sighed as daily deliveries of ribbons and lace filled the rooms while posies of flowers overflowed the vases. Selena appeared to possess an ever-growing band of admirers. Mrs. Bramble remained at Thatcham while a famous French chef concocted banquets of rich food. The man condescended to Mrs. Rivers and flirted with Selena’s maid, but the butler, Mayhew, forbade complaint amongst the servants. “No self-respecting family can give dinners or dances in London using their country cook,” he pointed out.

It did not take Hugh’s sister long to recover from the distress at the loss of Philomena, in the excitement of her first London season. Hugh smiled at her. “London agrees with you.”

She gave a little skip and linked her arm with that of her cousin, Lucy. “There is so much to be done here in town that my feet hardly touch the ground.”

“Indeed. What plans have you, then?”

“Tomorrow I have a fitting with Mistress Matilda, who is making my gown for the Fancy Dress Ball at the Palace. Then we must walk in Hyde Park, to take the air, you know, before dressing for the dinner and ball at the Marchant’s house, though I am sure Angelina Marchant’s ball will be the dullest affair in London.”

Lucy, in possession of a smaller fortune than Selena, nodded obligingly. After all, the Dowager Lady Thatcham had agreed that Lucy should share Selena’s own ball.

Hugh took little interest in the forthcoming event. Gritting his teeth, he wrote bank drafts to pay for the arrangements, hiding horror at the expense. He promised to attend, though with a heavy heart, but insisted on wearing last year’s coat. “You will be the centre of attention,” he told Selena, “and few will care how inelegant your poor widowed brother may appear beside you.”

Selena laughed. “Indeed, you know you will be the main attraction of the ball, brother. All the young ladies of my acquaintance are a-flutter at the thought of dancing with you.”

Hugh made himself as scarce as possible. Business appointments and Parliamentary sittings ate into the greater part of each day. He dined often at the club. There was little to interest him in the activities of the cohorts of fresh-faced young ladies, hardly distinguishable one from another. Hugh bowed when he encountered them in the house and assisted them into carriages after a morning visit, but the blushing giggles failed to charm him. How insipid and dull they were in comparison with Philomena. They had not one tenth of Philomena’s intelligence, wit, or humour.

“Thatcham, I do believe you are becoming ridiculously middle-aged,” scoffed Lord Hadden, as Hugh declined another invitation. “These days, you spend more time in the House than the ballroom. People are beginning to talk.”