Killin was taking the opportunity to study his prize, his mouth pursed into a disapproving line. He had most likely read that vile piece in the Illustrated Times. The press really were beastly when they had some poor soul in their sights. There could be no denying that she and Walter were partly to blame for the remorseless hounding, however, though the duke would dispute that fact. Margaret’s exile last year, coupled with her father’s tight-lipped response when anyone asked after her health, had signalled to everyone that the Duke of Buccleuch’s daughter had committed some heinous crime. Margaret had committed a major faux pas, but with the benefit of hindsight, their reaction had been ill-judged. They ought to have brazened it out. At least if Margaret had remained in public view, the vilest of the allegations would have been proved demonstrably to be false.

Walter was still very set on this match, all the more so because Margaret had done her level best to thwart him. And it was an excellent match. There was nothing objectionable about Killin. Since Margaret’s return to London at the beginning of the year, she had not once faltered in her efforts to please. Her desire to fulfil her obligations was clearly genuine, so why did she have to work so hard to embrace them? Ought a mother to ask? But what good would it do, when the die was cast? When they were married, Margaret and Killin would reach an amicable accommodation, as couples invariably did.

A final discordant screech from the violin brought the duet to a merciful close. “Well, that was most uplifting,” Charlotte said, getting quickly to her feet in order to prevent another encore.

“I have not a musical ear as you do, Your Grace, and so must bow to your superior judgement,” Killin said primly. “I believe that a cold collation is to be served in the dining room. If I may offer to escort you, in His Grace’s absence? And your daughter, of course.”

“We are much obliged,” Charlotte replied, “but I notice that Margaret’s flounce is torn and must be pinned. If you will excuse us, we will join you shortly.”

Taking a firm hold of her daughter’s arm, she headed for the ladies’ retiring room.

“Mama, my gown hasn’t any flounces.”

“If music be the food of love, then that performance has made me bilious.” The retiring room was happily empty. “I am reliably informed that after supper our hostess plans to warble her way through a selection of operatic arias. Too much of a good thing, methinks. We shall wait here while our carriage is summoned.”

“But Killin is expecting to take us in to supper.”

“We shall take the risk for once of disappointing him. He has been most assiduous in his attentions.”

“Extremely,” her daughter replied with an acid smile. “Every time I turn around, there he is, assiduously paying attention.”