‘Who is she dancing with?’ Vivian didn’t bother to hide her intense interest from Emily, whom she trusted implicitly; for a year or two when they were younger, they had shared a governess at Vivian’s home and all that entailed. They didn’t have secrets.

‘The Earl of Clarendale’s eldest son.’

‘She looks bored.’ Vivian gasped; she couldn’t help it. She was unsure whether she was impressed or shocked that a girl might be bored whilst dancing with the heir to an earldom and dare to let it show.

‘She always looks bored. It’s her thing,’ replied Emily flatly.

‘Did you hear the rumour that Reggie Fairfax popped?’

‘Did he really?’

Vivian loved it that she was always the one to impart the news; she got most of her information from her mother, who believed it was important to keep abreast. ‘Yes, with his dead mother’s ring. An heirloom. A yellow diamond cluster. Worth a fortune.’

‘I imagine she turned him down,’ guessed Emily.

‘Flat.’

‘Do you think she’ll ever accept anyone?’

‘Two years out and no sign of it yet.’ Vivian did wonder who or what Ava Pondson-Callow was waiting for.

‘I imagine her parents are livid.’

‘Must be.’

They broadened their attention, discussing who was looking well and who had dressed badly. Frustratingly, Vivian couldn’t spot Nathaniel anywhere. They each accepted a glass of crisp champagne and men came quickly enough. Vivian turned them away but Emily started to fill up her dance card. She always did well for partners. She wasn’t quite beautiful – her eyes were a fraction too far apart and her hair was a flat brown that looked a lot like everyone else’s – but she smiled constantly. She had large bosoms, a pleasingly round behind and the tiniest waist; the sort of figure that put ideas into men’s heads, if they were not there already, which they probably were. She swiftly melted into the waltzing throng, leaving Vivian alone by the marble column.

Vivian spotted pockets of other girls she knew and could talk to, but her favourites were all dancing and she didn’t want to be seen clinging to the walls with the other flowers. The non-dancing dulls. Her mother was talking to Lady Henning; her father was dancing with Lady Cooper. Everyone seemed so delightfully occupied except for her. Usually she would wait, shoulders back, smile broad, hold her nerve until Nathaniel appeared and claimed her; but then usually she was standing with his mother, or at least her own. She didn’t dare seek out her mother, because she was sure to notice the altered neckline and Vivian didn’t want a row.

For something to do, she took another glass of champagne. She felt strangely cut adrift, not as brave as usual; knowing how much was riding on tonight made it impossible for her to be her usual confident, somewhat aloof self. In the end she accepted invitations from Charles Rushmore, the Honourable Freddie Wittington and Matthew Fulham. Dances five, six and seven were spoken for; this meant Nathaniel wouldn’t be able to hold her until the number eight. It was a shame, undoubtedly, but not within her control.