What was more they would be delighted if the winds veered in the wrong direction to transfer their allegiance back again to the stolid respectability of Buckingham House.

That night Gretna, trying to forget the Marquis, had a reminder of him that she least expected.

She was passing along a corridor towards the ballroom on Sir Harry Carrington’s arm when they met a formidable old lady advancing towards them. She was not very tall and she walked with an ivory-handled stick, but her magnificent diamonds were of the first water. Her dazzling tiara and the brilliants round her neck made Gretna stare, almost forgetful of her manners, when the old lady stopped abruptly.

“Harry Carrington,” the Dowager said in a voice that seemed to come almost whistling between her lips. “And don’t deny it! You are the spitting image of your father at your age.”

“Indeed I am Harry Carrington at your service, ma’am,” he replied, bowing courteously.

“I was convinced of it and as wild as your father, I presume?”

“Indeed no, ma’am. I could not attempt to level up to his hights,” Sir Harry answered laughingly.

“No, I expect you could not,” the Dowager replied. “The modern generation are a mealy-mouthed lot and not up to snuff compared with their parents. Who’s this pretty wench you are taking in to supper?”

She pointed her stick at Gretna who curtseyed politely.

“May I present Miss Gretna Hayden, ma’am?” Sir Harry said hastily, “this is the Dowager Marchioness of Stade.”

The Marchioness raised a quizzing glass to look Gretna over.

“So you are the chit who refused my invitation.”

Gretna felt the colour rise in her cheeks. She had not expected that the Marquis’s grandmother would be anything as formidable as the old lady facing her. And yet now she began to see a likeness in the straight features and in the proud carriage of her head.

“It was very gracious of you to invite me, ma’am,” she said. “Unfortunately I had already accepted an invitation to stay with my friend, Mistress Fitzherbert.”

“So I understand,” the Dowager answered and Gretna realised that she had known all along who she was and wanted, perhaps out of curiosity, to speak with her.

“Nevertheless I must thank you, ma’am, for the kind thought,” Gretna stated a little breathlessly.

“You are so like your mother,” the Marchioness went on. “Determined to have your own way. Well, I daresay it did my grandson no harm to be thwarted for once. Too pampered and too spoiled, that’s what these bachelors are these days, eh, Sir Harry?”

“Yes, ma’am. Of course, ma’am,” Sir Harry said, eager to agree with her. And then added quickly, “Not that Julien is that way. Always thinking of other people from what I have seen of him.”