At what point during the meal Edward knew he couldn’t go on with the farce that was his engagement, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was when Verity asked the Harrisons’ niece, who seemed a gentle, nice girl, where, exactly, she had got her dress because she simply must have one the same, to the obvious amusement of a few of the other female guests. Or when one of their usual number who wasn’t present that night had her reputation mauled to pieces because the lady in question was seeing an employee who worked for her father’s broking firm. ‘I mean, he’s a runner for the firm, darling. Can you believe it? A runner.’ Or yet again when someone asked Verity how the wedding plans were coming along and he knew a moment of blind, unadulterated panic that made him sweat.

He looked round the table at the life he would be expected to embrace and the people he would mix with, and he knew he couldn’t do it. He had known for some time, perhaps from the morning after the night when he had drunk too much and had been manoeuvred, ever so cleverly and sweetly by Verity, into agreeing to marry her. He never had been able to remember actually proposing but one minute they had been alone in her father’s study drinking champagne on an evening like this one, having escaped the throng in the drawing room for a while, and the next she had professed her love for him and he had felt obliged to return in like measure. And then she had dragged him to the drawing room and made the announcement before he could blink. Squeals of excitement and clapping and congratulations from all and sundry had followed, and he had stood there smiling gormlessly with his head swimming.

There would be hell to pay now. He glanced at Verity in her exquisite evening dress, her ears and neck and arms glittering with some of the jewels her father heaped on her, and felt a sense of relief at knowing what he was going to do. However bad it was, whatever happened, he had to tell her tonight and walk away. If he didn’t, he’d be lost forever.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Edward.’

The other guests had left including Randolph and his very loud American wife, and Verity’s parents had retired to their separate suites on the first floor. He and Verity had been sitting having coffee in the drawing room before he drove back to the flat he rented closer to the main hub of the city, and he had just told her he couldn’t marry her.

‘I won’t allow you to break our engagement.’

Edward blinked. He had been expecting a tantrum or tears or sheer rage, but Verity’s icy cool and almost amused attitude had taken him aback.