The dinner started pleasantly enough. Jimmy was talking to Miss Carruth, on his right, so Pat could happily carry on her conversation about shooting with Mr. Keynes. The Earl, at the head of the table, took advantage of the party’s informality to join in their argument over the comparative difficulty of partridge, pheasant, and grouse, and did so with gusto. Pat was thoroughly enjoying herself by the time the meat course was brought in, a hearty dish of beef. Her attention was entirely on the Earl’s hunting anecdote, until Maurice Haworth’s voice cut through the general buzz of conversation.

“Hey there. You’ve forgotten Miss Singh’s beef.”

The servant looked round. Miss Singh said, calmly, “No, he has not. Thank you.” That was to the footman, not Mr. Haworth. “I am a vegetarian. I don’t eat meat.”

“Of course you don’t. I must have forgotten.” Mr. Haworth wore a tiny smile. “We are blessed by our considerate hosts, aren’t we? Nothing is too much trouble when it comes to their guests’ little idiosyncrasies.”

Pat heard an intake of breath from somewhere from down the table, and Miss Singh’s cheeks darkened at that suggestion she was causing unnecessary trouble. The Earl’s face was tense, but he didn’t say anything, and nor did the Countess.

Well. It was an informal gathering; one could surely speak across the table. Pat said, “My father would have called that the highest possible praise for any host. His sole rule for hospitality was that every guest should feel comfortable in behaving as though they were at home. Of course, if we did that, Bill and I would be rendering the table hideous with constant bickering.”

That got a general laugh. Bill said, “Sadly true. You’re very brave to invite a brother and sister, Lord Witton.”

“You’re all most welcome,” the Earl said. “Every one.”

Maurice Haworth was still smiling. Pat found she didn’t much like his smiles. “No matter how unconventional. It is delightful to see so many young ladies unconcerned with following the old-fashioned rules of behaviour. Alarming for we men, but I suppose it’s terribly outdated to be concerned with a husband now. At least Miss Carruth prefers to follow my wife’s example, not that of Misses Merton and Singh.” He leaned forward to look across the table at Miss Carruth. “You’re a maid meant to marry, eh? Or so Jimmy must hope.”

“I suppose that’s Shakespeare? You’re terribly clever, Mr. Haworth.” Pat was on the same side of the table as Miss Carruth, so couldn’t see her without craning, but her voice rang with ingenuous admiration. Apparently the little simpleton didn’t realise she was being insulted. “But I don’t think I am old-fashioned.”

“I’ve heard that about you,” Haworth said with a smile. “They say you’re very dashing. Always looking for the newest thing.”