She left one set of arms and was claimed by another. The bonnets had stayed on since the shaving and as for this turban, well: it was, in fact, rather fetching. So much so that the Mother, whose idea it had been after all, seemed almost shocked when first she beheld it. ‘Well, well!’ She had affected a slightly pained smile, and: ‘Are we not the vision?’

While she danced, Mary practised her flirting. She made George Knight laugh – it did not take very much; let Mr Finch-Hatton discover her deep passion for cricket; and, in response to her avowed fascination, Dr Knatchbull could have lectured on Arabic for some hours, had he not stood on her foot and so disrupted his monologue. Such was her success, her card was soon booked after supper and beyond to the end of the night.

Several friends were kind enough to say that Mary was glowing as George Knight escorted her through to take soup. The sitting-out room was heaving, and they were late to get a good table. For a moment they stood, trying to see a spare place. And then they were hailed.

‘Brother!’

Mary swung round and was astonished to see Ned Knight – in the best possible position – rising out of his seat. But he was not of their party! She had not seen him all evening. With whom had he come? While he crossed over towards them, she caught a glimpse of the partner he had left at the table; blonde net over satin, a head full of curls. Was that not Lady Elizabeth Bligh?

‘Dear boy.’ He pumped George’s hand, gave a few pats to the shoulder, then turned to Mary. ‘Madam.’ Mr Knight bowed, smiled and waited – as if to be introduced – before looking again, with a queer sort of expression. ‘Is it – is it – Miss Knatchbull?’

Mary fell into a deep curtsey, all over confusion. Such an extraordinary reaction! What on earth could account for it? And how could she rise now and face him anew? But one could hardly stay down there forever, eyes to the floor … And so, with great dread and reluctance, Mary finally stood. To find that he stared at her still.

The Knight brothers fell into discussing arrangements. Mary pretended to listen, head tilted towards George, but she could sense, throughout it, Ned studying her profile. Again, what on earth—? And then – oh the horror! The thought struck like electricity. There could be but one explanation: he had noticed the hair. Of all of the people she had mixed with this whole glorious summer … he alone … only he …

Mary blushed to the edge of her turban.

It was agreed that the carriages should come after two, and Ned finally left them. Mary kept her eyes keen on his back as he returned to his place, to ensure that he would not return. She watched as he sat, discerned him regale his friends with something amusing.