‘I confess I have not seen Lady Mary this evening, but I am sure you will “outsparkle” any jewel if you put your mind to it.’

‘My lord, you do realise that implies that I shall not do so unless I put my mind to it.’

‘Does it? Surely not. Certainly not my intention, Miss Gaydon.’ Lord Netheravon shook his head. ‘Sometimes a fellow just says the wrong thing.’ He put his head on one side. ‘I am not sure I ever say quite the right thing with you.’

‘Why do you say that, my lord?’ Henrietta looked at him squarely.

‘Because I think you are an absolutely splendid young lady, but I am not sure I have ever met you.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I mean You, the real person. You are a delight, witty, charming, but the real Miss Gaydon remains, I think, a mystery to me.’ He sounded wistful, and Henrietta felt rather guilty. Was he not correct, for had she not put on the mask of ‘witty Miss Gaydon’ for the Season?

‘My lord, I am not sure what to say, except that I will always be honoured if you will be my friend.’

‘Do you know, ma’am, that is a very nice thought.’ He bent over her hand. ‘Now, since I am at risk of seeming as low-spirited as you admit to being, shall we dance, and be merry?’

‘An excellent idea.’

Henrietta offered him her arm and smiled her most charming smile. It was, he thought, such a dashed shame, but friendship was all that lay behind it. He did not, he realised, expect that a woman would adore him, but he did think there ought to be just a little hero-worship, rather than tolerant amusement in her gaze.

The dance set forming contained Miss Yate, and, to Henrietta’s discomfiture, Lord Henfield. It was perfectly ridiculous, but she did not enjoy seeing him dancing with other ladies, at least not unmarried ones. Miss Yate was, she thought, less clumsy of late, and rather more cheerful, though having a mama as terrifying as Lady Leyburn was enough to put any girl in a quake. Whilst she attended to Lord Netheravon when the dance brought them together, she also watched Lord Henfield. He really was quite light upon his feet, and he appeared in good humour. They passed each other in the dance, and their eyes met. She felt he must hear the sudden thump of her heart, so loud was it in her own ears.

‘Miss Gaydon, good evening.’ His words were formal, but his tone familiar.

‘Good evening, my lord. Fine playing, is it not?’

‘I know not, since what I see subjugates what I hear at this minute.’