‘I hope we are to hear from you this evening,’ he said smoothly, addressing both young ladies, though he knew Miss Gaydon would say no. Henrietta instantly affirmed that she was not so accomplished as to appear before a knowledgeable audience.

‘I am down to play, but I am rather nervous, Mr Newbold,’ whispered Caroline, clutching her fan rather tightly.

‘Without cause, Miss Felbridge, I am sure. You have but to play as if you were alone, and ignore everyone else present.’

‘Sound advice, Mr Newbold, but I wonder if you have ever had to put it into practice.’ Henrietta looked dubious.

‘Of course not, Miss Gaydon, but it remains sound advice.’

‘I think my fingers will shake so much I will miss the strings,’ bemoaned Caroline. In truth, she enjoyed music in private but hated the idea of performance, and had intentionally omitted telling Lord Martley she would be playing, lest he beg the favour to come and watch. At this minute, however, she felt that his presence would have steadied her nerves.

‘Mr Newbold is perfectly right, my dear. Your accomplishment upon the instrument is such that all will be delighted.’ Lady Elstead sounded confident but was wondering if Caroline might flounder. Having herself used such consoling phrases as ‘really very good, considering’ over the failures of others in the past, she was acutely aware that this was ‘a test’. She was almost at the point of blaming Caroline for putting her maternal nerves under strain. She was not focused upon Henrietta, and so it was quite easy for Mr Newbold to gently disengage Miss Gaydon from her aunt and remove her just far enough away that their conversation would not be overheard.

‘I pity your cousin, Miss Gaydon. I have no doubt she can play, but she is clearly not a natural performer, and all this’ – he waved his hand at the assembly – ‘is barely better than torture.’

‘Then why come and listen, Mr Newbold?’

‘Because I knew you would be here.’ His answer was swift, and accompanied by a smile that was not merely that of the man making the requisite response. It made Henrietta blush. ‘I am sorry, Miss Gaydon. Do you think me over-bold, rather than “Newbold”?’

‘I …’ Henrietta shook her head, unable to form a reply. She liked Mr Newbold, for if he was not as jolly as Lord Martley had been, or Lord Netheravon, then he possessed a certain something, a seriousness beneath his dry wit, that she found interesting. She was not sure that she liked the idea of him playing the lover, however, pleased though Lady Elstead might be.