‘No, no, my dear fellow. I mean, is trying to be like them the answer at all?’

‘I have seen her, the “Town” her, lapping up their flattery.’

‘She may have lapped it up, but I have seen no sign that she has developed a tendre for any of her charming admirers.’

‘Which is something’ – Lord Henfield looked pensive – ‘but she now actively dislikes me, I am convinced of it.’

‘Not an expert on the ladies, I grant you, but from my little experience of the fair sex, saying what they mean is not their strong point. In fact, they dashed often mean the opposite.’ Lord Gorleston pulled a face indicative of perplexity. ‘My sisters are a total mystery to me on a permanent basis.’

‘But … damn it, Gorleston, I cannot win. If I persist and she means it …’

‘She will throw her fan at you, declare you a beast and burst into tears in public.’ Gorleston shook his head at this prospect. ‘Puts you in the wrong before the world, and means a rapprochement is highly unlikely.’

‘And if I retire from the lists, I will watch her marry a man she will either bore, or will bore her, within a six-month. Your mama says that I must “develop” the art of seduction, which is both alien to me and, well, it sounds indelicate. I mean, this is Henr … ietta we are talking about here.’

‘Not wishing to be indelicate either, dear chap, but ultimately, are you not wanting to “seduce” her? Not,’ he added hastily, ‘in the way of making her fall in love with you and then casting her aside, but … “to have and to hold” and all that.’

‘Of cou—’ Henfield stopped, and coloured. Holding Henry, let alone having her, was a lot to think about. ‘Yes, I suppose I do, but … I have never thought of it that way, in the past.’

‘Wherein lies your problem,’ sighed his friend. There was a short but heavy silence, then Lord Gorleston brightened. ‘Write to her, then.’

‘Write?’

‘Yes, write a letter, an epistle, a missive, call it what you will. Apologise for your terse behaviour, blame it upon the strength of your feelings, etc.’

‘She would tear it up.’

‘Ah yes, but at least she would do that in private, which is an advantage.’ Lord Gorleston was being pragmatic. ‘And you never know, having slept upon it all, she might have second thoughts about sending you off like that.’

‘Perhaps. I … I am in the deuce of a muddle, Gorleston. I am, have always been, a steady sort of fellow who knew his own mind, saw the path clearly, even if it was going to be steep. It is as though I have no faith in myself any more, no certainties, except the certainty that I love her, and if she marries anyone but me, my life will shrivel to mere existence.’