‘Why, only that I saw Henfield with Miss Yate, on the steps of St George’s Hanover Square, at eleven this morning, and she did look, Henfield, quite radiant, for Miss Yate.’ He was looking very directly at Lord Henfield.

‘Oh Charles, how could you,’ whispered Henrietta, leaning against a wall for support. She was very pale.

‘I did not, have not …’

Mr Newbold raised an eyebrow. ‘I was not mistaken in what I saw, Henfield.’

‘My lord, may I speak with Henrietta, please?’ entreated Lord Henfield rather desperately.

Lord Elstead, who disliked the idea of some emotional outburst on a grand staircase that ascended many floors and would make everything available to any who might care to listen, looked at his lady, whose lips were compressed, but made up his own mind.

‘Yes, of course.’ He looked at the gentleman who was conveying them to the chamber where they might view the spectacle. ‘Is there anywhere … ?’

‘There is a small room, if you would care to follow me upstairs, my lord.’

Lord Henfield joined the rear of the party as far as the second floor, where the gentleman bowed and indicated a short corridor, off which he opened a door into a small and currently unoccupied office.

‘This room is at your disposal, sir,’ he said mildly. ‘The rest of Lord Elstead’s party will be upon the fourth floor, second chamber to your left, overlooking the river.’

‘Thank you.’

The man bowed himself out. Henrietta had said nothing, but her eyes accused. She did not think, could not think. That it would be ridiculous to imagine a man getting married, as Mr Newbold had suggested, and then rushing to inform another woman of the event, did not penetrate her shock.

‘Henry …’ Charles stepped towards her, but she backed away.

‘It is Miss Gaydon, remember, my lord.’ She flew two spots of high colour on her white cheeks, and her eyes sparkled, with anger and unshed tears. Her voice throbbed. ‘So have you sent the announcement to the Gazette?’

‘Don’t be silly, Henry.’

‘Do not tell me she had a change of heart at the altar.’

‘Of course not. What I mean is … Henry, this is not like you,’ he floundered.

‘Then what am I like?’ Henrietta threw at him.

‘Normally? Everything a man could want.’ There, it was out, in the open.

‘Except to you.’ Her bosom rose and fell swiftly in her agitation. She hurt, hurt so much that only her anger kept her from sinking to the floor.

‘Well, I am sure the polite world will agree with Lady Elstead that Newbold is the better match,’ Lord Henfield riposted bitterly.