‘What?’ Her eyes widened, and then, quite suddenly, she laughed. It was not a happy laugh, but jangling, and near hysterical. Her hands shook, and she seemed to shrink before his eyes, the angry young socialite melting into the girl he had laughed with, chastised, applauded, grown to love. She said nothing, but shook her head, and the tears blinked from her lashes began to run down her cheeks.

‘Henry?’ he whispered. A seed of doubt was watered by those tears, and sprouted.

‘I … You have made me so miserable,’ she sobbed.

‘But I saw you, throwing yourself at Newbold.’

‘I did not know what else to do.’ Her voice wavered, and she trembled. ‘I thought I would be very grown-up, and I could make you jealous, but she … How could you marry her, Charles?’

‘There is no “her”, Henry, and I am not married. There never was a “she”, only a “you”,’ he said simply, taking hold of her arms, and gripping her tightly. ‘I escorted Miss Yate to the altar, it is true, but to give her to the man who loves her, and to whom she gave her heart long ago.’

‘Not married?’ Henrietta sounded dazed.

‘No. How could I marry another woman, when I love you, Henry?’

‘You can’t.’

‘Is that I cannot marry another, or love you, Henry, because the first is correct and the second oh so very wrong.’ His voice shook a little.

‘But we … people think …’

‘I love you, Henry. When you were a child I loved you as a brother loves a little sister, yes, but you are not a child, have not been this year or more past, and I do not love you as a brother, but as a woman. There is no bar, my darling girl, except that which we have placed in our own heads, though not our hearts, I hope. I did not fully recognise it until you left, and came to London, and at first it felt … wrong. But it is not wrong, Henry. The feelings I have for you, the grown-up you …’ She was staring at him, her cheeks still wet, her lips slightly parted. ‘Just occasionally it does a young woman good to know that she fires a man’, those had been Lady Vernham’s words, and Lady Vernham had been remarkably astute. Well, Henry most certainly fired him.

He bent his head, negotiating the awkward angle of avoiding the brim of her bonnet, and kissed her, far from fraternally. He had wanted to kiss her for so long, and the frustration and yearning blended with the desire. When he pulled back to draw breath, Henrietta made a small squeaky noise, and freed her arms, but only to throw them about his neck. He correctly interpreted this as an invitation to kiss her again.