‘She is.’ Lady Elstead saw her opportunity. ‘One would not describe her as a great heiress of course … but … None of the estate is entailed.’ Thus were sown the seeds, without her ever telling anything other than the truth. Knowing her hostess, this information would spread swiftly enough, and with just a little gilding. Nobody would be so mercenary or impolite as to ask the exact size of the estate, or the figure of its worth, and by not claiming too much, which would be found out by some busybody, just sufficient interest would be raised to give Henrietta’s chances a little boost. She had beauty, birth and now bounty.

Henrietta herself was in total ignorance of such machinations, and was simply enjoying being part of a new and overwhelmingly exciting world. Her host introduced her to his nephew, Lord Netheravon, who possessed a head of golden curls, and a fine figure. His fair lashes blinked over startlingly blue eyes, and, although Caroline later suggested that he was an Adonis, Henrietta was more inclined to see him as a remarkably athletic cherub. He was patently impressed with her own looks, and made every effort to entertain her. He was droll, self-deprecating and had sufficiently outgrown the ‘pup’ stage that condemned her cousin James to being treated as a younger, rather than older, relative.

‘So, Miss Gaydon, this is your introduction to the Season. I hope you are not already bored?’

‘Bored, my lord? How could one be bored?’

‘But my dear young lady, cultivating at least the appearance of being bored is half the “act” of the damsel at her come-out. Mark my words, in three weeks you will be complaining at “such awful squeezes”’ – he pitched his voice unnaturally high – ‘and “positively interminable suppers”. You all do it, every year, upon my honour, even if you would not swap these entertainments for a casket of rubies.’

‘I shall not, my lord,’ she assured him, dimpling, which he found entrancing.

‘But you have to be, lest you be pointed out as “idiosyncratic”. “There is Miss Gaydon,” they would say, “who is so original. She loves every bruised toe, every worn heel, every syllabub and syllable of the Season”.’

‘But why not enjoy it?’

‘Fashion, Miss Gaydon, fashion.’

‘Then I think I may choose to be unfashionable, my lord.’

‘Daring, ma’am, very daring, but I wish you well. I shall of course ensure that I am on hand to warn you if you begin to look the least jaded with it all.’ His eyes twinkled, and his smile was, for a cherub, infectious. She found him very amusing.

‘You mock me, my lord, which is most unfair, since this is indeed my first party.’ Quite unconsciously, she looked at him from under her curling lashes, and he was hooked.