‘Mock? You misunderstand entirely, Miss Gaydon. I am merely being supportive. You wish to be unfashionable in your enjoyment of the Season, and I say “bravo” to it. Behold me eager to serve you in any way to keep you to your intent.’ His eyes still danced.

‘Your words are good, but your eyes mock, sir.’

‘Then I should shut them.’ He did so, screwing them up tight. ‘Except that now, ma’am, I am like to be accounted a danger, for I will walk into people, and fall down steps and … you would not wish to see me break a leg, or crush some unsuspecting matron, now, would you?’

‘My lord’ – Henrietta could not contain the giggle, however mature she had been trying to appear – ‘do open your eyes, I beg. We attract attention.’

‘I think, Miss Gaydon, you attract attention, and I am fortunate to have spent such an enjoyable five minutes in your close proximity,’ murmured Lord Netheravon, opening his eyes, and bowing over her hand. She blushed, and he, thinking her charming, withdrew, not wishing to monopolise her. He was later seen making Miss Felbridge lower her eyes and laugh behind her fan. Lady Elstead was not displeased, for his was a name found upon both her lists. She had been less pleased to see Lord Martley presented to Caroline, although to all intents and purposes, he was a perfectly acceptable young man. For Henrietta, yes, she would countenance him as a suitor, but Lady Elstead had a very deep-seated and long-standing reason why Viscount Martley was almost the last man in London she would have considering Caroline as a wife.

The young man himself, ignorant of the light in which he was viewed, had spoken to both Caroline and Henrietta, and had told them they were the prettiest sight he had seen in a month.

‘Which leads us to believe, sir, that you have spent the month hunting, or shooting, and not seen any member of the fairer sex other than housekeepers, cooks or maids,’ Henrietta had countered.

‘Now, Miss Gaydon, do I look like the sort of fellow to bamboozle young ladies?’

‘Let me see … What do you think, cousin?’ Henrietta raised her eyebrows at Caroline.

‘Alas, I fear we are too much the novices to make a judgement,’ she replied softly, but lifted her eyes briefly and smiled at the viscount, who was thus rendered speechless for a full half minute.

‘I can only assure you both, on my honour, that I failed the bamboozling exam at Eton quite appallingly. The only problem is that I also achieved only mediocre marks in compliments, as has been proven.’ He feigned dejection.

‘Is that what is taught at Eton, my lord? How odd. My brother James used to write of mathematics and Greek.’ Caroline quizzed him, but he had an instant answer.

‘Ah, that was for the clever ones. I was never scholarly.’