‘Mr Newbold, yes, but not ‘simply’. His maternal grandsire was a duke, he owns untold acres in the north somewhere, and beneath them are layers, or whatever they are termed, of coal. He is enormously wealthy.’

‘Oh. He does not strike one as rich.’

‘That, Henrietta, is because he has no need to flaunt it.’

Her aunt’s words gave Henrietta pause for thought. Mr Newbold was an entertaining companion, and she liked him, but could not imagine a romantic relationship with him. He had also not paid her the sort of compliments, funning or otherwise, that her newly acknowledged swains, such as Lord Martley and Lord Netheravon to name but two, had done. Even Cousin James, whom she discounted upon the grounds of his youth, paid her better compliments. No, Aunt Maria must be wrong.

Had she asked the gentleman himself, it is unlikely that she would have got an honest answer, but then again he was not sure in himself whether he was serious about the chit or not. She was refreshing, even to such a jaded spirit as he had become, and combined a youthful naïvety with some surprisingly mature attitudes. She was also patently not making any attempt to have him at her feet, a position Mr Newbold eschewed, and he was caught between vague irritation that his natural charms did not cause her heart to flutter in her delectable maidenly bosom, and curiosity as to why she was immune. He had avoided praising her, because he saw that she thought it a ‘game’, and not to be taken seriously, so it was not that which kept her friendly, but not entranced. Then again, he asked himself, did he want her entranced, turned from witty young woman into sighing maid, and was he, even for a moment, considering giving up his much-valued single state to woo and win her?

Mr Newbold himself might be confused, but among Henrietta’s younger followers, he was seen as a dangerous threat. Discounting him as ‘old’ was only available to James Felbridge. The others saw him as ‘experienced’ and capable of playing a very deep game. Sir Desmond Corney bemoaned that it was dashed unfair of Newbold, who did not need the readies, to cast his eye over a chit who would solve many a gentleman’s financial worries. If others thought that sounded too mercenary to be said out loud, they silently agreed.

‘I suppose it is unfair to ask what he sees in Miss Gaydon,’ sighed Lord Netheravon, as he played billiards with Lord Gorleston, ‘since she is a dazzling girl.’

‘“The Glorious Gaydon”? I know Shelsley prefers Lady Julia Somercotes, because only fair chits appeal to him, but even he admits she is one of the highlights of the Season. Dash it, my mama even asked me if I was going to make a push for her.’

‘And are you?’