‘Oh, I am so sorry, my lord. It is just that Lord Henfield has come down from Shropshire, and reminded me of home.’

‘You have not received any ill news, I hope.’

‘Thankfully, no. But you see, howsoever much I am enjoying the Season, this is my first time away from my papa, from my own house, and at times it is …’ She gave him a tremulous smile.

‘You are fortunate, ma’am, that your home holds such a place in your heart. It shows that you have enjoyed an enviable upbringing.’ He tried to make the comment sound light-hearted, but Henrietta thought she caught a hint of regret.

Lord Henfield, observing them closely, winced. A lady passing him exclaimed and apologised.

‘I am so very sorry. Did I tread upon your toes? I am most awfully clumsy. Forgive me.’ Her hand went to her cheek, and the zephyr gauze scarf draped asymmetrically about her elbows slipped to the floor.

‘I assure you, ma’am, my toes are unscathed,’ murmured Lord Henfield, bending to retrieve the scarf. She thanked him so fulsomely one might have assumed he had undertaken some quite heroic feat on her behalf.

‘Dorothea.’ The one word was an admonition. The ‘clumsy lady’ closed her eyes for a brief second. A matron of severe mien appeared at her elbow, and glared, for there was no other term for it, at Lord Henfield.

‘We have not been introduced, sir.’ It was a statement, and clearly a command that this fault be rectified.

‘Lord Henfield, ma’am. Your very obedient …’

‘Sarah Ottery’s boy?’

‘Er, yes, ma’am.’

‘Hmm.’ What ‘Hmm’ meant was uncertain. ‘Well, you do not have her features.’

‘I am considered to have taken after my father, ma’am.’ His lordship was trying to keep calm, but was finding this fearsome woman perfectly terrifying.

‘Hmm. I am Lady Leyburn. May I present to you my daughter, Miss Yate.’ The announcement sounded half apology, half defiant. Miss Dorothea Yate turned an unbecoming scarlet, and made her curtsey. Her eyes pleaded that her parent’s behaviour was not her fault. Lord Henfield took pity upon her.

‘I am charmed to make your acquaintance, Miss Yate. Might I enquire as to whether your dance card has a vacancy for the next quadrille?’

‘It does, my lord.’

‘Then would you be so kind as to put me down for it.’

‘With pleasure, my lord.’ She made another curtsey, he bowed, and they parted, he to sustain himself with a glass of wine, and she to be harangued simultaneously for making a poor impression, and for speaking to a man before her mama had given her approval of said man.