Mr Felbridge was conscious of the mean-spirited wish that his lordship might prove tardy, but he was out of luck. Lady Elstead had been upon the point of departure when she checked her reticule for the vital list and found it missing.

‘There now, I have left my list of pictures we really must admire on my desk in the green saloon. Henrietta dear, will you be so kind …’

‘Of course, Aunt.’ Henrietta, secretly thinking it very funny that one should take a list of things to admire without yet seeing any of them, went to obtain the forgotten paper. Upon the little desk in the green saloon, Lady Elstead had an assortment of her lists. Fortunately the top one was marked ‘Pictures’ and Henrietta picked it up with a smile, a smile that then froze. Revealed beneath was another list, partially concealed, one headed ‘Caroline’, and on it were three columns in a neat hand, of ‘Ideal’, ‘Possible’, and ‘No’. Henrietta did not mean to pry, but the names were before her eyes, and it was perfectly obvious what the list meant. What attracted her attention was that at the top of the ‘No’ list was the name of Lord Martley, in capitals, and underlined twice. She frowned. Lady Elstead had not indicated in any way that she found Lord Martley unsuitable to her; indeed, she might be said to be looking favourably upon him. Why then was he clearly out of the question for Caroline? She ought not to be looking, she would not look further, except perhaps just a little? Then she saw it. At the bottom of the ‘Possible’ list a name had been added, in a slightly more rushed hand. Henrietta stared at ‘Henfield’ and felt a wave of something approaching nausea come over her. How could Lady Elstead consider Charles for Caroline? It was unthinkable, in the sense that Henrietta could not bear to even imagine it.

‘Folly,’ she declared at the piece of paper, and thrust it back under a list of guests for a dinner party. She took up the ‘pictures’ list and returned downstairs, outwardly calm, but this act was not helped by finding Lord Henfield, hat in hand, in the hall, and being told that he might accompany them if he chose.

He looked up at Henrietta as she came down the stairs, and smiled, though his eyes lacked their usual conspiratorial twinkle.

‘It seems I must admire art, Miss Gaydon,’ he said, making his bow.

‘Well, it will probably do you good, sir. You may even find a painting you really like. Do you prefer landscape or portraiture?’

‘Unless it is the likeness of a close family member, then landscape. A landscape gives rest to the spirit and does not stare back at one, nearly always accusingly.’