‘Are you familiar with the artist’s work, ma’am?’ The voice made her turn. Mr Newbold made her a bow, and smiled. Lord Henfield thought it the smile of a man who already knew the truth, regardless of the answer he might receive.

‘Oh, Mr Newbold, what a start you gave me! Have you come to view the pictures?’

James Felbridge winced.

‘Indeed, ma’am, but this is my second visit. I have come in company with my cousin, Lord William Dinsmore, for he is but recently come to Town.’ Mr Newbold acknowledged the youthful Mr Felbridge and then looked at Lord Henfield as if dredging his face from distant memory.

‘Henfield. You will not remember me,’ provided his lordship helpfully, but a little gruffly.

‘No, no, I am sure that I do,’ replied Mr Newbold smoothly, already looking at Henrietta.

‘Good morning, Miss Gaydon. Have, er, you a favoured picture?’

‘Well, I am in admiration of all artists who can render a canvas that looks like the scene or person in the flesh, if a scene could be so described. I confess my watercolours were always decidedly insipid. I like the one of “The Duke of Wellington Entering Madrid” because of the horses. I can say they look very … equine.’ She smiled, with a mixture of charm and self-mockery.

‘I am so glad that you do, for it is the picture I have purchased.’

‘Oh! Does that mean I have good taste, sir?’ She raised one delicate eyebrow, and he laughed.

‘Undoubtedly, Miss Gaydon, but I would not have doubted it had you chosen another.’

Lord Henfield stiffened. Henrietta was enjoying the flattery, and engaging in the sort of banter that had previously been solely between her and himself, except that now the term he would apply to it was ‘flirtation’. It hurt. He knew it was illogical, but it did not make it any the easier to watch. Mr Newbold glanced at him, and made a very fair assessment that the man was jealous. He did not know how Henfield could be so if he had barely met the young lady, but the signals were there.

‘And have you a favoured picture, Henfield?’

‘I make no pretence to knowledge, but like pictures I could live with upon my wall. I find the historical pictures of interest, but, to be honest, the idea of having a large canvas of’ – he consulted the catalogue for the full title – ‘“An Attempt to Represent Achilles Shouting from the Trench, as Described by Homer” before me every day is most unappealing. I could certainly live with that nice little “View of Tintern Abbey”. In scale and subject, and in my uneducated view, execution, it is an admirable picture.’ He sounded a little defensive.