‘Do I appear only as a scold?’ He was rather taken aback, and attempted to appease her. ‘Unless you have been doing something “terribly wicked”, such as planning to throw sugar plums at your hostess, I …’ He stopped, seeing the mulish look harden.

‘I am not a child. Why do you have to keep trying to make me feel as if I were still a child to be looked down upon.’

‘I did not mean … I only wanted to …’ He looked both confused and despondent. ‘When we were at home, it was not like this,’ he said miserably.

‘We are not at home.’

‘No. Now you are the belle of the ball, and I cannot compete with those who are expert in dalliance, and are new and exciting. I am just … the same old me.’

‘So it is my fault that I am entertained?’ She was suddenly defensive. He was not scolding her, but he was making her feel guilty, and she disliked it. He ought to be an ally, one with whom she could laugh at the whirl in which she found herself, and instead he was distancing himself, and blaming her. It was not fair. ‘I can assure you I am not being entertained at this minute. I regret that my dance card is full.’

‘Even though you have not looked at it, and you did not say as much when I enquired. I see.’ He paused. ‘I hope that you enjoy your evening, Miss Gaydon.’ He bowed, and withdrew, with a face fit for a funeral.

Lady Vernham, who had been watching, whilst apparently in conversation with a matron animadverting upon the difficulties of obtaining perfectly fresh lobsters, permitted her delicate brows to draw into a brief frown. Once she had disengaged from the lady, she went in search of the unhappy viscount, whom she found glaring at a marble bust of Circe as if she was responsible for all the faults of her gender.

‘What happened?’

He turned. ‘I made a mull of it.’

‘That, I must say, was perfectly obvious. Tell me what happened.’

He obeyed the command. At the conclusion, he shook his head. ‘If I were to try and be as at home, she would treat me like a relative, and if I try and woo her as she is, I get nowhere.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake.’ Lady Vernham was not sympathetic. ‘I am out of all patience with you, you foolish boy.’

No woman had called him a ‘boy’ since his mother died. He looked uncomfortable. Lady Vernham watched, assessed and came to a decision.

‘Somebody needs to take you in hand, Henfield, and it is going to be me.’

CHAPTER EIGHT