For Henrietta, Lady Cowper’s party had not been a success, although she had indeed managed to fill her dance card, had been paid many nice compliments and enjoyed the first half hour. Lady Elstead was even, unbeknownst to her, about to add another name to the list of possible suitors. Sir Lawrence Coleford was not a wealthy man, but his lineage was good, and he had not been classed as a ‘fortune hunter’ for he was not to be seen chasing every new heiress that appeared among the Ton. Had Lady Elstead asked Henrietta what she thought of the gentleman, she would have been shocked to find Henrietta having to cudgel her brains to bring him to mind. Her disagreement with Lord Henfield had cast a damper over the entire evening, and Henrietta was both upset and confused. Charles meant ‘home’ and being comfortable, and yet here he was making her feel unhappy. She was delighted to see him, but wished also that he would go away. What she could not see was that she was foisting all her own inner worries upon him as the cause.

Henrietta was struggling. She had become swiftly caught up in a world she only partially understood. Her mother had been a very present ‘Mama’ to the child, but her untimely death had meant that from before adolescence Henrietta had lacked a woman’s guidance. She was shy with other young women, and in many ways socially out of her depth, yet her natural assurance with the male sex ensured that she did not simper or cower in their presence, like some of her peers, but could appear at ease and poised. What she thought of as mere friendliness could even be misconstrued as flirting, for she was used to banter with Charles Henfield, and discuss serious issues with her papa. She was using this mask of assurance to conceal her inner insecurity. Men flocked about her, and she liked being courted and praised. It made her feel ‘grown-up’, and the woman of the world that she knew, deep down, she was not. It was a performance, a charade, highly enjoyable but without any foundation, and without a foundation upon which to stand, Henrietta was ‘wobbling’. She was also feeling the pressure of her many beaux.