Came the day, came the tears, and if the majority were from Henrietta, then her father’s eyes could not be said to be dry either. Lord Henfield, who had walked over to bid her farewell, remained dry-eyed, however. He said little, believing it a time for father and daughter, with himself upon the fringes, but when it came time to hand her up into the waiting post-chaise, it was he who took her hand. She looked up at him, her lashes wet, bravely trying to smile at him. His expression became of a sudden quite serious.

‘Spread your wings, Henry, and enjoy all that is new, but remember we are here for you still,’ he murmured, in his soft baritone. He paused, and then pressed something into her gloved hand. ‘You will have jewels suitable for a young lady, items from your mama, but this belonged to mine, and I would like you to have it.’

Henrietta blinked at the brooch in her palm, a gold disc in which a frond of leaves was set in pearls.

‘Oh Charles, you should not. I cannot …’

‘You can, and I beg that you will.’ He closed her fingers over it, and she, blushing, stood upon tiptoe and kissed his cold cheek.

‘I will miss you too, you know,’ she said softly.

‘Only until that first dance, fickle Miss Gaydon,’ he replied, hiding his own embarrassment. ‘Now, off with you.’ He handed her into the chaise, and watched her arrange her skirts, then closed the door.

The horses were set in motion. Henrietta leaned to wave and keep her father in sight as long as possible, but the curve of the drive eventually hid the two gentlemen from view. She dabbed at her eyes, sniffed, and looked again at the brooch. She was, she decided, a very fortunate young woman to have a doting papa and such a kind friend.

When Henrietta reached South Audley Street on the third day, having spent two nights upon the road, she was weary of body, and disinclined to eat, her constitution, she decided, not being best suited to prolonged travel. Indeed, upon a few patches of post road she had felt quite unwell, and it was a rather pale young woman who alighted before the Elstead residence, and trod, a little stiffly, up the steps.