‘Females. Illogical. Mind you, none of ’em ever had to learn rhetoric or logic at school so what can one expect. I have sort of decided already that I am not going to worry about whether the girl is logical, when I come to get leg-shackled. As long as I am comfortable with her … And she does not squint. Never could abide a squint.’

‘I was comfortable with Henr … ietta, till she came to London.’

‘Do not dwell upon it, dear fellow. Tell you what, perhaps she saw that long face coming on and she cannot bear to see you miserable.’

The butler entered the room.

‘Excuse me, my lords. Her ladyship wishes Lord Henfield to know that she will be pleased to see him in the Rose Saloon at eleven of the clock, if you have no prior engagements, my lord.’ He looked to Lord Henfield, but not by a single twitch of a muscle could it be seen that it was not Lady Vernham’s habit to have private interviews with her guests before luncheon.

‘Er, please convey my respects to her ladyship and assure her that I will, er, present myself promptly.’

‘Thank you, my lord. I shall have that message sent up to her ladyship immediately.’ The butler bowed, and withdrew.

‘What the devil does my mama want to see you about at eleven, Henfield? Please do not say you got a set-down from her too.’

‘Not exactly, but the day may yet come.’ He explained what Lady Vernham had decided to do.

‘Good grief!’ Lord Gorleston could think of nothing more to say.

The Rose Saloon was decorated in a dusky pink-grey, to which Lord Henfield took instant dislike. Lady Vernham was sitting with her hands folded in her lap, looking calm and regal. The clock upon the mantelshelf chimed the hour with a tinkling of bells.

‘I am glad to see that you are punctual, Henfield.’

‘Good morning, ma’am.’ He made her his bow, which she acknowledged with a gracious nod of her head. He then stood, feeling very self-conscious.

‘Do not stand there as though a schoolboy about to receive a trimming, Henfield. Sit down, and tell me all about Miss Gaydon, the one you know, not just the one I see.’

She did, he thought, at least realise that there were two ‘versions’ of Henrietta Gaydon. He began, hesitantly at first, but once lost in the past happiness of the relationship, he almost forgot Lady Vernham’s presence. When he reached the point that Henry left home, her ladyship raised her hand, and then her voice.

‘Stop. You have painted a mighty pretty picture, but tell me two things.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘When did it dawn upon you that you were actually in love with the girl, and how many other girls do you know?’