‘Oh, not begrudging, just …’ Henrietta could not voice the thought that had struck her, quite forcibly, that the one thing she would not, could not, grant Lord Martley, was her hand in marriage. She wondered why. He was sweet natured, good looking, optimistic and never overstepped the mark, unlike a certain young gentleman of whom her aunt was thankfully unaware, and who had, presumably in a state of alcohol-induced boldness, attempted to place his arm about Henrietta’s waist as she left one of the small withdrawing rooms during a ball at Lansdowne House. Henrietta did not know his name, nor did she have any desire to ascertain it in the future, and the sharp slap she had delivered might well have served to both sober him sufficiently to become aware of his error, and put him off further encounters with a beautiful young lady possessed of a very firm palm. So why was she not able to imagine a life with Lord Martley? It was an unanswerable question.

‘He is terribly good looking,’ whispered Caroline, with the merest hint of a sigh.

‘He is personable,’ replied Henrietta, and then noticed the dreaming look upon her cousin’s face. ‘Do you prefer him to Lord Netheravon, or Sir Oliver Ryall? Sir Oliver has danced with you three times this week.’

‘I … I do, but Henrietta, you saw how Mama was with Lady Pirbright. Can you conceive of either lady giving their blessing if – and I must stress that I have no proof that Lord Martley prefers me over any other young lady, and may indeed have his eyes upon yourself – he were to dare to offer for me?’

Henrietta was secretly taken aback that Caroline even mentioned the word ‘offer’. If she had even begun to imagine such an eventuality, she must have quite a serious tendre for the gentleman.

‘To be honest, Caroline, and you know that I am painfully so, it does sound a match unlikely to be greeted with delight upon either side, but if you were both sure of each other, would that not be set aside?’

‘I wish that I thought so, but I do not.’ Caroline paused. ‘I am not in love with Lord Martley, you understand,’ she averred with more determination than belief, ‘it is just that … I could be, so very easily.’

Henrietta did not know whether to advise her cousin to let her feelings hold sway, or to keep them in check, and so said nothing, but squeezed her hand in a supportive manner. Support might be what she would need, since Henrietta had not forgotten the ‘no’ list.