Her aunt greeted her warmly, and fussed over her tiredness, concealing at the same time her disappointment. When last she had seen Henrietta, a formless little girl of ten years, she had features which clearly showed her maternal lineage, but had her sire’s brown hair and looked likely to follow him in being, although not stocky, ‘solid’ in build. The young woman before her, despite a pallor from travelling, and a tired droop to her shoulders, was possessed of a figure that would draw admiring glances, and a face that would make those glances stares, at least among the impertinent. She was not, perhaps, as tall as some men liked, and her hair was still ‘brown’, but of a shade that made the word seem inappropriate for one so beautiful. Lady Elstead had expected to bring out her daughter with her niece a little in the background, but faced the fact, squarely, that Caroline, brunette and pretty as she was, could not hold a candle to her cousin. It was most lowering.

She voiced this complaint to her lord, having sent Henrietta up to rest and take supper in her room, if she could not face coming down to dinner.

‘It is most vexatious, and it is no secret that Sir John’s estate passes to her upon his demise, and a healthy estate that is. I almost wish I had not made the offer to bring her out … But my poor sister trusted me to do so, come the time, and one has one’s duty to the family.’ She sighed, both indicating the sorrow at the loss of her sibling, and at the burden now placed upon her.

‘Well, my dear, in some ways it is no harm done. A girl can only marry one man, and a man may only marry one girl, so if there are plenty hovering about Henrietta, then Caroline will also be in their milieu, and …’

‘You would have our daughter take her cousin’s “cast offs”?’ snorted Lady Elstead.

‘No. I am simply saying there are enough young men to go around. Caroline is a pretty girl, and will do well.’

‘“Well” may not be good enough, sir.’

‘What is it you want for Caroline? Surely a decent husband, of good family and with sufficient wherewithal to keep her in comfort, is enough. The Season ought not to be a competition to see which girl “wins” the highest rank or the wealthiest husband.’

Lady Elstead did not reply, since she wisely realised that the male perspective was not that of every Society mama. Rank was not everything, nor was wealth, but both counted for more than their obvious advantages. Every woman sought to be a success at her own come-out, and then prove her worth by launching any daughters in such a way that they in turn achieved a brilliant marriage.