‘Oh no, ma’am, that is the awful part. Truly, he was not at fault and it was me, being … silly and fractious. It is such a beautiful ring, and I am so undeserving of it.’

Lady Elstead probed the exact nature of the contretemps more closely, but Henrietta just shook her head, and repeated ‘undeserving’. Failing to learn anything more by these means, Lady Elstead gave up, but went away to rewrite her Henrietta list with Lord Henfield’s name at the top.

‘She could do better, of course,’ she murmured to herself as she did so, ‘but if it comes to pass it will not be set at my door. Everyone will assume that there was an understanding before she even came to London. Oh well.’

Henrietta dressed for the evening with uncharacteristic indecision, and surveyed three different gowns and tried on two of them before deciding which she would wear. Sewell chastised her for being ‘feather-headed’, and shook her head.

‘And there was I thinking as you had got yourself all serene about parties and dancing and the like. Now, Miss Henrietta, keep still, or I will end up placing these flowers in your hair all awry and have to start again.’ The maid fussed, and primped and surveyed, until such time as she felt her mistress passed muster. ‘There now, fine as fivepence.’ She stood back, and smiled.

‘Thank you, Sewell. No need to wait …’

‘As if I would go to bed, knowing that you will come in and leave your gown crumpled and your dancing slippers where any might fall over them. You just ring as always, and I will be up.’

‘You are the best of maids. Thank you.’ Henrietta rose and pressed her cheek to her old maid’s, which caused Sewell to shoo her from the room in embarrassment.

Henrietta knocked upon her cousin’s door, and found her eyeing a small, but very pretty, corsage.

‘That is nice,’ she remarked. ‘Go on, Caroline, tell me who sent it.’

‘That is the thing, cousin. I do not know. It was simply delivered, addressed to me most clearly, and with no message or indication as to the sender. I am wondering if I should wear it, in case I should encourage a gentleman I actually dislike.’

‘Are there any?’

‘Well, if it is Sir Lawrence Coleford …’

‘Ah yes, but the flowers show a delicate touch and he would not do more than say “violets” or “lily of the valley”.’

‘Unless he was so vague that he left all to the florist? Oh, what shall I do?’ Her hand went to her cheek.

‘Do you know, I think you have to be prepared to be dishonest. If it is he, or some other man you do not care to bestow your best smile upon, look surprised, and thank him, and say, “and I thought …” without finishing the sentence and giving any other name.’