‘Henrietta, that is positively devious. The flowers are pretty, and they do go with my gown.’

Henrietta nearly laughed. Since neither young lady favoured even the palest of pinks, and most of their gowns were in shades of white and ivory ‘with a tint of’, the cream and pale lemon flowers were never going to clash.

‘Absolutely. I think you wear it and risk it, yes?’

‘Yes!’ Caroline beamed at her cousin, and Henrietta wondered if Caroline was quietly hoping that the sender was Lord Martley.

Almack’s was exceedingly warm, and the ladies were fanning themselves for real rather than from any flirtatious reasons. At least, thought Henrietta, muslins were thin. What it must be like for the gentlemen she dared not imagine. Lady Elstead timed their arrival to be neither early, showing desperation, nor late, showing, as she said in the carriage, ‘an inability to prepare oneself in good time, or a house where the staff do not wind the clocks regularly’. Henrietta scanned the room, wondering whom she might see, and most especially seeking Lord Henfield, since she was determined to both thank him once again for his present, and to be especially nice to him.

Whilst it was ridiculous to even consider that a gentleman would come to Almack’s and only dance with one lady, she nevertheless felt a twinge of disappointment to find that he was already upon the dance floor, and with Miss Yate as his partner. He did dance, she thought dispassionately, very well for a man more at home with a shotgun in the crook of his arm, and the hope of a cosy dinner on the table rather than ices and feats of culinary artistry, not that Almack’s provided either of those. As she watched him move up the set, she was conscious of both contentment and a strange melancholy. She had the oddest sensation of possessiveness, as though Miss Yate were dancing with ‘her Charles’ – as though she had borrowed him for the dance, but would be expected to return him afterwards.

The musicians held a long note, and the dance ended. Lord Henfield bowed to Miss Yate, and offered her his arm. She looked up at him with a smile, a smile of gratitude and pleasure. As they turned to leave the floor he looked in Henrietta’s direction, and for a moment their eyes met, and held. Then Lady Elstead was introducing Henrietta to some old acquaintance and she had, perforce, to give her attention elsewhere.

‘You know Miss Gaydon from before her Season, I take it, my lord?’ Miss Yate had followed his gaze.

‘We virtually grew up together.’

‘Ah. The friends of one’s youth are very precious’ – Miss Yate sounded wistful – ‘and should never be set aside.’