‘Is that in order for you to twirl about the floor and bump into Miss Felbridge and her partner?’ Lord Henfield suddenly felt as if the last few days of misery had been but a dream. Here was Henry, his Henry, behaving like she always had with him. A warning voice within told he must not slip into Shropshire mode for the evening, since he had a ‘war’ to win.

‘It most certainly is not, sir. It is by way of a thank you, for … forgiving me.’ She looked quite shy, and then serious. ‘I did not deserve …’

‘We shall not speak of it now. I …’ He turned to Caroline. ‘I believe the next dance to be a country dance, Miss Felbridge. If you are not engaged, might I solicit you as a partner?’

Caroline thanked him and accepted, and Henrietta was left wondering.

When Lord Henfield appeared at her elbow to claim his dance, Henrietta looked up at him questioningly. He did not look as if he were about to scold her. She laid her hand on his arm and he led her onto the floor, where he placed his hand lightly at her waist, and smiled at her, with a trace of wistfulness.

‘You said we would not talk of my … behaviour, but I think you do have something to say. Perhaps you ought to say it now, so that I know the worst.’

‘There is no “worst”. If you regret your words it takes the sting from them, and the gift was not to reward your behaviour but to atone for mine, for I said the wrong thing. I did not mean to do so, but ever since I came to London I have been confused.’

The music started, and they began to twirl like automatons about the dance floor.

‘Confused?’ Henrietta frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Because I knew you would look different, new gowns, a new way to dress your hair, but you seemed to have changed so very much, and I did not, do not, know how to act. If I try to be as we were at home, it can be taken that I am treating you as a child, though I have not thought of you as such for several years, I swear. Yet if I try and behave like the men I see flocking about you, then I look blockish and stiff and … I have drifted between the two and done nothing but annoy you, Mi … Henry. I want the chance, just the chance, to be as popular with you as Martley, or Netheravon or Coleford.’

‘Hmm, Sir Lawrence is not popular with me.’

‘Tell me what you want from me?’ Lord Henfield’s hold tightened a fraction, and his words, softly spoken, begged.