After luncheon it was clear that the gentlemen had been correct. A watery sunshine bathed the damp capital, and there was steam rising from some of the thoroughfares along which Sir Lawrence Coleford walked purposefully. Caroline went to practise upon her harp, which she said she had neglected of late, and Henrietta sat quietly in the small parlour, composing a letter to her papa. It was a difficult letter, because she was not used to concealing anything from him, and this time she was ignoring a very important topic. The beginning was not too awkward, since she could tell him that they were going to watch a balloon ascent the following week, and that she and Caroline had been saved a soaking, that very morning, by the timely appearance of Lord Martley.

I do not blame the poor footman, for he was merely attempting to get the umbrella up swiftly to prevent us getting wet, but it was the most unfortunate circumstance, and Lord Martley’s coming upon us at that moment undoubtedly saved the day, or at least our bonnets, which I am convinced would have been utterly ruined. I did not say anything, since Caroline is most discomposed by thunderstorms, but what was in my head all the way back to South Audley Street was that poor heifer of Farmer Leigh that was struck by lightning. I shall never forget seeing the beast dead in the field. I have to report also that whilst Caroline very much dislikes thunder and lightning, my aunt is perfectly terrified by them. It was almost funny to see, though one does of course have sympathy with her nerves.

Having exhausted the thunderstorm, the letter became complicated. She was sitting, staring out of the window, but seeing nothing beyond what was in her head when Lady Elstead peered round the door. It was most unlike her ladyship to peer.

‘Ah, there you are, my dear. I wish to speak with you, upon a matter of some importance.’ Lady Elstead came in and sat upon a rather uncomfortable sofa. She then patted the seat next to her, rather self-consciously. Henrietta set down her pen and dutifully came to sit down.

‘My dear, Lord Elstead has had … representations made to him, by a gentleman.’

Henrietta’s heart sank. ‘He has, ma’am?’

‘Yes, but before he would give an answer which might send Sir Lawrence all the way to Shropshire, he …’

‘Sir Lawrence? Sir Lawrence Coleford? But, dear aunt, I have only known him a few weeks, to speak with, and we have not engaged in private conversation more than half a dozen times.’