‘Well, he seems very sure. I … I do wonder if he might be so ardent because he fears some other man might pre-empt him, and be seen as a better match, which is of course not impossible. You are a very pretty girl, my dear, and very popular.’ Lady Elstead patted Henrietta’s hand. ‘You have some admirers who might ask permission to pay their addresses whom I would advocate most strongly that you, and indeed your papa, consider seriously. I am rather disappointed in Sir Lawrence, who has been, in my view, rather too swift, but if you felt anything for him, and’ – she now held up her hand to forestall interruption – ‘I can tell that it is not the case, I would not discount him as a husband.’

‘I can only say that I had not, for a moment, even thought of Sir Lawrence in that light. Indeed, among my “admirers”, as you call them, and of which I sometimes feel I have too many, an “embarras de richesse” even, he is almost the least likely to appeal to me.’ Henrietta looked worried. ‘What happens if my uncle tells him that his suit is not … I mean … How do I face him?’

‘Goodness, my dear, do not worry about that. He is a sensible man and, for all his protestations that you are “his ideal”, I hardly think his heart will be shattered. He has been terribly precipitate, and so cannot be altogether surprised if he is refused.’ Lady Elstead looked vaguely irritated that Sir Lawrence had been found wanting. ‘You will smile sweetly, let him dance with you, and at all times remain cool and calm.’

‘That sounds easier than it may prove to be in practice, ma’am.’

‘Nonsense, Henrietta. Needless to say, you do not boast of having refused an offer, and never name the gentleman, but I could trust you to behave well.’ Henrietta still looked troubled. ‘Oh, do not look so downcast. It is a feather, however secret, in your cap, and one day, when you are a matron like myself, it will be wonderful to be able to say, “Ah yes, several offers were made for my hand”.’

Henrietta looked shyly at her aunt.

‘I … what if none of the gentlemen make me feel … what if …’

‘Hmm.’ Lady Elstead’s eyes narrowed. ‘You must be realistic, my child. Perhaps you have, inadvertently, too romantic an aspiration. There is nothing, I repeat, nothing, worse than being left a spinster. A spinster at best becomes a quirky old maid pitied and frequently mocked. At worst she is a drain upon her family, though in your case, with no siblings, that is not the problem. Marriage gives you status and command, and marks you as successful.’

‘But an unhappy marriage, ma’am …’