“Me too,” Klaus chimes in. “I’m sure finding a suitable candidate would be easy enough.”

“Don’t encourage her!” Ben groans. “The idea is ridiculous.”

I feel my spine stiffen at that. Is the idea of romance with me really so absurd?

“Actually,” I say, a little more forcefully than I intended, “it could be just what I need.”

“A romantic experiment?” Ben shakes his head. “What happened to, I don’t know … hearts and poetry and love in a gardenia-scented garden? Aren’t women supposed to care about those things?”

“I don’t think gardenias would do very well here,” I say doubtfully, taking a bite of food. “They might struggle with the heat and dryness. They can be very temperamental.”

“The gardenias are irrelevant!” Ben exclaims in tones of exasperation.

“Well, you brought them up.” I look at him. “Is that what you want then?” I ask, curious. “Hearts and poetry and gardenias?”

Ursula laughs into the wine glass at her lips.

“Me?” Ben looks stricken. “God, no. That’s the last thing I’m looking for.” He shifts awkwardly. “But that’s what women want, isn’t it?”

I shrug. “I wouldn’t know.”

“If you’ve never been the subject of romantic attentions in England, then all I can say is the Englishmen must be a very cold breed,” says Klaus gallantly.

I hesitate. “I wouldn’t say that, exactly. But, well – you’d understand if you’d met Cuthbert.”

“Who’s Cuthbert?” Ursula asks, leaning back as she lights a cigarette.

I tell them the whole story of our brief “courtship”, including the disastrous dinner party, and by the time I finish they’re all laughing. Ursula, more animated than I have ever seen her, wipes tears from her eyes.

“You lectured the vicar on the mating habits of glow-worms?” Ben asks, weakly. “Of course you did.”

“I wish I had seen it,” Ursula manages. “So that’s the plan, is it?” she continues more thoughtfully now. “Your parents want to marry you off to a weak-chinned aristocrat and move him into the family manor?”

“That’s about the size of it.” I feel a pang as I remember my mother’s letter, shoved out of sight in my room. “They’re not doing it to be cruel,” I add quickly. “I know they genuinely think it’s what’s best for me. They just can’t conceive of the kind of life I want for myself.”

“And you’re going to let them do it?” Ben asks, his eyes on mine. “You’ll let them marry you off to the poor sap?”