Page 37 of Henrietta

‘He is.’ Hetty blushed furiously.

‘What else?’ Arthur prompted. Now that he had finally got Hetty to speak on the matter, he did not wish her to stop. ‘Tell me of him. I must learn of his character,’ he said. ‘How else can I be certain of his deserving you?’

Hetty was aware of an almost uncontrollable desire to laugh. Wiser minds would advise her to refuse Arthur’s request, to evade the subject as she had been doing all week – but perhaps it was the enlivening effect of the country dance, which had made her blood rush through her veins, or the mask, provoking her sense of mischief, but she did not.

‘We can keep it simple,’ Arthur encouraged. ‘Are you of a similar age?’

As long as she did not lie … what could be the harm? ‘Roughly,’ she said warily. ‘He is – a few years older.’

‘You know him well?’

‘Quite well. We first met in, ah, in …’ For a moment, Hetty was hard pressed to remember a single country or city she had visited, before managing, finally: ‘Rome!’

Arthur frowned. ‘Not Vienna? I had assumed – so many Belgian nobles fled there to escape the French.’

This, Hetty decided, would make far more sense.

‘We first met, briefly, in Rome,’ she corrected hastily. ‘But, yes, Vienna is where we grew to know each other more fully, his family – as you say – having, ah, fled there after the annexation.’

Her palms were moistening with nerves.

‘You have not seen him since then?’

‘No.’ Hetty felt that to have conducted any clandestine meetings while living with the Allertons would be too unlikely, even for her fictional self. ‘But,’ she added hastily, for she did not wish Arthur to think she had been pining from afar with no encouragement, ‘we have written, too.’

‘A very good sign,’ Arthur approved. ‘A gentleman does not spend the effort of writing to a young lady unless his affections are strong.’

‘You think so?’

‘Certainly.’

‘Well, that is bolstering,’ she said, her thoughts on the hundred-high stack of letters she had received from Arthur over the years.

‘How did you come to be acquainted?’ he said. ‘Your father knows the family?’

She nodded. ‘And we lived … close to one another.’

Very close.

‘Hmm, interesting.’ He grinned down at her. ‘I wonder if I might be able to guess his identity.’

‘You may try,’ Hetty said, safe in the knowledge that there must be a hundred persons who fit such a description.

The music drew to a halt. She curtseyed, and he bowed. Across the room, Lady Allerton – recognisable to them, at least, by the shocking pink of her domino – clapped enthusiastically.

‘Another?’ Arthur said, and Hetty was tempted but—

‘Ask your mother, first,’ she requested. ‘I dare say this is the first dance floor I have seen her absent from in many years.’

Lady Allerton made a jesting show of considering Arthur’s offer before she permitted him to sweep her on to the dance floor.

‘I think I shall explore the other rooms,’ Trixie announced. ‘If I find refreshments, shall I bring back lemonade?’

‘I shall accompany you,’ Timothy said – with such an edge of obstinacy in his voice that Trixie did not argue, however certain she felt that her elder brother was likely to take all the fun out of exploring. She did, however, as they made their way through to the saloon and neared the refreshment table, let out a soft exclamation of surprise.

‘What is it?’

‘I think that was Mr Brummell,’ Trixie whispered.