Page 41 of Henrietta

He bowed in return, and – with a faint accent that proclaimed him one of London’s European newcomers – entirely refused her apology. ‘The fault was mine, entirely.’

‘Oh, well …’

He made no move to quit her presence, but regarded her expectantly and Hetty – colour and heartrate rising – groped about for what next to say. ‘Do you – do you think so?’

The words came to her just in the nick of time. God bless Lady Allerton.

‘Oh, assuredly. I was too distracted admiring the wonderful decorations.’

‘It is such a fine – evening,’ Hetty said.

The stranger replied: ‘One cannot help but wonder how they achieved it.’

With a prickle of amusement, Hetty realised she was on the cusp of using all of Lady Allerton’s phrases in a row.

‘How marvellous!’ she exclaimed. Suddenly awash with triumph, a peal of delighted laughter escaped her mouth.

The gentleman, who had not been expecting this, started – and Hetty pressed a contrite hand to her mouth to contain herself.

‘Is there something amusing?’ He looked down upon himself. ‘Is it my coat? Have I committed some grand British faux pas?’

‘Oh no, I did not – I am not laughing at you!’

‘There can be such a thing as too many tassels, you see.’

Blushing, Hetty made her excuses, curtseyed a farewell and fled. At least, in a crush such as this, she was unlikely to see him again, for it proved a difficult enough task to locate the Allertons. Arthur, finally, she spotted leading this Mademoiselle de Nicolet character on to the dance floor – his excuses about his wounded leg could not be sustained now he had been glimpsed upon horseback quite so frequently – and nearby, Trixie was also dancing. Hetty was scanning the crowds for Lady Allerton or Timothy when she spotted Mr Hargan, who had finally plucked up the courage to approach her.

This feat had not seemed so very impressive until he was sufficiently near to Miss Clithero to notice just how very fine she was looking that evening. Had Hetty known this was the reason Mr Hargan drew to a complete halt a full ten steps away from her, she would certainly have been flattered – and relieved to know, indeed, that someone had noticed this first outing of a diaphanous gown of green sarsnet. She did not know, however, and instead only regarded him – standing at a distance which might have been purposely calculated to convey the greatest possible awkwardness – with some dismay. Feeling she had not the social grace to rescue them from this blunder, she wavered uncertainly – until she caught sight of Sir Marcus Kirkham, oiling his way across the floor towards her, a certain expectancy in his eyes that told her he intended to ask her to dance.

Ordinarily, Hetty would have resigned herself to the fate. It was, however, the new waltz they were preparing for, and the thought of having Sir Marcus’s arms all about her was abruptly too abhorrent to withstand.

‘Mr Hargan?’ Mr Hargan, in the midst of admiring the chandelier above, was rather startled by Hetty’s peremptory summons.

‘Y-yes?’ he said, fighting the urge to retreat as she hastened towards him. ‘Oh, Miss, Miss—’

Incomprehensibly, he found he could not remember her name.

‘Clithero,’ Hetty prompted as his face turned puce with mortification. ‘Shall we take a turn of the room?’

Mr Hargan agreed with some relief, and if he was disconcerted by the speed of the march Miss Clithero initiated, he made no comment on it. Hetty, stealing a glance over her shoulder, only slowed when she had lost sight of Sir Marcus. She breathed a sigh of relief, and then cast Mr Hargan a winning smile which almost had him colliding with a waiter.

‘Careful!’ she advised, holding back laughter.

It struck her that she did not really know much about Mr Hargan, though he had been courting her – if one could call it that – for several months now and, before that, had been a consistent enough friend to Timothy that he had been a familiar fixture at their parties and events.

‘Why do you put yourself through it all?’’ she asked. Mr Hargan turned to regard her with more surprise than comprehension, and she clarified: ‘Is it your mother who makes you dance attendance upon me?’

‘No one forces me,’ he assured her in some horror. Then, with a cough, and directing his gaze to his shoes, he clarified: ‘Admire you.’

‘Oh.’ Hetty was rather touched. ‘You do not have an interest in my fortune? I own, I assumed …’

It was a question she would not thought herself daring enough to ask – but, well, after all her practice these past days, Mr Hargan did not seem in the least frightening.

It was not often that the Honourable Robert Hargan – heir to an acreage of twenty thousand and an annual income of near the same – was in the position of having to explain his wealth to someone. ‘My – ah – lands serve me well enough,’ he ventured carefully. ‘Beautiful, indeed, and if there are the occasional issues with flooding, we—’

‘Flooding?’

‘Occasional,’ he stressed hastily, thinking of how his mother would berate him for not describing his home more persuasively. ‘Beautiful, though. Our greenhouses, in particular – second to none, I should say.’