Page 72 of Henrietta

Mademoiselle de Nicolet laughed. Timothy blanched. Arthur had been quite correct to warn him of danger on that front: the poor creature was on the verge of toppling head over heels in love with him. When she drifted towards the window, he did not follow her.

‘Corky,’ he hissed with a jerk of his head. ‘I must speak with you.’

The procession would not begin for a while yet, but a vast display of refreshments had been arranged to keep them busy and the windows looking out on the Strand below provided more than enough entertainment: in the minutes it had taken them to make their way inside, the streets looked visibly fuller, and as more guests began to arrive, they speculated as to how long it would take them to clear, observed a few scuffles between ladies, and for a while conversation was light and happy. There was a great deal to discuss after all, such as the breaking off of Princess Charlotte’s engagement to the Prince of Orange.

‘I understand entirely,’ Trixie declared. ‘I should not wish to marry him.’

‘Trixie …’ Lady Allerton said, though fortunately the assembled party was willing to look upon her vivacity with indulgence.

‘It just seems so very tiresome,’ Trixie went on. ‘Indeed, I have decided not to marry at all this Season.’

‘Not even slightly?’ Mademoiselle de Nicolet asked, smiling.

Trixie shook her head firmly. ‘Nothing could be more fatal than marrying young. Unless, of course, one could marry a very, very old man – but then the worst luck would be that they go on living forever and ever!’

‘Old men can be so very disagreeable in that way,’ the Marquis agreed.

‘Shouldn’t say such things, Trixie,’ Timothy put in.

Trixie fired up at once. ‘Surely I am allowed to plan my life!’

‘One’s life, perhaps,’ Lady Allerton conceded, ‘but not someone’s death.’

‘Shockingly bad ton,’ Timothy agreed.

‘Is the Prince very knocked up by it all?’ Mrs Corcott asked the Marquis, who was known to be close to the fellow.

‘Not so badly,’ he said. ‘I think the embarrassment hurts far more.’

‘How did you come to meet one another?’ Trixie enquired. ‘I thought he made his schooling here in England.’

‘We met as boys,’ Nicolet said. ‘In Vienna, when I was—’

‘Oh, then did Hetty met the Prince, too? Hetty, you sly thing, you never said.’

Mademoiselle de Nicolet, looking from Hetty to her brother, felt her own curiosity stir. ‘How did you two come to be acquainted? I own, I have not been able to get a straight answer from Henri.’

‘Oh well, you know …’ Hetty tried to cudgel her mind for a change of subject, but the collective interest of the room had been piqued.

‘Oh, do tell us,’ Trixie begged. ‘My lord?’

To Hetty’s relief, Nicolet shook his head firmly. ‘Well, I would but … Miss Clithero does so love to tell it herself.’

Hetty turned, very slowly, to look at him. Had she had the power to fell a person with her gaze she would have used it at that moment.

‘Do I?’

‘You are being too humble,’ Nicolet chastised her. ‘You spin it into such a merry tale!’

‘Oh, then we must hear it,’ Lady Allerton said, looking inquiringly towards Hetty.

‘Do tell it, Miss Clithero,’ Mademoiselle de Nicolet added her entreaties.

All the faces in the room turned expectantly towards her.

‘Well,’ Hetty began. ‘Well.’ She cast about frantically. ‘It was – ah – through my father, of course.’

‘Oh yes, the famous professor!’ Lady Davenport declared.