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‘It is probably not good manners to comment on this but when have you known me to let that worry me?’ He scratched the back of his head and she realised he was not as comfortable as he was pretending to be.

It was amazing how much better she was coming to understand him, how she was able to read his moods through the slight shift of his shoulders.

‘I see your mother pecking at you, always bringing down your confidence and you should ignore her.’ He inhaled deeply and then met her gaze, his dark eyes serious.

‘You are the most beautiful woman in the room, in any room, in fact.’

Before she could respond to the most earth-shattering comment she had ever received, Freddie was bowing and striding away, soon to be swallowed up by the crowd. She stared after him until Eloisa jostled her elbow.

‘You need to blink.’

‘Wha…?’

‘You are starting to look a bit strange; you need to move.’ Still Emily could only stare after Freddie. ‘Goodness, what did he do to you?’

‘I…’

‘Turn to look at me, because right now, you look like you are trying to imitate a fish.’

Emily turned slowly to her left. Eloisa was talking, but she could make no sense of what she was saying.

Freddie thought she was beautiful. There had been no false note in his words; she truly believed that he had meant what he said.

But he was right; the staggering enormity of his compliment was going to make it very hard to pretend not to like him. The fiend.

‘Tell me everything,’ said Eloisa.

‘He…’ But she found she didn’t want to tell Eloisa exactly what had just passed between them. To do so might ruin it. She wanted to revel in the compliment, to let it soak into her skin.

Eloisa shook her arm again, clearly fighting laughter. ‘You need to pull yourself together. You look like you have been in the boxing ring.’

That got Emily’s attention. ‘What do you know about boxing?’

‘Ah, there you are; I was worried for a moment.’ Her friend began to drag her back towards the potted plant. ‘I know as much as you do about that sport, which is to say very little indeed. What I meant by it is that you look dazed, as if you have been knocked over the head with a blunt object.’

‘You have been reading too many Gothic novels.’ Emily was coming back to herself, but her mind was still several steps behind.

‘That may be so, but I have to know what it was that he said to you. At the end, I mean, because before that you looked almost normal.’

‘Only almost?’ She certainly didn’t feel like herself; she hadn’t since she had stepped out from behind the potted plant.

‘You were smiling at Freddie Dashworth! Before today I have only seen you frown at him. That is not normal behaviour for you. What is more, he was smiling at you and not in his lazy, sarcastic way, but as if he was genuinely happy to be dancing with you. As you have always maintained that you two are mortal enemies, I was going to quiz you on that , but now I have to know what he said that appears to have removed your brain.’

But before they could reach the sanctuary of the plotted plant, their way was blocked by yet another Dashworth man. This time, it was the duke.

Emily and Eloisa froze. If the look on Emily’s face was anything close to Eloisa’s, she may as well have been confronted by Banquo’s ghost or something equally as horrific.

The duke bowed.

They curtsied.

The longest silence in the history of the world began.

Emily quietly wished for an early death; anything to get her out of this desperate awkwardness. After an eternity in which Emily felt as if she had aged significantly, the Duke of Glanmore said, ‘May I have the next dance, Miss Hawkins?’

Next to her, Eloisa’s gasp was so loud, it was a wonder the guests of the whole ballroom didn’t turn around to see what had happened .

‘I would be honoured,’ said Emily, curtseying again, because it seemed like a good idea to be doing something, anything to take up the space where she would normally be talking.

The duke held out his arm and Emily took it.

Where touching Freddie had evoked all sorts of unfamiliar sensations, this was like holding on to a stone; there was no warmth or laughter coming from him, no hint that he would tease her or annoy her or dazzle her with unexpectedly powerful compliments.

That should please her. She wouldn’t feel wrong-footed or exasperated for any of this dance.

She would put on what she called, in private, her Society face, the expression her mother had made her practise in the mirror, and she would speak of the topics her mother instructed her on.

It would be the perfect-looking dance and she would not question her behaviour at the end of it.

Here she could show the duke that she would make a suitable duchess and if her stomach turned over at the thought, she would ignore it.

She couldn’t stay an unmarried woman for much longer and she was yet to receive an offer from anyone.

If the duke was interested in having her as his bride, she would be grateful and not long for anything or anyone else.

To escape her mother would be a blessing and she would ignore the pang in her heart, which foolishly seemed to be trying to push images of Freddie into her mind.

Freddie and she did not suit. He knew that; she knew that.

The music began and Emily followed the duke’s lead.

He didn’t speak much but when he did, she made the effort to respond as brightly and as cheerfully as she could.

It was all perfectly pleasant and yet the whole ordeal went on for an eternity.

On one of her last turns around the ballroom, she caught sight of her mother’s face.

Ice crept along her spine, making her want to curl in on herself.

Emily had never seen such unmitigated joy in her mother’s expression before, or she had but it had never been aimed at her.

Obviously, her mother’s delight was because she believed this dance was further confirmation that the duke was interested in pursuing a relationship with her.

Forget discussing the wedding invitations, they would probably be sent out tomorrow.

Her lungs became tight, as if her corset were narrowing, restricting her breathing.

The duke hadn’t offered for her, this dance wasn’t a proposal, and yet she could see her future stretching ahead of her.

Marriage to the duke, the house cold and silent, her mother crowing with delight about how her daughter had achieved such a triumph, but never really seeing Emily, not noticing how her daughter was slowly disappearing.

Or another future, one in which she failed to marry at all and had to listen to a lifetime of her mother’s diatribes.

There was no winning solution, only misery.

She stumbled through the next steps, the end of the dance coming as a blessed relief. Like the true gentleman he was, the duke escorted her back to her friend. Bowing over her hand, he left her to a gaping Eloisa.

‘Have you been standing like this the whole time?’ Emily asked, her amusement at her friend’s stance momentarily overshadowing her horror at her mother’s expression.

‘That was the Duke of Glanmore.’

‘I know.’

‘Do you have any idea what this means?’

‘It means nothing.’ Please God, let that be true . ‘He was being polite. I told you that…’

But whatever she was about to say was cut off by another gentleman arriving. She’d danced with him before, but she could not remember his name. ‘May I have this dance, Miss Hawkins?’

‘I… um…’ What was happening? Emily knew she wasn’t hideous to look at, but neither was she the most beautiful woman in the room, despite what Freddie had said earlier.

She’d always had her fair share of p artners, but she had never been sought after and certainly had never received three dance requests on the trot.

A group of partygoers erupted into laughter, drawing her attention.

Behind them, her mother was watching her, her lips tilted up in a slight smile as she gazed at her youngest daughter.

Emily glanced at the sanctuary behind the large leaves of the potted plant, before dropping a curtsey.

‘I would be delighted to have this dance with you.’

The man beamed and led her back to the floor.