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The Season wasn’t called ‘the marriage market’ for nothing.

For every debutante who enjoyed the excitement of dancing, the glamorous balls, the fine clothes and the decorous flirting, there might be five who found the whole experience miserable, distressing, even degrading.

Not everyone could attract the attention of a gentleman worth ten thousand pounds a year, or five, or three.

Not everyone could be an acknowledged diamond.

It wasn’t surprising, then, that young ladies might find other ways to entertain themselves. An indulgence in gossip, even in the spreading of scandal, might not be virtuous or kind or wise – but was surely understandable.

Even if it was bound to lead to trouble.

‘He’s quite handsome,’ said one young lady wistfully.

Her hand had not been solicited for this set, and her friends were in the same situation, which gave them leisure to observe those they considered more fortunate, and the gentlemen who had singled them out.

‘And he is well-connected, even if he’s not supposed to be terribly rich. ’

The group of young women watched critically as Mr Peacock – the son and heir of a peer, and a gentleman of decided fashion, with carefully arranged golden locks – partnered tall, dark Lady Amelia Wyverne through the steps of the cotillion.

It was plain he was enthralled by her beauty; his gaze sought to catch and hold hers whenever the figure brought them together, and the observers could see that his hands, when they met hers, did not easily let them go. His attentions to her were most marked.

‘But she doesn’t seem to enjoy dancing with him,’ Miss Lancaster said shrewdly.

She was right; Lady Amelia’s glance did not linger responsively on her partner’s, and her gloved hands appeared to slip out of his with as much swiftness as she could manage.

Though she had a vague social smile pinned on her face, nobody could imagine that it reflected genuine pleasure.

She looked as though she might be counting the minutes till the music stopped and released her.

‘She’s spoilt,’ sniffed Miss Archer. ‘I dare say she thinks because she is the daughter of a marquess, and a great heiress, she is above Mr Peacock and too good for him. It quite gives one a disgust of her, to see her so proud and disdainful.’

‘Especially when one considers the reputation of her family!’ tittered Miss Muswell.

‘My mama says that she might consider herself lucky that she is accepted in society at all. It is well known that her late father could not have created any more scandal if he tried – imagine a man of rank and title actually marrying an actress, a woman from the gutter! – and as for her brother, the new marquess, the rumours of his conduct with his stepmother are far too shocking even to repeat. Her sister-in-law, though, is French, so I suppose she does not care what manner of man she has married as long as he is wealthy.’

The first lady who had spoken protested faintly, disturbed by the venom she had provoked with her unguarded comment, but Miss Lancaster said bluntly, ‘It must be a fine thing, to be an heiress, and sought-after, so that gentlemen are prepared to overlook such disadvantages. She has probably had a dozen offers, and rejected them all. It’s not fair! ’

This was so obviously true and so unanswerable that all the ladies subsided into discontented silence. There was no doubt that one or two of them would do Lady Amelia a mischief if they could; luckily for her, it was hard to see how their bad intentions might go beyond spiteful gossip. For now.