And here came Geoffrey Danforth, with his flashing blue eyes and a smile to make a girl weak in the knees. Oh dear.

He stood before them and sketched an elegant bow. “Mrs Bettridge. Miss Lydia. You are both looking very fine this evening.” His eyes swept over Lydia, hopefully admiring her new dress, which was cut a bit more daringly in the bodice than her usual attire. It had been a part of the plan, of course, to look as dashing as possible.

His gaze turned to her mother. “The yellow plumes are quite fetching, Mrs B. All the other ladies here must be seething with envy.”

Her mother giggled behind her fan and muttered something about a shameless flatterer. Geoffrey turned to Lydia and said, “I believe this is our dance.”

What?

“I beg your pardon?” She could have bitten off her tongue. Philip Hartwell was obviously not coming so their plan had to be scrapped. And yet here was Geoffrey, the object of her every dream and heart’s desire, asking her to dance — and she demurred. Why did she not simply take his arm and be quiet?

He grinned, an endearing lopsided grin that was somehow both boyish and rakish at the same time, and had set her heart aflutter since she was fifteen. “Hartwell is detained indefinitely and asked me to take his place.” Turning his head so her mother couldn’t see, he winked at her.

Dear God, did he mean what she thought he meant? Was he to take Philip’s place in more than just the dance? No, surely not. Philip would not be so heartless, would he? But then, he didn’t know.

Geoffrey took her hand and placed it on his arm. With a little tug — she was almost rooted to the spot, barely able to think, much less move, and so needed that bit of physical encouragement — he gently led her to the centre of the floor where sets were forming. “Don’t worry, Lydia.” He kept his voice low so others would not overhear. Deep and soft as butter, it was a voice that always made her want to close her eyes and allow it to melt all over her. “I know you must be disappointed, but I will do my best. In fact, not to put too fine a point on it, but I daresay I can do a better job of it than old Hartwell.” He winked again, and her feet stopped working properly.