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‘Then perhaps we will not mention this to her?’ Hannah said with a small but conspiratorial smile. Eliza and Haryo laughed with a nod.

‘It is so good to see you,’ Eliza said when they regained their composure. ‘It is nice to talk to someone who doesn’t look at me like I’m a curiosity.’

Haryo frowned. ‘A curiosity?’

‘Yes. Some newspapers and scandal sheets described me as the ‘mysterious Miss Courtney’, and our visitors have all been trying to work out what it is about me that is mysterious.’

‘Ah,’ Haryo said. ‘I wondered if that might happen.’

‘Well, I can assure you, it did. If anyone works out why I am so mysterious, I do hope they will enlighten me.’

By the end of the week, Eliza didn’t need Haryo to tell her why she was being talked about as mysterious. It was obvious.

As the daughter of the Earl and Countess Grey, why was she referred to as Miss Eliza Courtney, and not Lady Eliza Grey? All her siblings had titles, but not her. Of course, she knew that, but it had never really signified at home in Northumberland, so she had ignored it.

Of course, no-one was vulgar enough to ask outright, but there were hints, and as the newspapers reported all the court events, she was forever the ‘mysterious Miss Courtney. Often, they commented on who danced with her, and anytime she danced with Hart, the speculation increased significantly.

She sat quietly with her mother at the Tarrant ball and watched as the couples danced energetically and wished it was a question she could ask her, but of course it was not. Mama knew of the whispers surrounding her, and she had to wonder if, whatever the mystery was, it was behind Mama’s reluctance to give her a season.

She glanced at her mother, who sat beside her. Spine rigid, chin in the air, and felt, not for the first time, a burgeoning sense of guilt. Her mother had retreated to Howick on the death of her father, but she had since been dragged to London so that Eliza could have a season and was now faced with gossip and speculation about something that could be painful for her.

Hard as it was to admit it, the most obvious reason she did not bear her father’s title and name was probably because she was not born to his wife in a state of wedlock. She had been around the Cavendish set long enough to know that there were some questionable parentages among the host of children that lived there, that the duke had affairs whilst married, Lady Elizabeth Foster being the most notable. Such unions had issue and whilst she did not like to think of her father being unfaithful to her mother, she had to confront the possibility that it might be true. It would explain much about her status in the household and her lack of a title.

The problem was, there was no-one that she could ask about it.

Her spirits lifted when Robert Ellice bowed before her and asked her for the honour of the next dance.

She smiled and accepted. Her mother, looking faintly pleased, nodded her approval. It was a relief to see that Mama had stopped being snippy about Robert and his lack of a title. She wondered when she had begun to think of him as Robert and not the Lieutenant Colonel.

Eliza took a breath and determined to put the whole thing behind her. Instead, she admired the grandeur of the ballroom and the beautiful people in it. She let the sight of Robert Ellice fill her with excitement. He stood opposite her, the flickering, golden light casting dancing shadows over his face, his hair, and making his eyes gleam. He was so terribly handsome. So much so that it made her chest hurt to look at him. Her breath caught as his lips twitched, and that small smile crept out, making his face look truly stunning. She felt herself blush as she returned the smile, and the dance began.

As they moved in the intricate steps, back and forth, she wondered what it might be like to dance the new waltz that was outraging all the matrons across the salons of the Ton. What it would be like to dance with a gentleman holding her in his arms as he turned her across the room. She had tentatively suggested to Mary that they might learn the steps, just in case, but nothing had come of it.

She touched a hand to Robert’s and focused on him as they moved with the music. She would no doubt be able to rely on Haryo to teach her the steps of the waltz. If anyone was going to dance it, Haryo would be the one. She wondered if she might dance it with Lord Granville.

They moved gracefully through the motions of the dance, moving away, then back together, and each time he took her hand, she shivered a little.

The music ended, and Robert tucked her arm in his.

‘You are terribly thoughtful tonight.’ He glanced at her.

‘Forgive me. I didn’t mean to be rude.’

‘I did not mean to imply you were being rude, far from it. It was just an observation.’

She sighed. ‘You are clearly more observant than most. I thoroughly enjoyed our dance, but it has been somewhat of a trying day. It’s becoming a little wearing when everyone who dances with me does so to ascertain just what it is that makes me this mysterious figure the gossip sheets are adamant I must be. Believe me when I say, I have wondered the same and not yet come to a satisfactory conclusion.’ Well, not one she could share, that was for sure.

He frowned, and she quickly squeezed his arm. ‘What I mean to say is that it was lovely dancing with you, as you never quizzed me once.’

‘I am sorry to hear you are being troubled by this nonsense. Everyone, it seems, needs something to gossip about.’

She nodded. ‘It is not precisely a trouble, merely an irritation. People will get over it and move on to some other pointless speculation before long. I am having a lovely time in London, and I will not let it disturb me.’

‘That’s good to hear,’ he said as they walked slowly back in the direction of her mother. ‘Will you be joining the expedition to the Pleasure Gardens?’

‘I hope to.’

‘Then perhaps I shall see you there?’