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are you accompanying Miss King to this glittering evening? Is Deborah’s aunt enjoying one of her nervous spasms?”
    “Lady King died over a year ago.”
    A flush spread over Sir Benedict’s lean cheeks and an awkward silence ensued. “My apologies, Charley; I had not heard that she had passed away,” he said eventually. “My remark was in poor taste.”
    “She was not carried off by one of the spasms she delighted in,” admitted Miss Tonbridge in a slightly softer tone.
    “Oh?”
    “She fell into a decline after becoming an avid follower of Lord Byron’s diet,” admitted Charlotte. “Nothing else would do for Lady King but to endure endless hot baths and to eat only boiled potatoes soaked in vinegar. Deb tried to persuade her aunt that it was folly, but perhaps you recall something of Lady King’s intransigence.”
    “Indeed,” observed Sir Benedict drily, “I was once closely acquainted with it.”
    Miss Tonbridge inclined her head in acknowledgement and continued in a voice that brimmed with disapproval towards the late Lady King: “Having followed the reducing diet to an extreme, she then took it into her head to copy the Prince Regent’s overindulgence. Her ladyship succumbed to colic after gorging herself on Stilton cheese, strawberries and asparagus.”
    He raised his brows. “I am sorry for it, but I cannot say I am entirely surprised – Lady King was headstrong to the point of stupidity.” After a pause he added, “That must have been a difficult time for Deb.”
    “And why should you care about Deborah’s welfare when you treated her shamefully?” retorted Miss Tonbridge.
    “ I treated Deborah shamefully!” He uttered a shout of incredulous laughter. “You are mistaken. If you only knew how much I–” Sir Benedict hesitated, frowned and then continued in a more moderate voice, “What happened is in the past. My concern is merely out of polite interest.”
    “Sir Benedict, I may have been away tending my invalid sister, but Deborah has told me since of your conduct,” said Miss Tonbridge in cutting accents. “I never thought that you, of all people, would be so cruel!”
    A hard expression slid into his eyes. “You misjudge me completely; perhaps that is not surprising given your loyalty to Deborah. Despite what you may think, it gives me comfort to know that she has you for a confidante and friend. Now, since fate has thrown us together this evening, I would like to speak to Deborah. Where is she?”
    “I-I don’t know,” stammered Miss Tonbridge, glancing unwittingly towards the conservatory.
    Observing this, a muscle twitched at the corner of Sir Benedict’s mouth. “You always were a terrible liar, Charley.”
    He moved towards the door, but Miss Tonbridge reached it first and planted her small frame in his path.
    “Deb doesn’t want to see you ever again, Sir Benedict.” Putting up her chin, she concluded with a dramatic flourish, “You’ll reach her over my dead body!”
    “Charley,” he growled, “I intend to speak to Deborah this evening, with or without your consent. Stand aside or I’ll be forced to throw you over my shoulder and deposit you – albeit gently – in Lady Allingham’s ornamental lake.”
    She goggled at her antagonist. “Brute!”
    “Quite possibly, but I am determined,” said Sir Benedict, arms folded across his chest. “What is it to be? Am I to carry you off to the lake or will you allow me to pass unheeded?”
    Miss Tonbridge glared at him. Her desire to protect Deborah battled with the realisation that in practical terms she could do little to stop Sir Benedict entering the conservatory. It would be like re-enacting David against Goliath, and she had no sling and stone to hand. She only had her reticule and, if she were lucky, a well aimed kick. Neither seemed likely to impede his progress, given Sir Benedict’s impressive physique. A temporary retreat might be more politic when faced with six foot two inches of unflinching male