49. And so, it begins ...

The Rogeringham's return to town was not surreptitious - not with that many carts, coaches and what have you, however we seemed to have been overlooked by the newspapers, which I counted as a blessing.

My mother immediately began to summon dress makers. Naïve fool that I was, I had imagined that one could lay in a store of gowns and dresses ready for the Season ahead; after all, that is how it works in the army. You know that you are going to need shakoes, coats, breeches, packs, muskets, bayonets and the like, so you get them made and put them in store until they are required.

I had forgotten about 'fashion'. It was true that we had acquired a number of gowns, with the dress makers travelling to Rogeringham Hall to measure and fit. And they were, or so I am told, very nice gowns and dresses, and bonnets, and coats of assorted design, but ...

Once we returned to the Ton, the demands of the latest modes would need to be met. Huge sums of money would need to be sacrificed upon the altars of the capricious goddess Fashion and her equally fickle sister, Style. These demigods, whose whims ruled young women's lives, changed their minds almost daily, it seemed. Only their priestesses, the dress makers and couturiers know what these glamourous deities need, and that is the secret of their power, and why they are so important at this time of year.

Such was the demand for the best designers that there was, inevitably, a waiting-list, but letter-headed papers from the 6th Duke of Norton proved useful in cutting into the line at a more appropriate place, to wit, the head of said queue. Helena also began organising the steps needed to get my sisters invitations for Queen Charlotte's ball - the event at which they would be presented, and which marked the start of the Season proper. At the same time, she set about securing invitations to some of the more prominent events, others, we reasoned, would follow in due course.

It seemed like there was a never-ending stream of calling cards and footmen carrying out invitations. I myself, began discussions with the vicar of St George's church in Hanover Square - the parish church for Mayfair and an elegant newish church, as we searched for a suitable date for the wedding of my youngest sister.

As I had anticipated, I soon found myself being visited by James Barthomley's mother, Eugenie.

It was everything I thought it would be. She suggested 'this', she suggested 'that', she even suggested the 'other'. It was all very respectful, to be sure, but it was very definitely her efforts to shape the wedding in the manner in which she wanted it. When I asked how many she thought would be attending from James's side of the family, she presented me with a list that would have filled St Paul's Cathedral, never mind St George's, Mayfair.

That aside, Mrs Barthomley - who wore quite a daring dress, which once again showed an inordinate amount of her rather large bosom, was quite charming, and although I had to put off her demands - it was always uppermost in my mind that this was Hermione's wedding, her special day and not Eugenie's - she did make some very good suggestions.

Once she had gone, I sent for Hermione, and asked her to join me.

I went over what Mrs Barthomley had said, to see whether any of her suggestions fitted with her own plans. We had discussed this at length over the winter. Hermione and James had devised a plan between them and they had a firm idea of what they wanted. So, I suggested that it was time that she went and called upon Eugenie, visiting her to discuss the wedding, laying out how she envisaged the ceremony, and recruiting Mrs Barthomley to help her make it so, by persuading me to pay for it.

She would also attempt to prune the guest list somewhat.

Hermione agreed. She would, she told me, call to see her prospective mother-in-law the next day.