The great benefit of being the host of a party was that one got to dictate the terms. Her mama, hostess extraordinaire that she was, seemed to have taken this to heart by inviting a bevy of gentlemen and, if Angeline was not much mistaken, far fewer ladies than usual. Perhaps it was her imagination? Perhaps the New Year had drawn them all to dark corners and she was being paranoid?

To her mother’s credit though was the fact that it seemed to be doing the trick.

“Always, Mr Flint,” Angel answered with a flutter, turning her nearly full card up and making a show of pencilling him in for two. “Are you looking forward to the New Year? I expect the Hospital is terribly busy this time of year.”