“Marvellous, my dear,” Harriet purred, glancing over her shoulder to widen her eyes minutely at her sister. They had developed a kind of code over the last few years, one that was hardly baffling in its complexity but in Harriet’s experience it was extraordinary how much one could get away with once a matron rather than a maid. When they had been young there had scarcely been a moment they weren’t being observed and yet not no one spotted the slight rise of Hermione’s eyebrows as she conceded that Harriet could have this one all to herself.

“Between the two of us I am quite sure she has already admitted defeat – poor darling, her memory isn’t what it used to be but I’m sure you know how belligerent sisters can be?”

Charming smile in place Harriet linked her arm though Miss Scamander’s and escorted them both to where rows of champagne glasses were just waiting to make the night more interesting.

“You have two of your own I believe?”

Two married, at least, but Harriet always found it worked to her advantage to be wrong at least once. Young ladies did so love to talk when they were given the right opening.