He was a man who loved the role in life that he had been born to, and his work, and he worked long hours. He liked order, needed to be in control of himself, his country estates in Ireland and Yorkshire, his property company, and this house here in Grosvenor Square, which was his haven, his place of peace and quiet. A town house, modernized to suit his requirements; a place where he was comfortable, able to work if he so wished, and to entertain when socializing was required. Lucinda hated London society now and had never spent time here. Order. That was the name of the game, his game anyway. No other one to play as far as he was concerned.

Turning off the light, Robert went back to his bedroom and sat down in the armchair near the windows, lifted his legs onto the ottoman, his mind racing.

He would take total control of the situation as of this moment. He needed to work out his decisions, sort them into their proper order, and then put everything in motion. Tomorrow. Once his decisions had been made.

Closing his eyes, he settled back in the chair, focusing on the first problem, concentrating. One thing at a time, he reminded himself. That was his way. No muddle. Clear thinking.

Each matter that was a problem, he worked through patiently, taking everything into consideration, selecting the wisest thing to do. It took time. Although he had always been a quick decision maker, he was never rash. He weighed the odds before coming to a final conclusion.

Dawn was breaking when he finally went back to bed, turned off the lamp and settled himself. He was filled with relief, totally calm. He had arranged everything carefully in his mind, in correct order. And tomorrow he would proceed, knowing his decisions, made with great exactness, would bring success. Failure was not a word in his vocabulary.

The following morning, Robert got up at the usual hour of seven o’clock. He went through his ritual of taking a bath, washing his hair and shaving.

He then went to his dressing room and selected one of his suits, most of which had been impeccably tailored by the best firms in Savile Row. This morning he chose a more casual, single-breasted style, navy blue in colour, and took out a crisp white shirt. After putting it on, he chose a light-blue silk tie. He dressed swiftly and stepped into black shoes. He had not brought his valet by choice for what had been intended as a quick visit to London. There was something annoying about another man fussing over his clothes. He’d given the man leave to visit his parents in Harrogate while he was away.

He went downstairs to the breakfast room where his butler was waiting.

‘Good morning, m’lord,’ Turnbull said, greeting him with a smile. ‘I hope you had a good night’s rest, Lord Robert?’