“Then it must have been later,” he said equably. It was amazing what an excellent mood could do for one’s patience. “I was not paying attention.”

“Why was Billie up and about?”

He plopped four pieces of bacon onto his plate and sat down. “That I do not know.”

Lady Manston’s mouth clamped into a frown. “I do not like this, George. She must take more care for her reputation.”

“I’m sure it’s fine, Mother.”

“At the very least,” she continued, “you should know better.”

Time to tread carefully. “I beg your pardon?”

“The instant you saw her, you should have gone to your room.”

“I thought it behooved me to use the time to apologize.”

“Hmmph.” His mother did not have a ready response to that. “Still.”

George smiled blandly and got down to the work of cutting his meat. A few moments later he heard footsteps coming toward them, but they sounded far too heavy to be Billie’s.

Indeed, when a body filled the doorway a moment later, it belonged to the butler. “Lord Arbuthnot is here to see you, Lord Kennard.”

“This time in the morning?” Lady Manston said with surprise.

George set his napkin down with a tight-jawed frown. He had anticipated that he would need to speak with Arbuthnot about the events of the previous night, but now?

George knew just enough about Lord Arbuthnot’s dealings to know that they were inherently flavored with secrets and danger. It was unacceptable that he would bring his business to Manston House, and George would have no compunction telling him so.

“He is a friend of Father’s,” George said as he stood. “I will see what he needs.”

“Shall I accompany you?”

“No, no. I’m sure that will be unnecessary.”

George made his way to the drawing room, his mood growing blacker with every step. Arbuthnot’s appearance this morning could mean only one of two things. First, that something had gone wrong after George had departed the Swan the night before and now he was in danger. Or worse, held responsible.

The more likely possibility, George thought grimly, was that Arbuthnot wanted something from him. Another message relayed, probably.

“Kennard!” Lord Arbuthnot said jovially. “Excellent work last night.”

“Why are you here?” George demanded.

Arbuthnot blinked at his bluntness. “I needed to speak with you. Is that not why a gentleman usually calls upon another?”

“This is my home,” George hissed.

“Are you saying I am not welcome?”

“Not if you wish to discuss the events of last night. This is not the time or the place.”

“Ah. Well, I don’t, actually. Nothing to discuss. It all came off brilliantly.”

This was not how George would have described it. He crossed his arms, and stared Arbuthnot down, waiting for him to state his intentions.

The general cleared his throat. “I’ve come to thank you,” he said. “And to request your help with another matter.”

“No,” George said. He did not need to hear anything more.

Arbuthnot chuckled. “You haven’t even—”