“Oh, Mrs. Merryweather! Do look on the bright side of things,” Gretna urged her. “I am sure that neither Lord Stade nor Sir Harry mean us any harm. Indeed what harm could they do us? And this house is magnificent. I thought Mr. Smythe’s house was fine, but this is infinitely finer. Did you see the marble pillars in the hall, the pictures on the walls and the carved newels on the staircase?”

“Let’s hope that dratted coach is repaired quickly,” Mrs. Merryweather commented. “Just our luck that one of the horses losin’ his shoe made us so late that half the passengers cried off. If there had been another half-dozen, as there should have been, his Lordship wouldn’t have been so ready with his invitation.”

“I do not comprehend why you are worrying,” Gretna laughed. “I am looking forward to the glass of wine and biscuits the Marquis promised us. Come along, let’s go downstairs.”

She opened the door and led the way while Mrs. Merryweather came panting behind her.

It was a lovely house, there was no doubt of that. If the hall was magnificent, the salon that the footman showed them into was beautiful. Hung with delicate rose-pink brocade curtains, it had big crystal chandeliers that glittered from the sunshine streaming in through the long windows, while the elegant inlaid furniture was a perfect background for china, ivories and other elegant objets d’art.

Sir Harry was standing by the fireplace and he hurried forward eagerly at their appearance.

“Here you are!” he exclaimed. “I have been in the deuce of a pucker lest you should be the worse for the accident.”

“We are in excellent health,” Gretna smiled. “Mrs. Merryweather and I are only so mortified that we must put you to all this inconvenience.”

She glanced as she spoke towards the Marquis who had not moved from his position near the fire. She had not realised how tall he was or how broad-shouldered. He was exceedingly handsome, but his face wore a disagreeable expression.

She thought too that his cold eyes rested on her almost with an expression of disdain and she found herself blushing.

“But it is no inconvenience, we like to help above all things,” Sir Harry was expostulating. “Do we not, Julien?”

He glanced towards the Marquis as if forcing him to answer his question and almost reluctantly, it seemed to Gretna, the Marquis’s lips moved.

“It is, of course, a pleasure.”

Could any other man, she wondered, have made those last two words sound so sarcastic?

A footman offered Mrs. Merryweather a glass of Madeira and then brought one to Gretna. She took the glass, sipped it and then made an almost involuntary little grimace.

“You don’t like it?”

It was the Marquis who asked the question and she glanced up at him a little apprehensively.

“No, indeed, it is very – pleasant,” Gretna improvised hastily.

The Marquis turned to the footman.