It was Lord Dorrington’s habit, and one of the reasons why his physical appearance was the envy of his contemporaries, to ride early in the morning, however late he went to bed.

At eight o’clock, long before the bucks of St. James’s Street opened their sleepy eyes, Lord Dorrington was already riding in Hyde Park.

Mounted on a magnificent piece of horseflesh, a stallion he had bought at Tattersalls the previous month, it was difficult to imagine that any man could look more handsome or more at home on a spirited horse.

His clothes were, of course, immaculate and his cravat, starched in the fashion that had been introduced by Beau Brummel, was in the Osbaldeston style, which differed greatly from most others.

It was a tie well adapted for the summer, because instead of going around the neck twice, it confined itself to once.

Nevertheless the large knot, which had to be exactly four inches in breadth and two inches deep, was found too difficult by many of the dandies who attempted it.

So the few gentlemen there were in Hyde Park so early in the morning looked at Lord Dorrington with a jaundiced eye.

Away from the fashionable Rotten Row, his Lordship galloped his horse for nearly an hour and then trotted home for breakfast, conscious of the glow of well-being both in himself and the animal he was riding.

He entered Dorrington House, handed his hat and whip to a footman in the hall and was just proceeding to the breakfast room when a flunkey proffered him a silver salver with a note on it.

Lord Dorrington glanced at it casually.

“It was left here half an hour ago, my Lord,” the flunkey said, “by a footman. He asked me to tell your Lordship that it was extremely urgent.”

Lord Dorrington raised his eyebrows as if such a message was in itself a slight impertinence and then he took the note from the salver and carried it into the breakfast room.

The table was bathed in sunshine streaming in through the window.

His Lordship seated himself and accepted a dish of lamb cutlets garnished with fresh mushrooms in cream before his eyes rested on the note that he had laid on the table beside him.

It seemed for a moment as if he was reluctant to open it and learn its contents.

Then, having taken several mouthfuls of the lamb cutlets, he broke the seal.

The writing was elegant and well formed, but nevertheless Lord Dorrington had the feeling that the quill pen had been held by someone agitated, whose hand was perhaps trembling.

There were not many lines for him to read.

“My Lord,

It is of the utmost importance that I should see your Lordship immediately. I deeply regret disturbing you, but I shall be in the gallery of St. George’s Church, Hanover Square, from nine o’clock onwards.

Alyna.”

Lord Dorrington glanced at the clock on the chimneypiece. It was already five minutes past nine.