“To an hotel, my sweet. The Harland in St. James’s. It is as dull and respectable as ever it was. I am thine uncle, child. The Comte de Sous-Savaronne, tu comprends, hein? Uncle Gervase to you. Our baggage is already ensconced in our rooms. We shall dine, like the respectable couple we are and, then, while you sleep, I shall haunt the empty houses of the fashionable quarter so that we shall be prepared to rent a suitable establishment as soon as we have the money.

“Odd’s Fish, ’tis well the nights are long, or I should be hard put to do any business for you. Ah, we are here. At least, I hope we are. This cursed fog does alter things so. We descend now. At least in this murk we shall be able to land at the very door without occasioning comment.”

They landed gently on the pavement By the feeble lights of two parish lamps, Alice could dimly make out the brick facade of the Harland Hotel.

The Duke tucked her arm firmly in his own and together they made their entrance into the hushed foyer of the hotel.

A long looking glass on the wall faced them as they walked in and for one split second Alice did not recognize herself as the modish young lady reflected in the glass.

For some reason, the Duke did not assume a French accent, speaking in his usual impeccable drawling English and leaving the hotel staff to make what they would of it.

He was an imposing and commanding figure, and as he drew off his York tan gloves, his many rings flashed in the candlelight. The manager of the hotel himself was there to conduct them to their suite on the first floor.

It consisted of a pretty sitting room decorated in apple-green and rose. A few bands of fog had managed to penetrate the room, but a large log fire crackled on the hearth with a table for two set in front of it. Two bedrooms led from the sitting room.

“As you see,” said the portly little manager, rubbing his hands, “I have Monsieur Le Comte and milady’s bags unpacked and your supper is to be served here as you requested.”

Alice nervously opened her mouth to gush forth her thanks but the Duke quelled her with a stern look and nodded pleasantly to the manager, requested his name, learned it was Mr. Perfect, looked mildly amused and firmly bid the manager good evening.

“Now we can be comfortable,” said the Duke, rubbing his hands in front of the fire.

“Take off thy mantle, child. Thou lookst frozen to the bone.”

Alice shyly removed her pelisse and bonnet, feeling unaccountably nervous at being alone with him in these strange surroundings.