‘I will,’ declared the viscount, perking up. ‘Not sure how I can ever thank you, Henfield.’

‘No need. Make Miss Felbridge happy, and that makes Miss Gaydon happy, which is all I want to do in life.’

‘Ah, thought as much. You know, she has not looked so “Miss Gaydon” since the Tower. I take it there was some misunderstanding.’

‘“Almighty row” is what you mean. Since when she has been showing Newbold every encouragement.’

‘I would not read too much into that, my dear old fellow. I would have said her heart was not in it, if you get my drift.’

‘I sincerely hope so. Anyway, the first thing is to sort out your problem, and then we shall see about mine.’

‘Yes, yes it is. I must shave, dress …’

‘And I will leave you, since you do not need directions to South Audley Street, nor moral support. Good luck.’ Lord Henfield extended his hand, and Lord Martley shook it firmly. The two men then parted, one to his ablutions and the other to Green Park, where he felt he might stroll and think, imagining how he might engineer a meeting with Henrietta, and what he would say. He was so lost in his reverie that it was only upon being hailed a second time by a female voice that he turned.

Miss Yate, followed by a worried-looking maid, was hurrying towards him.

‘Lord Henfield! Oh, my lord, you are just the person … The only person … What else can I do?’ Her disjointed words were followed by a caught breath and sobs, and she wrung her hands.

He raised his hat, rather automatically. He was not familiar with young women who wrung their hands, and spoke in half sentences when worried. Henry was more inclined to frown and keep silent, which always made ascertaining the cause of her perturbation more difficult.

‘Miss Yate, what is the matter?’

‘My brother,’ she cried, and covered her face with her hands. Aware of their very public situation, Lord Henfield looked at the maid, took Miss Yate’s arm, and guided her to a seat set back from one of the pathways.

‘Calm yourself, ma’am, and tell me what has occurred.’