‘That would be unnecessary, Miss Yate.’ Lord Henfield was silent for a minute. ‘It is too late today to make the journey and arrive at an hour that would not be inappropriate. If we were to set off tomorrow morning, at eight of the clock, with a post-chaise and four, we could be returned that same evening, and if your brother is very ill, it would be best to deliver him to the infirmary in the first instance, so that he might better travel when a little recovered.’ Lord Henfield was already worrying over the thought that if the boy was at death’s door, he might have a hysterical sister with whom to deal, and a potentially rather compromising situation, which had clearly not occurred to Miss Yate.

‘Yes, I can leave the house then, for Mama never rises before nine. Thank you, my lord, thank you. I … I shall endeavour to reimburse you, somehow.’

‘That is unimportant, ma’am. Just write down your direction and I will be there at eight tomorrow morning.’

She took a small pencil from her reticule, and wrote her address on the back of one of his visiting cards. Then with a watery smile, she left him.

She might have been less confident had she seen his frown.

Lord Martley was not used to being quite so hungover, but on the other hand, he had a very, very good reason to be stone-cold sober, and looking refreshed in short order. His valet found himself instructed to lay out raiment, concoct a guaranteed ‘pick-me-up’ and bring his lordship’s razors, almost in one breath. The viscount gave vent to one final, and very heartfelt, groan, and then set about turning himself back into ‘Viscount Martley, suitable husband for a well-brought-up young lady’. It was, in the circumstances, a remarkable transformation, and if his lordship still felt that his stomach would prefer not to encounter food in the near future, this did not mean that he looked anything less than dapper when he made his way to South Audley Street, under an hour and a half after Lord Henfield’s departure. He only hoped that Lord Elstead was at home, and was not gone up early to dress for dinner.

It was only as he knocked at the door that Lord Martley became aware of the awkwardness of his situation. He could scarcely tell Lord Elstead that he had been informed that renewing his suit would meet with better success, and facing the butler, who was bound to know what had happened, since butlers knew everything that happened in a house, made him blush and hesitate. The door was opened by a footman, who bowed him within, and there was Barlow, his face a mask to all expression.

‘Er … I wonder if Lord Elstead is at home.’

‘I shall enquire, my lord. Do step this way.’