Barlow, of course, did know everything. The art of being a butler was to know all and say nothing. ‘Omniscience and reticence’ had been the watchwords of the butler who had trained him, and Barlow held fast to those precepts. Whilst he would have denied, even under torture, knowing that a ‘highly unusual situation’ had developed, he was aware that Lord Martley’s return to the house, barely more than forty-eight hours after leaving it in stunned dejection, would be greeted with pleasure, relief or ecstasy, according to the personage. He therefore showed the gentleman into the book room for a second time, and bade him wait, with just a hint of fatherly beneficence. He withdrew with all the studied calm of his profession, but when he informed Lord Elstead of his visitor, it set in motion much dashing to and fro upstairs. His lordship, who had thankfully not begun to dress for dinner, but was paring his nails in quiet contemplation, said that he would come down ‘in a moment’, and requested that Barlow inform her ladyship of their visitor.

Lady Elstead did not greet the news with the calm of her spouse. She had been reclining upon a day bed in her chamber with a most outlandish and melodramatic tale keeping her just on the wakeful side of dozing. Upon hearing that Lord Martley was below, she let out a most unrefined squeak, and sat up so fast she felt quite dizzy.

‘Miss Caroline, Barlow. Has Miss Caroline risen from her bed?’ Lady Elstead had recommended that her daughter try and recoup the lost hours that she spent in tearful wakefulness during the hours of darkness.

‘I could not say, my lady.’

‘Then send Hayes to her and have her dress immediately.’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘And send … no, I will tidy myself. After all, it is not how I look that … Thank you, Barlow.’

‘My lady.’ Barlow withdrew, and, being a God-fearing soul, thanked Providence for making all turn out for the best.

Neither gentleman in the book room knew quite how to begin. Lord Martley could not say, ‘I am back, and hear you have reconsidered’, and Lord Elstead could not say, ‘You were unsuitable yesterday, but now I am only too happy to let you marry my daughter’. There was an awkward silence.

‘I … If you, sir …’

‘Yes, I understand. Only too pleased …’ Lord Elstead coughed, and extended his hand. ‘I only want my daughter’s happiness.’

‘Of course, sir, as do I.’