Mr Gisborne had a great respect for the Earl’s sister, but he had yet to learn that her advice carried any weight with his lordship. “Indeed, sir,” he said, and added diffidently: “It is Miss Winwood?”

“Miss Winwood,” agreed the Earl. “You perceive how important it is that I should not forget to present myself in South Street at—did I say three o’clock?”

“I will put you in mind of it, sir,” said Mr Gisborne dryly.

The door opened to admit a footman in blue livery. “My lord, a lady has called,” he said hesitatingly.

Mr Gisborne turned to stare, for whatever Rule’s amusements abroad might be, his inamoratas did not wait upon him in Grosvenor Square.

The Earl raised his brows. “I am afraid—I am very much afraid—that you are—shall we say—a little stupid, my friend,” he said. “But perhaps you have already denied me?”

The lackey looked flustered, and answered: “The lady bade me tell your lordship that Miss Winwood begs the favour of a word with you.

There was a moment’s silence. Mr Gisborne had with difficulty checked the exclamation that rose to his lips, and now affected to arrange the papers on his desk.

The Earl’s eyes, which had narrowed suddenly, to his servant’s discomfiture, were once more bland and expressionless. “I see,” he remarked. “Where is Miss Winwood?”

“In the smaller saloon, my lord.”

“Very well,” said his lordship. “You need not wait.”

The lackey bowed, and went out. My lord’s gaze rested thoughtfully on Mr Gisborne’s profile. “Arnold,” he said softly. Mr Gisborne looked up. “Are you very discreet, Arnold?” said his lordship.

Mr Gisborne met his look full. “Yes, sir. Of course.”

“I am sure you are,” said his lordship. “Perhaps even—a little deaf?”

Mr Gisborne’s lips twitched. “Upon occasion, amazingly deaf, sir.”