You may wish to look about for other employment, and London is by far the best place to do it." Smith, who had remained with him through thick and thin for eleven years – though never before in utter poverty – sniffed. "I understand a great deal, m'lord," he said, "not having been born an imbecile. I will leave when I am good and ready to leave." Which would not be immediately, Duncan gathered – a loyalty for which he was silently grateful.

He frowned at his image before leaving the room. He did not want to appear obsequious before his grandfather any more than he wished to look expensive, though of course he /was/ desperate. He sighed inwardly, took his hat and cane from Smith's hands, and left the room and the house.

Forbes took Duncan's things when he arrived at Claverbrook House, scarcely sparing him a glance as he did so, and invited his lordship to follow him. Duncan followed, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips at the butler's stiff back. It was probably a good thing he had not come yesterday, uninvited. He doubted he would have got past Forbes unless he had been prepared to wrestle him to the ground.

The Marquess of Claverbrook was in the drawing room, seated in a high-backed chair he had possessed forever, close to a roaring fire despite the fact that it was a warmish spring day. Heavy velvet curtains were half drawn across the windows to block most of the sunlight. The air was heavy with the smell of the ointment he used for his rheumatism.

Duncan made his bow. "Sir," he said, "how do you do? I hope I find you well." His grandfather, who had never been one to indulge in unnecessary chitchat, did not deign to deliver a health report. Neither did he greet his grandson or express any pleasure at seeing him again after so long.

Nor did he demand to know why he was back in London when he had fled from it five years ago under the blackest cloud of scandal and disgrace.