The door opened at that precise moment and Henry stood there, impeccably dressed in a butler’s morning uniform of grey striped trousers, black jacket, white shirt and pale grey tie. He was even wearing white gloves. Marina noticed that his black shoes were polished as only a butler or a sergeant-major would polish them.

He had clearly once been a handsome man. And tall. But his back was not as straight as she imagined it had once been, and his steel-grey hair was thin and receding well back from his high forehead. He still looked a darn sight younger than seventy-seven.

Controlled grey eyes swept over her with a bland but all-encompassing glance which revealed nothing of his impression or his opinion. His coolly unreadable gaze returned to his employer.

‘The plane was on time, My Lord?’ he asked, somewhat starchily.

‘Slightly early, Henry. And this is Miss Marina Spencer.’

Henry inclined towards her with a stiff nod, which could have been rheumatism or just his way. ‘How do you do, Miss Spencer?’

‘She will insist on being called Marina, Henry,’ His Lordship said drily as he ushered her inside, depositing her suitcase by the door. ‘So we might as well get that out of the way up front.’

‘I see. Very well. How do you do, Miss Marina? Welcome to London. I have your coffee perking, My Lord, but have prepared a proper English breakfast for the young lady. You are not one of those impossibly modern young people are you, Miss Marina, who only drinks coffee for breakfast?’ This with a sidewards glance of ill-concealed exasperation at his employer.

Marina only just managed not to laugh helplessly. He was so pompous and prim, he was adorable. ‘Heavens, no, Henry,’ she replied, the corners of her mouth twitching. ‘Where I come from, some of us can eat a horse for breakfast.’

‘I am most relieved,’ he sniffed, and, picking up the heavy suitcase with incredible ease, turned to lead the way.

It was a most gracious way too, Marina noted, following across a spacious black and white tiled foyer where, many metres above, hung a huge chandelier. Ahead curved an elegant staircase, covered in the middle by a wide strip of deep forest-green carpet whose pile was so plush it would be like walking on velvet in your bare feet. Sheer luxury!

Not that she’d expected anything less from a Mayfair apartment owned by an earl. Her eyes darted around as she mounted the steps.

The walls were wood-panelled up to a point, above which lay very English-looking green and gold striped wallpaper. The crystal and brass light fittings were splendid, as were the undoubtedly antique furniture pieces resting in various nooks and crannies.

‘I have put Miss Marina in the Rose Room, My Lord,’ Henry said on their way upstairs.

‘Very good, Henry. Oh, and Henry, William will be along for a bite to eat shortly. Since I know he’ll refuse to eat with Marina and myself, give him something in the kitchen. And make sure he’s taken his medication. His arthritis is very bad this morning, poor devil.’

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