“If I knew, should I fear it?” my lord pointed out.
“It seems to me, sir,” said Prudence slowly, “that there is a Sword of Damocles poised above your head as well.”
“There is, my child. You perceive that I conceal nothing. But it is my fate to be victorious. I shall contrive.”
The grey eyes widened. “I contrive,” said Prudence softly. “Do you know, sir, you puzzle me.”
“It has ever been my motto,” the old gentleman pointed out triumphantly. “It is the word of the Tremaines. Consider it, my daughter! Consider it well! I take my leave of you now. You will find me in lodgings at Half Moon Street — close by my loved ones. I have come, and your anxieties are at an end.”
“It is in my mind that they are only just beginning,” said Prudence ruefully.
My lady got up to lay a hand on his lordship’s sleeve. “You do not take possession of your fine town house yet, no?” she inquired.
“In time, Thérèse, in good time. There are legal formalities. I do not trouble myself with lawyers!” This was once more in the grand manner. My lord beamed upon his children. “Farewell, mes enfants! We meet again later.” He kissed my lady’s hand, and was gone with a click of red heels on the wood floor, and the wave of a scented handkerchief.