Lord Portman's Troublesome Wife. Mary Nichols

on her at Holles Street. She was in her black gown again and had done nothing to her hair except brush it back and tie it with a ribbon while she sat at the escritoire, writing notes. Janet, agog at the sight of him, forgot to ask if she were at home and showed him straight in. Flustered, she rose to receive him. ‘My lord, I did not expect you.’

      He swept her a bow. ‘Did you not, madam? I fancied we had unfinished business.’ He looked about at the bare room. There was a sofa, besides the chair she was using at the desk, but that was all. And Janet had disappeared.

      ‘Oh. Are we still acting our parts?’ she queried, making light of her confusion. ‘I had fancied the curtain had come down on that particular play.’