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concentration that meant she was controlling herself carefully. ‘Who was it, Harris?’
    â€˜Duncan, m’lady, one of Sir Darius’s aides. He apologised and said Sir Darius was unlikely to be home at all today.’
    Lady Rose paused in her buttering. ‘I thought not.’ Then she resumed, scraping the butter over a piece of toast that was already well spread. ‘Was there any indication when he may be here?’
    â€˜As soon as possible, was the message.’ Harris paused. The butler was the embodiment of discretion, but in the minute shifting of his stance Aubrey thought he detected discomfort. ‘One other thing, m’lady. Sir Darius asked to make sure that Master Fitzwilliam and Master Doyle remain at Maidstone.’
    Aubrey and George exchanged glances.
    â€˜Thank you, Harris.’
    â€˜M’lady.’
    Lady Rose put her toast on a side plate. Aubrey had never seen a piece of charred bread so perfectly buttered. ‘Your father is concerned about you, Aubrey. And you, too, George.’
    â€˜More concerned than usual?’ Aubrey said.
    â€˜Apparently.’
    â€˜So he’s imprisoning us.’
    â€˜Keeping you safe, I’d put it. Until he can talk to you, at least.’ Lady Rose frowned. ‘He has your best interests at heart. Oh.’
    â€˜Oh?’
    Lady Rose took up her napkin and touched it to her lips. Aubrey couldn’t imagine why. She hadn’t eaten a thing. ‘I just used a platitude. Your father and I vowed we wouldn’t resort to such in raising you.’
    â€˜I was getting ready for “Your father knows best”.’
    â€˜That the sort of thing that platitudes lead to,’ Lady Rose said.
    â€˜I’m sure he does,’ George said. ‘Have your best interests at heart, old man. Your father.’
    â€˜I know,’ Aubrey said. ‘But when anyone says that, it seems to me, it denies one’s own wishes and responsibility. It suggests that they know better than you do yourself.’
    His mother considered this. ‘He does know you rather well.’
    â€˜Granted.’ Aubrey toyed with his cutlery. ‘I wonder what he thinks I’m going to do?’
    â€˜Try to save the world, of course,’ George said gruffly. ‘It’s what you usually try to do in an emergency.’
    â€˜This is rather more than an emergency,’ Aubrey pointed out. ‘What can one person do?’

    What can one person do? The question rolled around Aubrey’s head as he finished breakfast and excused himself, saying he needed to do some magical research. He went to his room and stretched out on the chaise longue, arms behind his head, and thought.
    I’m only one person, what can I do? was an excuse that resounded through the ages, and Aubrey had never subscribed to it. It was the refuge of the half-hearted and it gave comfort to those who preferred to do nothing. He didn’t like that attitude but it did mean that he went too far the other way, at times. He acted precipitously, trying to do something when it may have been better to wait for help. When he found a sleeping dog, he found it hard to leave it lie.
    And he had a father who thought he knew best.
    It rankled. Even though he respected his father and wanted to make him proud, it still rankled. While he wasn’t as contrary as Caroline tended to be, he still found it difficult to do something just because someone told him to. If he agreed, it was different. But blind obedience wasn’t his forte, despite the spirit of the age – even when the Fitzwilliam family name was at stake.
    He laced his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. Trapped at Maidstone, he was, confined to quarters. It was frustrating, and he understood the unhappiness of the tiger at the zoo, pacing backward and forward interminably, wishing for the bars to disappear.
    He wanted to talk to his father. He needed to talk to him, to get the talk