“-Down!” 

The two dogs stopped dead in the middle of the hallway and looked submissively at their master. 

Toby, the terrier, who took orders as mere suggestions and enjoyed being able to reject them, trotted on and sat down in front of the dining room door, his short tail wagging happily. 

Ian tossed his hat, whip and gloves on a cabinet, then sniffed the fragrant air. Bacon?

“-Henlow?”

“Milord?”

“Why does it smell like Bacon?”

“Well actually, my lord. Yes, it does. Milady the viscountess is in the small dining room.”

There was no question of avoiding Eden, that would have been discourteous. But bacon? 

Certainly not the choice of...