"What!?" Mr Brand demanded harshly at the door.
"Your Highness," the butler recoiled. "A note arrived at high speed from Whitmore House."
Mr Brand was silent, instead he glared at his butler. "Leave it on my table."
"Yes sir," the other man fled.
The door closed again.
He stood still for a moment, his back to her, shoulders rigid. Then he turned slowly.
"Mary informed me that you have had nothing to eat," he said uniformly and so detachedly as if moments ago they were not almost locked in each other.
"No, Your Highness," she managed.
His left eye twitched. "I shall have a tray sent up."
"That is not necessary—"
"It is."
Silence reigned for a moment.
"Yes, Your Highness."
Another twitch shook his eyelid. "That reverence is hardly needed, Madelyn. We are friends," he said and waited.
"I… Yes, Mr Brand."
He nodded and reached for the door knob. "Good night, Madelyn."
"Good night, Mr Brand."
The door closed behind him.
