The fire in the grate had burned down to a feeble glow, and Matthew busied himself with the fire irons, poking the ashes until they looked a little livelier and putting on more coal. “There, that’s better.” He turned suddenly with a grin. “You know, I’ve just worked out who you remind me of. It’s been niggling at me since I first saw you.”
George’s heart seemed to pause mid-beat. “Oh?” he said as casually as he could.
“Isn’t it obvious? Dark hair, green eyes, svelte figure—you’re the image of Marmaduke!”
George’s laughter was probably a shade too loud, but relief tended to have that effect on him.
* * * *