Click. Click.

A mansion in Mayfair, in the high quarter of London's Westminster.

A platinum-blond, well-kept middle-aged man with a solid, dignified look is eating alone at the head of a large table laid for twenty.

The main course is a thick salmon steak.

A brown checked suit with a classic tie, worn with style.

The platinum-blond hair is combed back, with enough pomade laid on it to say that not one strand will be permitted to stray.

Every single movement of the knife and the fork is measured.

Rather than a pleasant meal it looked like an ascetic's hour of discipline.

The man's blue-tinted eyes are fixed without interest on salmon cooked to the right degree.

Even the speed at which he chews what he has put in his mouth, and the number of times, are regular.

A knock.

The mealtime, in which only the small sound of tableware meeting had been heard, was over.

Trickle.

A server in a white shirt and bow tie, who had been standing a few paces back, came forward and filled the cup with black tea.

Swallow.

The man, lifting the cup, taking a light mouthful and rinsing his mouth with it.

A meal that had not been short was finished.

"Sebastian."

"Head of the house. Give your command."

Into the place the server had left, a man in his early fifties came forward.

It is Sebastian the butler.

A blue suit suited him extremely well.

"Isabella?"

"She is still at the Korean client's residence."

"Still? What time is it now?"

"By the time there…… it is about ten at night."

"Hm."

A short grunt leaked from the platinum-blond man's mouth as his face creased slightly.

He is Earl Rupert Hales, the head of the house.

He lives in London, and he is not an English noble of the true line.

He comes out of a core noble house of Scotland, which resisted England in the past.

Carrying a history like that, he — no, the house itself — was cold and hard.

To survive among the nobles of the English mainland they…