He sat their in my favourite armchair, his eyes flitting back and forth across the pages of the book he was reading. No matter that it was my favourite, I would do anything for the social standing of being associated with him. So much scandal and rumour was centred around this man, in my favourite armchair; the brilliant Byron.

He had been sitting there, in my armchair for two hours without saying a word, other than the occasional request for more tea. Suddenly, he snapped the book shut and relaxed back in the chair, holding out the book for me to take.

“If I could always read,” he said. “I would never be without company.”

“You said that in one of your columns.”

“Yes, yes, I did. Good line don’t you think? May I borrow that servant there?” he said, pointing to the porter. Before I even nodded he had walked over to the boy and whispered in his ear. The boy paled and looked at me for affirmation. I sighed and waved him away.

“Just clean up afterwards,” I shouted after them.