George stepped out with an umbrella, flicking it open and holding it over his head as he searched for the boy. He was terribly young, really, but he was right. He should go exploring these clubs. It was such a wonderful opportunity.
Judging by the clothes his initial suspicions that he was from his own future was confirmed. He had learned enough by now to place him most likely around the turn of the next century. George was dressed, as he had said, in what he felt most comfortable in - a suit cut in a pattern he was familiar with, complete with waistcoat, bowtie and scarf draped elegantly around his neck. He wore a plain black coat over his jacket, and his shoes were impeccably polished. How his valet would laugh if he knew how expertly George could now polish shoes and iron creases in his trousers.
"You must be Maxxie," he said, his voice clipped and smooth. He smiled at the young man. "Prince George, the Duke of Kent. Splendid to meet you."