Lord Bryant nodded and pressed onward without stopping.

“I’m only telling this so you don’t despair if they don’t react well to you. If they sit still, sipping their tea without interacting, please know it’s because this whole family has struggled greatly for months. It has taken a toll on all of them.”

As if to refute her words, a peal of laughter rolled out from behind the nursery door. Lord Bryant squinted an eye at her.

Diana didn’t blame him. What exactly was going on? In the past few weeks, Charlotte had been smiling more. Mrs. Jenkins had mentioned that Charlotte was doing even better today, but it had been a long time since she had heard laughter in the home.

She opened the door to the nursery. Charlotte was down on the ground with both of her boys, crawling about on the run next to the tea table and she was . . . growling?

The boys were also on all fours, clambering around the rug, trying to get away from her. Tommy rolled to the left just as Charlotte swiped a hand out to try to grab him. “Diana, is that you?” Charlotte craned her neck to one side. “Come play with us—” She paused as her eyes caught sight of Lord Bryant behind Diana.

Tommy took the opportunity of his mother’s distraction to leap upon her back. “I’ve got you!” he whooped. He waved his arm in the air for a split second before Charlotte sat down in a heap, causing him to slide to the floor. Charlotte scrambled to a standing position and brushed off her skirts. The few conversations Charlotte and Diana had had about Lord Bryant hadn’t exactly been positive. Bringing him into the home was not her best idea.

Once Charlotte was more or less composed, Diana opened the door farther and stepped inside the nursery. “Charlotte, this is a friend of mine who insisted on having tea upstairs with us. Lord Bryant, this is my dear friend Mrs. Richardson.”

Charlotte’s mouth opened slightly at the mention of Lord Bryant’s name. Their home had very few visitors, and none of them were either part of the peerage or notorious rakes. And certainly none of them met in the nursery. “Welcome to my home, Lord Bryant.” She made a few violent gestures to her boys, reminding them to bow. They scrambled off the floor and followed her lead.

Lord Bryant bent at the waist. “You must be Tommy and Drue. Miss Barton has told me much about you.”

The boys ran to their mother’s skirt and hid behind it.

“They are scared of you,” Diana said under her breath, “but only because they haven’t had guests for quite some time. They will be begging for you to tell them stories once tea is finished. Please keep your stories appropriate. We don’t need those boys’ heads turned by a—” Diana stopped. What was Lord Bryant exactly? A rake? She eyed him. Surely. A scoundrel? Without a doubt. A cad? Perhaps not, but there were so many words with which she could finish that sentence, she wasn’t sure which to use. “A gentleman like you.”