“I wouldn’t expect you to. I happen to agree,” Everton said. “But you must see that makes him quite easy to fluster.”

“You think that was flustered?” She motioned to the door with her head. “You should see him when I sing French dancing tunes. He has to leave the house.”

A knot in Everton’s back loosened. He had come to the right place. “I should like to see that.”

“How have you been doing these past few years? I’ve only seen you at a few scattered balls and, of course, at Patience’s wedding, but there never seems to be a chance to really speak.”

That was true enough. They had never made it past condolences on the passing of each other’s spouses. “I have been . . . surviving.”

“Ah, yes, I know surviving. Too well.” She stepped forward and took his elbow, searching his face for what he assumed were signs of wear. “Are you sleeping?”

Everton blinked. Visions of his dreams came rushing back. His eyes clouded. He was in the correct place all right. So correct that he felt the urge to rush back out the door. The last time he had fallen asleep easily was with little Drue curled up on his chest. He cleared his throat, but he could make no words come. The duchess’s hand tightened its hold on him.

“We don’t have to speak of that yet.” She released him and sat down on an upholstered, high-backed chair, motioning to a settee across from her. She smoothed her dress and gave him a moment to compose himself. “Now, assuming you are not here to court me, since I have it on good authority that you don’t actually court women, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

Everton took the seat she had shown him. In those few moments, he was able to find his voice again. “What do you mean I don’t court women? I court many women.”

“Courting many women—by definition—is not courting.”

Touché.

“How is your disastrous daughter doing these days?” A change in subject seemed to be the best course of action.

“She is happy as always. Nicholas and I miss having her here.”

“But she visits.”

“Yes, but you know how it is. She hasn’t been married long. The last thing she wants to do is spend time here.”

No, he didn’t know how that was. His first and only year of marriage had been . . . awkward at the best of times. “Yes, well, I’m afraid my marriage wasn’t quite the type to keep us happily alone at home.”

The duchess turned her head to the side and raised her eyebrows. He had never talked to anyone about his marriage. Even Mrs. Cuthbert didn’t completely understand what his reasons were for wanting to help her.

“You didn’t care for your wife?”

Everton took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, willing himself to remain calm. He could do this.

“I hardly knew her, but I did care for her.” A vision of Rachel sitting in their garden, picking an apple from one of their many fruit trees, came unbidden to his mind. Her hair was so pale it was luminescent in the sunlight. “Very much.”