“Surprisingly well, Abigail, but the ultimate test will be whether I can manage to kick a ball, don’t you think?”

Her smiled faded. “Here, in public?”

Stephen had been refining knee braces since last autumn, and some of them had malfunctioned spectacularly.

“Hold my ice, beloved wife. Nicky is defending the honor of young manhood on the playing field, but I daresay he could use some reinforcements.”

Abigail accepted the bowl and spoon. “If you insist.”

Stephen’s wife let him fall on his arse from time to time in pursuit of a more effective knee brace design. She always helped him up, dusted him off, and went on about life as if his infirmity were of no moment.

Increasingly, it was of no moment to Stephen as well. He took up his cane and crossed the grass just as little Elizabeth aimed a kick that sent the ball barreling straight for him.

Stephen trapped the ball between his foot and grass. “Battle stations! Incoming enemy fire!”

The girls squealed, Nicky darted to Stephen’s side, and the ball ricocheted between opposing factions for five loud minutes. Only when Jane called for the girls did three panting, happy children declare a truce.

“That went rather well,” Abigail said, passing the empty bowls to a footman. “Really rather well.”

“You put me on to the essential design element,” Stephen said, setting Nicky’s cap on the boy’s head. “Do you recall asking why I could ride a horse with my bad knee when I can’t reliably walk without canes?”

“You said the horse’s side prevented the joint from dislocating. That the horse provided the support your knee needed.”

“Stabilizing the joint laterally while allowing it to bend in only the required direction became the objective.”

Nicky readjusted his cap. “You use big words, my lord.”

“Come to the parasol factory,” Abigail said, kneeling to button the boy’s coat. “You will hear big words and see tiny, tiny parts. The ladies assemble our products using quizzing glasses because the mechanisms are so small.”

“Parasols are silly,” Nicky said, with the complete assurance of a small boy.

“Parasols that hide swords are not silly,” Abigail said. “We’re working on one that conceals a tiny gun. Ladies must be able to defend themselves from brigands.”

“Bad men,” Stephen said. “Highwaymen and the like.”

“When can I see the parasol shop? Will Elizabeth come too?”

Stephen took Nicky by one hand, Abigail got him by the other. The boy could out-chatter a flock of starlings, and his every word fascinated Stephen.

“We will arrange the outing with your parents,” Stephen said. “Abigail and I must be getting home. We need our rest, for we’ve a ball to attend tonight.”