“Because we’d agreed to spend today together, as a family. Church, then a visit to my parents and a walk along the coast, remember? You promised Constans.”

He remembered. It had seemed an easy concession a week ago, but so much had changed since then. “And what was I to do? Abandon Rosa?”

“Of course not. And I wouldn’t have wanted you to. But you’re here so rarely. If it’s not the Council, it’s your friends, and if it’s not your friends it’s . . .” She shrugged. “There’s going to come a time when you’re gone, Malachi, and I don’t want our children to wonder at the kind of man their father was. I want them to know, and to know that he loved them.”

The same old argument beckoned. Or perhaps not argument. Lily was so damn reasonable. Sometimes he wished she’d lose her temper. Shout. Throw something. That way he’d feel he could shout back. It wouldn’t help, but it would silence the feeling of failure.

Thirteen years married. Five years with the burden of the Reveque seat on the Privy Council. When did he get to stop feeling like a fraud? Like a man of average aspect and wit who’d lucked into marriage to a woman who outshone him in every way? Somehow the more supportive Lily sounded, the larger failure loomed.

“I’m trying, truly I am. But there are only so many hours in the day.”

“Oh Malachi, I’m not asking you to do more. I want you to do better.”

The familiar request. The expected, pitying tone.

“I do well enough.” He hated how defensive he sounded. “I got my way over the Southshires.”

“That’s not what you said last week. Viktor did something, and I don’t think I want to know what it was. Your words, my love.”

Malachi frowned. Viktor had forced his father’s agreement, yes. However, it had been his own words that won the support of Abitha Marest.

“I tell you, I make a difference!”

“Do you?” She smiled wistfully. “Then why don’t you tell me about the sacrifices that have driven you to brandy. Perhaps I can help.”

He eyed her with suspicion. “Any time you want to take my place on the Council . . .”

“You know it doesn’t work like that. My father left that seat to you when he retired. I promised, you promised. I was to do nothing that would distract me from his grandchildren.” The old bitterness bled into her voice. The chafing at motherhood’s shackles while her husband floundered in a role she’d been born to. She sank into an armchair and waited. “So, these sacrifices . . .”

Malachi took a sip of his brandy and admitted defeat. “Freeing Rosa meant asking a favour of Ebigail.”

“Did she ask for anything in return?”