Violet sighed. It was all rather disappointing.

“I say, aren’t you de Raaf?” Tony had returned from knocking on the vestry with an odd, almost embarrassed expression. He addressed the scarred man. “The Earl of Swartingham, I mean?”

“Yes?” The big man frowned ferociously.

“Maitland here.” Tony stuck out his hand.

Lord Swartingham stared at the proffered appendage for a moment, then sheathed his sword. “How d’you do?” He tilted his head toward the elegant man. “This is Iddesleigh, viscount.”

“Ah, indeed.” Tony shook hands with him as well. “Heard of you, de Raaf.”

“Oh?” The big man looked wary.

“Yes.” Tony was unperturbed. “Read a manuscript of yours a while back. About crop rotation?”

“Ah.” The big man’s face cleared. “Do you practice crop rotation on your lands?”

“We’ve begun to. We’re a bit farther north than you, and peas are a major crop in the area.”

“And barley and swedes,” Oscar cut in. He and Ralph wandered over.

“Naturally,” Lord Swartingham murmured.

Swedes? Violet stared. They were discussing farming as if they were at an afternoon tea. Or rather, in this case, at the neighborhood tavern.

“Sorry.” Tony indicated his brothers. “This is Oscar and Ralph, my younger brothers.”

“How d’you do?”

Another round of masculine handshaking.

Violet shook her head dumbly. She would never, never, never understand the human male.

“Oh, and this is Cecil and Freddy Barclay.” Tony cleared his throat. “Cecil was to marry my sister.”

“Not anymore, I fear,” Cecil said ruefully.

They all chuckled, the boobies.

“And you must be the little sister,” a male voice said in her ear.

Violet whirled to find Harry’s third friend standing behind her. He’d left the boy kicking his heels in a pew. Up close, the man’s eyes were a beautiful green, and he was suspiciously handsome.

Violet narrowed her own eyes. “Who are you?”

“Granville, Bennet Granville.” He bowed.

Violet didn’t curtsy. This was too confusing. Why would a Granville be helping Harry?

“Lord Granville nearly killed Mr. Pye.” She scowled up at Bennet Granville.

“Yes, I’m afraid he’s my father.” His smile slipped a bit. “Not my fault, I assure you. I had very little to do with my conception.”

Violet felt her mouth start to relax into a smile and suppressed it ruthlessly. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, that is a story—” Mr. Granville cut himself off, and his gaze moved over her head. “Ah, I think they’re emerging.”

And the questions Violet had been about to ask slid from her mind. She turned to see if George had decided which man she would marry.

GEORGE SIGHED LUXURIOUSLY. She could fall asleep right here in Harry’s arms. Even if she was perched on a vestry table.

“Well?” He nudged her with his chin.