Sarah nodded. “She is. I’ve put her in with Becky. I have asked her to help out with the girls’ lessons. She is delighted to be able to assist.”

“Oh excellent.” This was family. This was the most important thing in her life.

“I met your lady today,” Frederick announced, holding a glass of sherry in his hand, a sly look on his face.

“Oh?” Griffith frowned at the table with all the liquids. He wanted whiskey, but the various bottles could have held medicine or could have held liquor, for all that he could tell.

“The one on the right,” Frederick said.

Griffith grunted as he picked the bottle up and gave himself a healthy pour.

“What did you think of her?” Not that it mattered, not really. It wasn’t as though they were actually engaged. And yet he realized it did matter to him. He would have to consider that later. Or not; it wasn’t as though he was particularly analytical. Just that he apparently cared what his cousin thought of his fake betrothed.

“She’s delightful. Even though she is not duchess material.”

“You said that already,” Griffith said in a curt voice. He tilted the glass up to his mouth and drained it, then immediately poured another one.

“I invited her and her daughter to visit. I liked her quite a bit.”

And then Griffith wished Frederick didn’t have such a good opinion of her, even though not a minute earlier he’d been hoping he did.

What was happening to him? Could he just attribute it all to sexual frustration? He certainly hoped so, because if there were other forces at work he wasn’t certain he wished to acknowledge them.

“What happened with your man? The one you rushed off to rescue?”

Griffith turned to take a seat on the sofa, stretching his legs out in front of him. “I got him out. Apparently being a duke’s heir is good for something. People tend to blanch when you start waving your title around.”

Frederick chuckled, taking a small sip of his sherry. It must have gone down wrong, because he started to cough, tilting the glass so it was in danger of spilling. Griffith leapt up and took the glass, put it on one of the side tables, then stood next to Frederick’s chair feeling helpless as his cousin continued to cough.

“Anything I can do?” Griffith asked. He glanced around for the bell, then spotted it and shook it vigorously.

The door burst open moments later and the butler ran in, his eyes wide.

“Your Grace?” he said, kneeling on the carpet next to Frederick. Frederick waved a hand, then straightened again.

“I am fine. Merely a bad swallow.”

Griffith and the butler shared a glance, and then the butler rose, smoothing his trousers. “I will just fetch you some tea, Your Grace.”

“Thank you.”

Frederick leaned against the back of his chair, closing his eyes.