Will emerged from the gatehouse and swung back up on his mount, ending their conversation. Alex nudged his horse to a gallop, eager to return to the house. He had been gone for hours, looking over the grounds and being shown Will’s new mills. He missed the children … and Charlotte.

Lucien caught up with Alex again. “I understand it is your birthday,” he said slyly. “I believe there is a surprise in store for you.”

Alex shot him a sideways glance. “The devil you say.”

“So I believe.” Lucien gave him a secret smile.

But there was nothing surprising about the fact that Pippa dashed toward him across the velvet lawn before Will’s manse. Well, perhaps it was an exaggeration to say that Pippa dashed—she trotted toward him, shouting “Papa! Papa!” in a piping voice. Alex jumped off his horse and swung his daughter up on his shoulder where she whispered blackberry-flavored secrets in his ear about the kittens in the barn and the berries that grew in the kitchen gardens.

And there was nothing surprising about the fact that his wife’s eyes met his with such a stir of love and desire that Alex found himself barely under control, and right there in the drawing room had to stroll over and examine Chloe Holland’s china cabinet—as if he were a halfling again! His wife’s gurgle of laughter was nothing new either, even if it did make him long to toss her over his shoulder and head for the bedchamber.

Dinner passed without incident. Chloe presided over the meal with an engaging lack of formality—she had taken to her role as baroness with effortless ease. The party talked of the possibility of a Napoleonic invasion and of the unsavory death of Bishop Burnham (in the arms of a woman with a dubious reputation). No one mentioned Alex’s birthday at all. Alex almost felt piqued. But then … perhaps Charlotte was planning a special treat for him in their bedchamber. His wife, tied in a large bow. He rather liked the sound of that. The ladies rose and retired to the drawing room; Alex, Will, and Lucien settled in the library with tumblers of scotch.

The door to the library swung open to reveal Will’s butler. He was French and professed to speak little English.

“My lord,” said the butler. Alex looked up inquiringly. The butler held a white card in his gloved hand. He bowed magnificently and handed it to Alex.

Alex glanced over at Lucien and saw his secret smile break out again.

“My birthday?”

“Quite so,” his friend replied.

Alex broke the seal and read the note rapidly. Then he crooked an eyebrow at Lucien.

“I am instructed to proceed upstairs and dress appropriately.”

“Then by all means, Alex, do not let us keep you.” Will jumped up, a conspiratorial grin covering his face.