Will got up from his chair, walked round behind Kim, and put his hands on his shoulders, gripping them. “I told you. See? I told you she just needed time.”

Kim put his hand on top of Will’s, spreading his slim fingers over the hardened knuckles. “You can’t expect me to take your word for things when I could work myself into a frenzy about them instead. Where would that get us?”

“You might do something sensible.” Will squeezed his shoulders. “I’m bloody glad.”

“So am I. I knew you were right, in theory, but—”

“I was right.”

Kim tipped his head back and reached up to pull Will’s face down to his, which meant Will kissed him upside down, noses bumping chins, laughing against his mouth and feeling him smile. He slid his hands down under Kim’s jacket, over his chest and sides, feeling a stir of arousal that was ridiculous considering what they’d just been up to. “If we abandon dinner, do we get in trouble?”

“We’d be disapproved of.” Kim bit lightly at his lip. “And Peacock’s disapproval is a terrifying thing. I believe he dealt with a German machine-gun nest by disapproving of it.”

Will sighed. “Better not risk it.” He let Kim go with a swift final kiss and returned to his chair, and his excellent rabbit pie. “So the girls are visiting? When? Maisie didn’t say anything about that when she last wrote.”

“It may not be a plan as such. Phoebe is more of a ‘sudden appearance out of nowhere’ person. I suspect she may need to attend to the business of her title.”

“Oh, yes, that. Are they going to do it?”

Kim took a forkful of pie. “I think so. Lord Waring had got some way into the process of amending the letters patent for his own inscrutable reasons, which helps. And—do try to restrain your mockery for what I’m about to say—it’s only a viscountcy.”

“Only,” Will said. “Course. A viscount’s not much more than a barrow-boy, really. I don’t suppose you marquesses give their sort the time of day.”

Kim sighed heavily. “The point is, peerages that pass down the female line are baronies, viscountcies, a very few of the older earldoms. If Waring had been a duke, she’d have no chance. As it is, the Committee of Privileges will probably oblige.”

“And she’ll be Viscountess Waring.”

“Lady Waring, yes.”

“I should hope so. After all the hobnobbing I’ve been doing with you and Aveston, I don’t reckon I can keep mixing with commoners much longer.”

“You were born for the high life.”

“They ought to do it, though,” Will said. “I mean, why not? She was Waring’s daughter, it’s only fair she should inherit his title.”