“She’s an excellent horsewoman,” Jasper went on. “Her gelding will arrive within the week. I’m relying on the pair of you to assist me in that regard.”

“How?” Alfred asked.

“When I’m too busy to accompany her,” Jasper said, “it will fall to one of you to escort her on her rides.”

“On who? Musket?” Charlie gave another derisive snort. Musket was the aged gelding they kept to pull the dogcart. He rarely exerted himself to go faster than a jog.

“Musket couldn’t keep up,” Jasper said.

“You’d let us ride Quintus?” Alfred abandoned any pretense of being interested in the card game.

“Naturally,” Jasper said. “In company with my wife—providing you can manage to be civil to her.”

Charlie scowled. “Who wants to ride that big lummox?”

“I might,” Alfred said. “If I can gallop him.”

“That all depends on your behavior.” Jasper straightened from the doorframe. “I expect both of you downstairs in the drawing room before dinner—washed, dressed, and well-behaved.” He met Charlie’s eyes across the distance, his own gaze implacable. “You and I will address your temporary lapse after dinner.”

Having said his piece, Jasper withdrew, leaving the boys to mutter among themselves about his unrelenting high-handedness. Let them do so. It was preferable to them thinking he was undependable.

From the beginning, he’d striven to be steady with them. A man they could rely on—the same on one day as on the next. It was that which they needed, not an outpouring of affection or a torrent of discipline. They needed to feel safe and secure.

It was the same thing Julia required of him. Not his love, but his protection. His steadfastness and strength.

Returning to their shared bedchamber, he found her standing in front of the open wardrobe, placing a folded skirt onto a high shelf. Several articles of her clothing had already been carefully put away. They lined the lower shelves in colorful stacks of silk, wool, and muslin.

He scanned the room. “Is Daisy not here?”

Julia glanced at him, her expression peculiarly blank. “She was here.”

“Where did she go?”

“Downstairs, I believe.” Her tone was as opaque as her countenance.

Jasper had a sinking feeling. He entered the room, shutting the door behind him. “I suppose she said something untoward.”

Julia turned to face him. “Nothing you didn’t warn me about.”

“She spoke of her mother?”

“She did.” Julia walked to the window. Framed by folds of heavy leaf-patterned damask drapery, it boasted a deep-set seat much like the one the boys were taking advantage of in the servants’ quarters. She sat down upon it, rain drumming on the glass behind her. “What was her name?”

His sinking feeling swiftly transformed into a leaden weight in his chest.

This wasn’t a conversation he’d anticipated having so soon after their arrival. But like much in his cursed postwar existence, the unpleasant reality of it was unavoidable. The best he could hope for was that, in divulging some semblance of the truth, he wouldn’t hurt Julia in the process.