The ancient retainer was the only full-time servant Jasper employed. A remnant from the past. He’d been caretaker of Goldfinch Hall for over a decade, remaining there long after the death of Erasmus Blunt, the reclusive great-uncle who had left the estate to Jasper in his will.

Would that old Erasmus had left some money for its maintenance.

In hospital after the fall of Sebastopol, Jasper had imagined Goldfinch Hall as a refuge. A place where he could find peace and quiet, far away from the miseries of war. Instead, it had proved to be an albatross around his neck.

If not for the children, he’d have walked away from it without a backward glance.

That was out of the question now. And not only because he was bound by his promise to Dolly, but because he was bound by the bonds of affection.

Charlie and Alfred could be difficult, it was true. He’d come into their lives too late. They still hadn’t forgiven him for abandoning them. But Daisy was different. She’d been less than a year old when he’d returned from the Crimea. Nearly seven now, she couldn’t remember her mother. Jasper was the only parent she’d ever known.

It should have made things easier between them.

It didn’t.

Daisy was an odd child. Painfully shy at times, but with a streak of feral independence. Not for her the sewing room or the sampler. She preferred climbing trees, swimming in the lake, and napping in the hayloft of the barn.

He’d had no luck in persuading her to behave with more decorum. What she needed was the civilizing influence of a female. A lady who would take her in hand.

Bastard boys had a hard enough road ahead of them, but for a girl, the taint of illegitimacy would color her entire life. The least Jasper could do was to assure she had the wherewithal to live that life with dignity—good manners, a decent education, and a ready supply of money.

A wealthy wife would go a long way toward providing those things. A wife who wasn’t Miss Julia Wychwood.

Which reminded him. “I need to see a solicitor while I’m in town.”

Ridgeway’s brows lifted with interest. “I thought you had a man in York.”

“Piggott is my late uncle’s solicitor, not mine.” Jasper had only met the fellow on one occasion. Mr. Piggott had administered Erasmus Blunt’s will. He was an aged attorney, prone to discussing the private affairs of his other clients. “I need someone of my own. Someone who can exercise a bit of discretion.”

“I see.”

Jasper sincerely hoped not.

“Any particular area of expertise?” Ridgeway asked.

“Criminal,” Jasper said.

Ridgeway’s face was impassive, betraying no sign of surprise. “You might try my neighbor, Mr. Finchley. I can’t promise he’s taking on new cases or even that he dabbles in criminal matters any longer. But he was once rather renowned. He counted the most powerful gentlemen in the city among his clients.”

“He sounds expensive.”