“And yet I was let to think you’d gone with her to Edith’s! I spent the last month pitying you for what you must be suffering in her company, while all this time you were here. Which I had to learn from Lord Scofield, of all people, because my own mother and sister didn’t see fit to inform me!” He’d tried to pace, but the tight quarters had only allowed him to take a few steps and then pivot.

She stroked a hand down Darling’s back again for comfort. “Did you see Mama or just write to her? How is she?”

As if he’d be so easily redirected. “I spent a lovely two days there, convincing her to hand over the particulars so I wouldn’t be obliged to knock on every single door on St. Mary’s. Which I’d have done.” He folded his arms again. “Our sister delivered her husband another boy, by the way. Not that you’ve asked, despite the fact that Mother hadn’t let you know yet.”

How could she have known to ask? She’d thought it would be another week or so. Still. The queasiness nearly upended her. “I’ll send my congratulations straightaway. Edith is well?”

“Is she ever anything but?”

Mabena provided a bit of helpful clatter from the stove. “Strong or weak, Lord Sheridan?”

“Oh.” Sheridan didn’t so much as flick a glance toward Mabena. “Strong, I’d say.”

“You can give her your congratulations in person. When I deliver you directly to her door.” Bram’s scowl dared her to argue.

She’d never taken him up on his dares. Not before. But this time, he was in for a surprise. “I’m not leaving. I can’t.”

He waved that away. “I’ve already spoken to Mrs. Pepper. Given that I wasn’t interested in a refund, she doesn’t really care if you vacate the place.”

“That isn’t why I can’t.” How to explain it to him though? In a way he’d understand and, dare she hope it, approve?

Before she could think of such magical words, a light tap sounded on the door. A familiar tap. The one that was immediately followed by the door simply swinging open and Oliver stepping inside. His gaze was on whatever was in his hands, and he entered as he said, “Benna, I picked you up some of the aspirin the doctor prescribed, and—oh.” Here he finally glanced up, or perhaps just sensed too many people in the room. His spine went rigid, his shoulders snapped back, and his chin came up. Then dipped again. “Lord Telford. How do you do?”

Her stomach would never feel right again. Libby pressed her cheek to Darling’s side, willing his purring confidence to penetrate a little deeper. “Bram, you remember Mr. Oliver Tremayne of Truro Hall.”