Sheridan breathed a laugh. “We argued for an hour at Christmas over where I was excavating. She insisted I was destroying the habitat of something-or-another. As if the relics in the earth know what’s nested above them.”

“Ah.” Oliver smiled too. That he could well imagine her getting up enough of a bother over to argue about. “Yes, that does sound like the lady, now that you mention it.”

“She’s a good sort though!” The words all but exploded from Sheridan’s lips, and his cheeks went a bit pink too. “Not saying she isn’t. Of course. A bit of stubbornness can be a good thing and all. She’ll make a fine wife. I’m only saying—I mean, Telly, that’s all. He’s underestimated her this time, I think.”

Did the man always qualify every sentence like that? A rather odd mannerism for someone of his stature. Usually marquesses owned their opinions and shared them without such worry that their every sentence would be taken the wrong way.

Maybe it was the effect of the too-confident Telford?

No. No, that wasn’t it at all. Oliver smiled to let him know he hadn’t been offended on Libby’s behalf. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but there was a layer beneath the equivocating one. He could glimpse it; he just couldn’t see it clearly quite yet. “We brothers are all the time underestimating our sisters, I’m afraid.” He certainly hadn’t expected his to disappear for so long—or to have uncovered any hints of Mucknell’s treasure, come to think of it.

Sheridan meandered toward the door with him, hands still in his pockets. “Mine practically raised me. I’ve two, one thirteen years my elder and the other fifteen years. We’ve never had a very typical sibling relationship, I fear, given that they were more mothers to me. Our parents both passed away when I was only four, you see.”

“How very sad. I’m so sorry to hear of your loss—though glad you had sisters who stepped into that role for you.”

Sheridan’s smile was easy—no doubt he didn’t even remember those days. “We got on well enough. You’ve a sister too, then? Not living at home? Elder or younger?”

“Younger. She’s . . . on holiday. Though I expect her back any day now.” Please, Lord. He led the way inside, ducking into the kitchen to wash his hands. He expected Sheridan to have continued toward the dining room, but he was waiting in the corridor when Oliver emerged again, studying one of Mamm-wynn’s drawings that they’d framed and hung on the wall. It was a labeled watercolor of an Echium plant. It was really no wonder she and Libby got along so well.

“Have you had breakfast yet?” Oliver asked. “Or would you like me to show you to the library?”