“Protective, Quinn, not quite the same thing. Just as I am feeling protective where Constance is concerned. You talk about pots and lids while I am focused on Constance’s happiness. She has become all but invisible, a figure in a shadowed corner of her own paintings.” Damned skilled paintings they were too.

“What a pity we can’t all be like you, commanding attention for the sheer deviltry of it.”

“I am no longer seventeen and full of ill temper, Quinn. Please attend the topic at hand. Invisibility served Constance when Jack Wentworth was swinging his fists, but thank the infernal imp of hell, our father is dead and gone. Have you never wondered who or what Constance hides from now? Why a duke’s sister courts the next thing to anonymity?”

Mungo grabbed a mouthful of leaves from the low-hanging limb of a locust tree.

“Leave our sisters alone,” Quinn said, making no move to correct his mount’s rudeness. “If Constance wants polite society to view her as a boring cypher, she doubtless has her reasons. I’ll race you to the stile beyond the orchard.”

For Quinn that was an awkward change of topic, which only reinforced Stephen’s conviction that nothing good could come from this acquaintance between Constance and the reclusive duke next door. Constance apparently had reasons for remaining in the shadows, reasons Quinn knew or suspected, but had decided to keep to himself—for now.

Stephen nonetheless allowed the subject to drop, and instead focused on beating Quinn to the stile by a margin that allowed an older brother to call the defeat a very near thing indeed.

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

“Althea and I will wed by special license, I think,” Nathaniel said, spearing a mushroom sautéed in brown sauce. “We’ll wait the usual interval and hold the ceremony in Rothhaven’s chapel. It’s about time the old place got a thorough airing.”

Robert did not care for food served with sauces. The sauce could hide an off flavor—or medication—and more bothersomely, sauces made separating the various types of food on one’s plate nearly impossible. He lacked the heart to complain about the kitchen’s efforts, though, when the Rothhaven staff had been so stoutly loyal for so many years.

“Aren’t the specifics of the wedding the province of your bride?” Robert asked, choosing the smallest mushroom first.

Nathaniel beamed at his mushroom. “What a lovely phrase—my bride. Of course I will discuss every detail with Althea, but as regards the special license, I am confident she won’t want a long engagement. More wine?”

“No, thank you. When do you intend to speak your vows?”

“Althea’s family is here now. We might as well hold the ceremony soon.”

Robert drove his fork into the next smallest mushroom. “A date, Nathaniel. I am asking for a date.”