“We’ll see,” Stephen said, sliding his canes into the scabbard on the right side of his saddle. “Revanche is a good fellow and he’s up to Rothhaven’s weight. So far, he’s been quick to grasp what’s expected of him, but this will be our first outing beyond the paddock. What have you learned of Neighbor Rothhaven since he made off with Constance’s common sense?”

Her common sense and apparently her heart. “We know he has the falling sickness.”

Stephen tugged on his hat brim and kneed Revanche away from the mounting block. “Yesterday’s incident was apparently nothing short of spectacular. What of his finances?”

Mungo fell in step beside Revanche without Quinn having to steer him. “Rothhaven’s skill when it comes to investing is spectacular as well. Apparently when a man has little to do other than read newspapers from every corner of the realm and as far away as Boston and Rome, his investment decisions bear abundant fruit.”

“High praise from you.”

The horses clip-clopped along, and while part of Quinn was enjoying an outing with his brother, another part was concerned for Jane. She’d managed little more than dry toast at breakfast.

Again.

“Rothhaven is a thinker, Stephen. He ponders and conjectures and sees connections that only emerge when a situation is studied with equal parts insight, information, and imagination. His father was apparently a plodder, and Lord Nathaniel did what he could with the estate finances. Rothhaven took on the investments five years ago and has worked miracles.”

“Miracles?” Stephen turned Revanche left at the foot of the drive, in the direction of Rothhaven Hall and the village.

“Fortunes can be won or lost when a nation is at war,” Quinn said, “as you well know. Rothhaven has made several fortunes, and in a very short time. He knows when to buy corn and where to sell it. Knows what the Americans want before they want it. He grasped exactly what France would need to rebuild—seed, seed drills, ploughs, bullocks, brick molds, paintbrushes, for God’s sake—and set about quietly buying it up and cheaply shipping it. He could open a bank and do very well for his customers.”

“You are saying he’s brilliant with money.”

The day was lovely, a harbinger of summer, though by tonight—this being Yorkshire—the sky could be hurling down sleet. Had Stephen not asked Quinn to join him, Quinn would probably have spent the afternoon indoors, poring over some damned ledger. That was a recipe for premature aging, also foolish, and Rothhaven had been kept away from fresh air for years.

What did that do to a man?