“We’re going to Lynley Vale,” Walden replied. “Constance will doubtless want to fuss at you, as will my duchess. You will bear up manfully under this display of tender concern lest I have to shoot you for being difficult with Her Grace.”

Constance nipped the flask from her brother’s hand. “When Quinn threatens to shoot you, it means he’s worried for you. An allusion to fisticuffs is an expression of friendly affection.” She tipped the flask to her mouth and passed it back. “He’s actually a decent fellow, if somewhat indelicate about expressing his tender sentiments.”

Walden capped the flask. “To quote a man who appears to have earned your esteem, Sister, I do not appreciate being spoken of in the third person.”

Constance stuck her tongue out at her brother, Walden became fascinated at perhaps the millionth sheep-dotted pasture he’d seen, and Robert allowed himself a smile.

“It was only a seizure, you two, and a relatively mild one. If I’m not to hide away at Rothhaven Hall for the rest of my days, I will occasionally fall prey to my illness in public. Life goes on.”

And that was something of a revelation. The seizure in York had been embarrassing, the seizure in the church aisle unfortunate, but what life didn’t include a bit of mortification or misfortune? Was avoiding either worth hiding away year after year?

Maybe not. When a man could leave behind his self-imposed prison, tool about the countryside with his coach’s window shades up, contemplate marriage to the dearest woman in creation, and twit a hopelessly self-important peer, maybe the time to hide had finally passed.

“Are we expecting guests?” Walden asked, pushing the curtain on his side of the coach all the way aside. “Whoever has come calling drives a very modest conveyance.”

Constance sat forward, the better to peer out Robert’s side of the coach. “I’m not expecting anybody. That horse has come a distance, and on the Sabbath.”

A gig sat at the foot of Lynley Vale’s front steps, the bay in the traces dusty, its coat matted with sweat. The beast was more sturdy than handsome, as was the vehicle. Travel on the Sabbath was reserved for emergencies, and some of Robert’s unexpected good cheer ebbed.

“Perhaps it’s a friend of Stephen’s,” Constance said. “He has all manner of interesting associates.”

When the coach came to a halt, Walden descended first, then handed his sister down.

“I’ll see who it is,” she said, trotting up the steps without benefit of an escort.

“Do you need assistance?” Walden asked, as Robert negotiated the coach’s steps more slowly than Constance had.

“I can manage.” Though in truth Robert wasn’t quite as steady on his pins as he would have liked. “A seizure leaves me slow, mentally and physically, but the effects fade soon enough.”