“Stephen has been training a horse for you. The beast is learning to stop and stand if the rider becomes at all tentative in the saddle. Revanche also stands on command. You tell him to halt, and he plants his hoofs as if Gainsborough were painting his portrait.”

Walden was babbling, probably giving Robert time to get his bearings, and that was almost endearing.

“I doubt I will have the nerve to ever again sit a horse,” Robert said, as the coach rattled off toward the carriage house, “but the thought is appreciated.”

“With Stephen, one is often left to appreciate the thought. Why don’t you use a damned cane?”

“I do, but some idiot forgot to bring it along when he stashed me into my coach.” The steps had a railing on one side, which was fortunate because that railing spared Robert from taking Walden’s un-proffered arm.

Robert had no sooner gained the front terrace than Constance came barreling out of the house.

“Robert!” She tucked into him, her arms tight about his waist. “Oh, Robert, Miss Abbott is here, and she’s brought the most wonderful, wonderful news.”

“Tell me.”

“We’ve found her! We’ve found my darling girl, and she’s living not thirty miles distant.”

Robert embraced his beloved, the joy vibrating through her resonating with his own. He’d been the exile, the imperfect son banished to the shadows. To see mother and child reunited would heal that wound somehow, and make right so much that had been put wrong.

“I’m glad,” he said, as Constance nearly squeezed the stuffing from him. “I could not be happier.”

Walden watched this scene with a furrowed brow, then directed a groom to take Miss Abbott’s vehicle to the carriage house.

“All over again,” Quinn said, “I am the incompetent older brother who was too busy worshipping at the altar of mammon to notice that my own baby sister was in harm’s way.”

Stephen watched Quinn pace the length of the game room, a display of pique Stephen would never be able to indulge in. Over the Sunday meal, Quinn had been the gracious host, while Althea and Jane had shared hostess duties. Miss Abbott had joined the family at table, and for the eternity of the weekly feast, all the talk had been of the weather, the crops, and—when matters had grown desperate—the new posting inn being built on the northern end of York.

When the meal had finally concluded, Constance and Rothhaven had closeted themselves with Miss Abbott. Jane and Althea were swilling tea or stirring a cauldron in Althea’s parlor, and the gentlemen, minus His Grace of Public Fits, had been dispatched by Her Grace to enjoy a manly game of cards.

In his present mood, Quinn ought not to be trusted with a round of darts.