“You needn’t, you know.” Nathaniel tore off a bite of bread and sopped it in his sauce. “Simply put it about that the Hall is still not receiving guests. I eschewed the tea-and-crumpets drill when I was presumed to be the duke, and a lack of social obligations allowed me to accomplish much in the course of a day.”

I haven’t the luxury of following that example. “A little socializing will be necessary to appease the curious.”

“I’m glad you feel that way,” Nathaniel said, finishing his wine. “I’ve accepted an invitation for us to enjoy luncheon at Lynley Vale tomorrow. His Grace of Walden, ably assisted by his duchess, will want to interrogate me and start the settlement negotiations.”

“They can interrogate you all they please, provided they do so politely, but when it comes to the settlements, Walden will address himself to me.”

Nathaniel looked up from his wineglass as if a loud crash had come from the direction of the warming pantry. “I beg your pardon?”

“I am the nominal head of this family now, and even in my infirmity, I have managed our investments. If we assume I am sane and sound enough to uphold the duties of the title, one of those duties is negotiating marriage settlements.”

“So…it…is.” Nathaniel spoke slowly, like a man blinded by the approaching glories of holy matrimony to the true ramifications of setting aside the ducal role. He put his empty glass to his lips, then set it down. “You haven’t touched your wine.”

“I don’t care for that vintage with this dish. This sauce wants a good claret.”

“You never notice the wine pairings. You never even seem to notice what’s on your plate.”

Robert held the largest mushroom up on his fork. “I am a duke now. I must notice many things that I paid no heed to before.”

Whether I want to or not.

“The courtship dance has moved on to the second phase,” Rothhaven said, offering Constance his arm. “The engagement is a fait accompli, and now Nathaniel must pass muster with the lady’s family. I do believe he relishes the challenge.”

They strolled the Lynley Vale portrait gallery, a long, narrow room along the back of the manor. The gallery faced west and enjoyed abundant afternoon light. Constance pretended to study a portrait of some old fellow in a ruffed collar and sagging hose, but she’d seen this painting a dozen times before. The Elizabethan gent wanted restoration, though even if he were brightened up, he’d be an unremarkable specimen as both a subject and a painting.

“Does Althea face a similar challenge where you’re concerned?” she asked. “Must she meet with your approval?”

“She meets with Nathaniel’s approval. Who am I to question my brother’s choice?”