Nathaniel strolled toward the house, though doubtless, in his mind he was strolling in Lady Althea’s direction.

“Please tell me you have found some reason to fight Weatherby. I cannot bear to see you lose your freedoms now, Rothhaven. You have come too far, achieved too much—and oh, by the way, you are as mentally competent as any other peer, if not more so.”

“There is that,” Robert muttered, falling in step beside his brother. “There is also the fact that Constance is depending on me. A lunatic duke cannot aid a lady to establish a relationship with her daughter. He is a flaming liability to her, in fact. A duke in full possession of his faculties might be able to help.”

As one dark, uncomfortable mile had followed another, Robert had gradually settled on this conclusion. He might be able to tolerate the gilded cage of Philpot’s guardianship, but what of Nathaniel, forced back into the role of champion but fighting Robert’s battles without the weapons of familial authority?

What of Ivy? Sent to the ends of the earth when a mother with considerable resources longed to resume a place in her daughter’s life, but could not—because Robert refused to contest a legal petition.

And what of Constance? Yoked to a half-duke, a man with all the standing of a peer and no more authority than a toddler confined to the nursery.

“I will fight the petition to the best of my ability,” Robert said, “while planning for the possibility of defeat.”

Nathaniel scooped up a few pebbles as he came to the fountain. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

“Marry Althea at the first opportunity. My signature must appear on the settlements, before my authority to commit family resources is legally invalidated.”

Nathaniel nodded and tossed his pebbles, one by one, into the splashing water. “Anything else?”

“I’ll summon Cranmouth out to Rothhaven for a meeting. The sooner he starts preparing my defense, the more effective he’s likely to be.”

“Good thought. Walden will approve.”

“Walden’s duchess will approve. For now, I would approve of some food and a soft mattress.”

Nathaniel resumed walking toward the house, which was bathed in morning sunshine. “You truly have become the duke, you know. Calm in the face of battle and all that. Wellington enjoying his breakfast steak while the French cannon pound away in the distance.”

The worry in Nathaniel’s voice broke Robert’s heart. He seized Nathaniel by the arm and wrapped him in a hug.

“It will be all right, Nathaniel. I will manage, and you will be happy. Our womenfolk will allow no other outcome.”

For a brief, wonderful moment, Nathaniel let himself be comforted, then he thumped Robert on the back and stepped away.

“Walden is a bit under petticoat government,” he said. “Have you noticed?”