“I suspect all the best dukes are thoroughly under petticoat government, and a happier bunch of fellows—and governesses—you never did meet. Shall I ask Cranmouth to join us this afternoon?”

“That will suit. I never did much like him. Althea isn’t too keen on him either, though I suppose needs must.”

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Althea and Nathaniel’s nuptials were held on Friday morning in the Lynley Vale formal parlor. Stephen had been summoned back from Fendle Bridge, and it was agreed by some process to which Constance was not privy that a council of war would gather after the wedding breakfast.

“You aren’t eating,” Rothhaven said. “One must keep up one’s strength, I’m told.”

Constance fiddled with her wineglass, though for the first time in her memory, the siren call of alcohol had gone silent.

“One must rest too, sir. I find that activity best pursued when you and I share a bed.”

At the end of the table, Jane raised an eyebrow at that remark, the gesture so subtle that Vicar Sorenson, seated at her elbow, likely hadn’t noticed.

“And I,” Rothhaven said very softly, “sleep better under the same circumstances. Patience, my love. The settlements have been signed, Cranmouth has been dispatched to research the legalities, and today is an occasion for joy.”

Rothhaven’s thoughts reminded Constance of a cabinet with many drawers, and when he closed the drawer marked Construction of the Gatehouse and opened the drawer labeled Legal Incompetency Claim, the gatehouse might as well be on an estate owned by some other duke in some other county.

Perhaps that was another legacy of time in Dr. Soames’s care. “I wrote to Ivy again,” Constance said. “Not knowing if she’s receiving my letters is driving me barmy.” Wrong word. Wrong, wrong word.

“Write to her anyway. Mrs. Hodges struck me as an individual blessed with a strong practical streak. If she can see a way to get your letters to the girl, she will. Keep copies.”

“Because if the original never reaches Ivy, someday, the copy might.” What a bilious notion. “Althea and Nathaniel look besotted.”

“Are you as happy for Althea as I am for Nathaniel?”

Rothhaven’s gaze as he beheld his brother—who at the moment was kissing the back of Althea’s bare hand—was an expression Constance would have to paint to understand. Tender, wistful, proud, perhaps loving was the best way to describe it, but also a touch sad.

“For Althea, I am overjoyed. She and Nathaniel suit, and she was resigned to never suiting anybody, to settling. I am glad she didn’t settle.”

“Did you settle, Constance?”

Quinn heard that remark. He and Stephen were engaged in a lively discussion about exporting birds’ nests to China, but a slight pause between Stephen’s question and Quinn’s reply suggested no privacy was to be had among family. Ever.