Constance plunked a straw hat on her head and opened the front door, earning her a slight lowering of the brows from Strensall, Althea’s butler.

“Sorry, Strensall.”

“No apology needed, my lady. Of course you are eager to call upon Lady Althea’s intended.”

The staff was obnoxiously pleased with Althea’s betrothal to Lord Nathaniel. Monsieur Henri could be heard singing from the kitchen and Althea’s companion, Millicent McCormack, was planning an extended visit to Paris “after the happy event.” Nathaniel’s mother was already visiting old friends in France, though she would doubtless hurry home in time for the nuptials.

If this tidal wave of joy was occasioned by a marriage, what would the reaction be when Althea conceived a child? When she bore her husband a son and possible ducal heir?

Constance descended the front steps and scraped those thoughts from her mind, as she’d scrape paint from a failed attempt at a landscape.

“Come along, Althea,” she said, climbing into the gig, “or Lord Nathaniel will think you were carried off by Vikings.”

“Not Vikings.” Althea came down the steps at a more decorous pace. “Jane, intent on shopping for my trousseau. She has an eye for well-made goods, also for a bargain. The merchants in York will long recall her in their prayers.”

Engagement to Lord Nathaniel had lightened Althea’s spirit in some intangible way. She laughed more, she smiled almost constantly, like a woman who knew a delicious secret.

She glowed, dammit, and Constance—who had spent years observing people and rendering their likenesses on paper and canvas—knew that glow would be impossible to catch in anything but oils.

“Is it hard for you,” Althea asked as she took the place beside Constance and gathered up the reins, “being back in Yorkshire at this time of year?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Being in Yorkshire at any time of year was hard. Being away from Yorkshire was harder.

“Crofton Ford is lovely, Con. Nathaniel has kept it up and the staff is wonderful. I’ve always wanted a little cottage of my own.”

“A cottage with twelve bedrooms?”

Althea clucked to the horse. “Compared to Lynley Vale, it’s a cottage. Compared to Rothhaven Hall, it’s a farmhouse, but we will be happy there.”

Lovely, wonderful, happy…these terms peppered Althea’s speech like cheerful colors dotting a still life.

“I am glad you have found a man who deserves your affection, Thea. I will miss you.”

Althea bumped her shoulder against Constance’s. “I’m going a mere twenty miles away, not far at all.”

No, but in a significant sense, Althea, who was Constance’s closest ally, had already departed, never to return.

Time to change the subject. “Has Nathaniel heard anything from the solicitors?”