Nathaniel set the salt cellar down so hard the silver spoon bounced. “You proposed to a woman you barely know? I grant you Constance Wentworth is a formidable female, but what on earth possessed—”

Nathaniel’s gaze became hooded. His word choice had been unfortunate, for demonic possession was the usual explanation for epilepsy among the less enlightened.

“Why propose marriage to a near stranger?” Nathaniel asked. “Lady Constance has no idea how your affliction manifests, and she will not be pleased to learn of it after the wedding.”

“That you are concerned for the lady is another compliment to my improving health, is it not? Two months ago, you would have assumed Constance was taking advantage of me.”

Two months ago, Constance would not have been permitted to set foot on Rothhaven property, so unrelenting had been Nathaniel’s protectiveness toward his older brother.

Nathaniel crossed his arms. He uncrossed them. He picked up his wineglass, then put the drink down untasted. “You are making progress, if you can walk to the orchard in the broad light of day with no ill effects.”

“I have traveled off the property by coach, Nathaniel. I have hired new staff. You haven’t troubled yourself over the correspondence in weeks, and need I remind you, your figurative boot applied to my arse was what inspired these feats of normalcy on my part. This beef is surprisingly good.”

“Althea’s cook has been making regular visits belowstairs. How can you sit there, calm as a Quaker at his prayers, and tell me in one breath that the roast agrees with you and in the next that you’ve proposed marriage to a near stranger?”

Nathaniel was not only puzzled, in his eyes lurked a hint of worry, as if Robert was evidencing a new and troubling symptom not of epilepsy, but of all the quirks and eccentricities that being incarcerated for years had produced in addition to the seizures.

“Calm yourself,” Robert said. “I trust you will keep my confidences even from your intended, at least for a time. Constance and I have a prior acquaintance from years past. She has seen the extent of my illness as clearly as you have, though my more recent crotchets had yet to fully develop when last she knew me. Do eat your steak before it gets cold.”

“To hell with my steak. Althea suspected the two of you knew each other, but how could Constance have known you? You were gone to that place, thirty miles from civilization.”

Thirty-two miles, actually. “Your word, Nathaniel, that you will not whisper this tale to Lady Althea, for it is not entirely my tale to tell.”

Nathaniel nodded—grudgingly, in Robert’s opinion.