Robert had seen the looks on the faces of the crowd around him in York. He’d felt the swift blow to the sole of his boot delivered by a lad more curious than appalled. Be he dead? Those words had lodged in his memory, along with the recollection of being unable to roar back: No, I am not dead.

“People are still unenlightened when it comes to epilepsy, Nathaniel. For myself, I will cope with the hand I’ve been dealt. Having seen one of my seizures firsthand, Constance should be given an opportunity to decline having to share my lot.”

“If you send Constance packing,” Nathaniel said, rising and stretching, “I will be disappointed. She cares for you, and you care for her. The rest can sort itself out if that foundation is in place. Shall I have a look at the correspondence?”

How casually he made that offer, how kindly. “I’ve already gone through the day’s mail, and I’m caught up, thank you. Take some catmint to go with your bouquet. Damned stuff comes back twice as thick for being pruned.”

“You have as well,” Nathaniel said, scooping up the jar. “Thus far, every time life has tried to prune you, you’ve found a way to thrive despite all. I admire that. Looks like we have company.” He sauntered off toward the garden door to greet Lady Constance, who’d apparently tossed propriety to the wind and parted from her sister on the drive.

Brave woman. Dear woman. But was she brave enough? Why should she have to be brave, given what life had already put on her plate? Robert pulled off his gloves, ran a hand through his hair, and prepared to have a difficult, necessary conversation with his intended.

Nathaniel went whistling on his way, bouquet at the ready, leaving Robert alone with the woman he might soon part from.

Again. “Good day, my lady.” He bowed.

She gave him the sort of look she probably reserved for difficult portraiture subjects. “It won’t wash, Rothhaven. The formality, the courtesy. I understand that you need your dignity—heaven knows I have need of mine—but that won’t serve for what I have to say.”

Oh, dear. Oh, damn. “What will serve?”

She stepped closer. “I wanted to kill them all, every one of them, all but that old man who was so calm and helpful. I wanted to brandish a sword at them and breathe fire upon them. They dared look at you with less than respect, and I wished them all to perdition.”

How easy she was to love. “Did you, now?”