“You have spoiled him...” The words of accusation bubbled on my tongue but I managed to bite them back. In truth William had indulged Robert far too much, but we had lost our first son when he was only five months old—could I really blame a father for doting on the son who had survived?

“I will speak to Robert,” William said, sighing. He detested any form of argument or confrontation, particularly with his son, so I knew how much this offer cost him.

“Thank you,” I said grudgingly. Then, more warmly: “Thank you, William. He will listen to you.” I put my arms around him and rubbed my cheek against his unshaven face. After a moment I felt the tension go out of his body and heard a rumble of laughter in his chest.

“Nan,” he said, “let me go. Someone may come in...” But he spoke mildly for there was still affection between us after all these years, and instead of freeing him, I pressed closer, turning my face into his neck. He smelled familiar, of fusty parchments and smoke from the dead fire. William was a creature of the indoors, at home in the parlor and the hall. In contrast, our son was a changeling, unlike either of us, with his height, his dazzling dark good looks and charm, and his impetuous nature.

“I wish...” I started to say, but then I stopped because it was disloyal of me to want one of the other boys to have survived infancy instead of mercurial Robert. With so many children in the grave I should be on my knees thanking God that one son at least had survived. I shuddered, ashamed of my treacherous thoughts and William felt it and patted my back awkwardly.

“What is it, Nan?” he said. “What is the matter? You are in a strange mood this morning.”

“I do not know what ails me,” I said slowly. “It is simply that I fear for Robert sometimes. He can be so rash and reckless. I worry it will lead him into great trouble.”

William released me and I saw my own concerns reflected in his eyes for a moment before he dropped his gaze to the pile of papers before him. “I have promised to speak with him and I shall,” he said, stiffly, as though by sharing my fears I had criticized him in some way. The moment of intimacy between us turned cold. “You may safely leave the matter with me,” he said.

When I did not reply, William sighed in his turn and shuffled the papers on his desk again. One wafted down to the floor. Before he snatched it up I saw it was a tailor’s bill for Robert for some exorbitant amount. I had wondered where he had found the funds to purchase the new tawny velvet jacket that made him look so very dashing.

“More expense!” I said, not even pretending not to have seen the invoice.

William ran an exasperated hand through his hair. It was a sandy brown, still thick and tinged with silver at his temples. He was a handsome man in his own way although not as showy as Robert. In terms of personality they were so far apart, the one careless and gregarious, the other considered and quiet. It was interesting that Robert respected his father’s thoughtfulness, perhaps admiring in him qualities he did not himself possess. Though if he could recognize virtue, I could not understand why he was unable to adopt it.