Indeed, he had always known how lucky he was not to have been treated like an unwanted responsibility. He had been barely five years of age when his father and mother, an American, had died. His aunt and uncle had then taken him in to raise alongside their own six-year-old child. They had treated him no differently than they had their own son, but there was a difference. Win bore the honorary title of Viscount Stillwell and would one day be Earl of Fairborough. Gray would never be more than an untitled relation.

“It wasn’t necessary, you know, to go out into the world as you have.” A gruff note sounded in his uncle’s voice. “I have always planned to leave you well off, to divide my fortune and property as evenly as possible between you and Winfield. Certainly, he will inherit my title and Fairborough Park, but—”

“It was necessary, Uncle,” Gray said, his tone a bit sharper than he had intended. But then they’d had this same discussion when he had left Fairborough Hall and England to make his fortune. His tone softened. “There are some things one must do on one’s own.”

“You always have been obstinate and independent. Some of which can certainly be blamed on that American blood of yours.” His uncle stared at him for a long moment; a wistful smile played on his lips. “But there is so much of my brother in you. More so now than when you left.” He raised his glass. “Welcome home, boy.”

“Thank you, Uncle.” Gray smiled. “It’s good to be back.”

It was indeed good to be home at last. He hadn’t realized until now how much he had missed England and his family—although in some ways, it was as if he had never left.

Everything in the country house was exactly as he remembered. He glanced around his uncle’s library. The floor-to-ceiling shelves with their precisely arranged volumes were unchanged. If he looked closer, he would no doubt see not a single volume was out of place, exactly as his uncle preferred it. The comfortable leather chairs and sofa stood in the same places they always had and looked scarcely any worse for the wear of years. The massive mahogany desk, which had been Gray’s grandfather’s and his grandfather’s before him, still occupied the same spot between two leaded-glass windows. The same family portraits hung in precisely the same arrangement as they had always hung, with the notable exception of the one over the fireplace.