Uncle Roland cleared his throat and the cousins turned toward him. For a moment, the older man’s eyes fogged and Gray knew Uncle Roland was thinking of himself and his beloved younger brother. There was no denying how much Win looked like a younger version of Uncle Roland, with his dark hair and blue eyes, and how Gray was a distinct replica of his father, with hair a shade darker than Win’s and eyes a deep brown.

Uncle Roland fixed a firm eye on his son. “I cannot approve of deceit under normal circumstances. However, as it is Christmas, and your intentions were apparently noble . . .” He tried and failed to hide a pleased grin. “I suppose the occasional deception can be forgiven, in the spirit of Christmas and all.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Now, about that second matter . . .”

“Never fear, Father,” Win said, a confident smile on his face. “I have a plan in the works even as we speak. Why, I would be willing to wager I am wed by Christmas next.”

Uncle Roland studied him suspiciously; then snorted with disbelief and moved away to refill his glass.

Gray spoke low into his cousin’s ear. “Do you have a plan?”

Win’s smile flickered. “Not so much as an inkling.”

Gray bit back a grin. The room wasn’t the only thing that hadn’t changed.

“My lord.” Prescott, who had been the family’s butler for as long as Gray could remember, appeared at the door. “You wished me to remind you when it was nearly one.”

“Yes, thank you, Prescott.” Uncle Roland cast a last look at his son and nephew. “Not approving, mind you, but it was not your worst idea.”

Win chuckled. “Thank you, Father.”

Uncle Roland started toward the door. “I do hope your plan regarding that other matter is as successful.”

“As do I, Father.”

Uncle Roland’s doubtful response drifted into the library behind him. Gray thought it best that the words were undecipherable, even if the tone was unmistakable.

Gray chuckled. “I see the campaign to see you wed continues.”

“As it shall until the moment I chain myself to some poor, unsuspecting creature for the rest of my days.” Win strode across the room to the brandy decanter on Uncle Roland’s desk and poured a glass. “It’s your fault, you know.”

Gray laughed. “How is it my fault?”

“If you were here, Mother and Father would divide their efforts between the two of us instead of concentrating on me alone. While Father wants an heir, all Mother really wants is another female in the family.” Win aimed his glass at his cousin. “You can provide that, as well as I.”

“I suppose I can.”

“Therefore you owe me an apology.”

“Do I?” Gray raised a brow. “It seems to me, I am the one owed an apology.”

“Because I wrote you that Father was dying?”