“And my thanks to you, Mr. Lindsey. You must come back soon, and we’ll talk further. I never did hear back from you regarding those homing pigeons.”

Lindsey took the hint. He bowed, tapped his hat onto his head, and promised he would call again soon.

Muriel would have been pleased.

Vivian would be pleased, too.

* * *

Darius had taken to calling at Longchamps on Mondays and Fridays, and for three consecutive visits, he’d found himself entertained exclusively by his host. Lord Longstreet’s company was oddly comfortable, and he told Darius a number of stories about Darius’s father that supported Lord Longstreet’s conclusion that Wilton was a “waste of good tailoring.”

Longstreet also talked about commercial policies, and where the trade opportunities were likely to lie if legislation were enacted as he anticipated.

“I’d be discussing this with my son, you know,” Longstreet said over one of their pitchers of sangria, “but the man hasn’t the head for policy matters. He’s a dab hand with the land, though.”

Longstreet was old and frail, but he was by no means growing vague. “You speak in the present tense, my lord. I was under the impression you had no extant progeny.”

“So Vivian didn’t get around to tattling on me?”

“Regarding?” Darius knew his host well enough by now to suspect Lord Longstreet had told him only what he wanted Darius to know when they’d met that long-ago November evening.

“My steward,” Longstreet said. “Able Springer is my by-blow. He can’t inherit the title, of course, hence your assistance was necessary.”

Assistance. Perhaps Longstreet had been more diplomat than politician. “I suppose this explains his wife’s presumptuousness.”

Longstreet gestured to the pitcher—a ceramic container Darius could lift easily, though he suspected his host could not. “Portia’s a managing baggage,” his lordship said as Darius refreshed their drinks. “Maybe a child will settle her down.”

“I don’t think so.” And what was it about Longstreet that invited such honesty? “Women like that are bound for trouble, and they don’t outgrow the taste for it.”

“You speak from experience, but there’s little I can do about her. She’s Able’s wife.”

“You can keep her away from Vivian.”

Longstreet regarded him steadily, and Darius realized it was the first overt mention between them of any interest Darius might have in Vivian’s welfare.

“I can send Vivian back up to Town,” Longstreet suggested after a moment. “I’d as soon have her lying in where there are physicians available. I do not want to entrust the Longstreet heir’s arrival to some country midwife.”

“It’s not my place to comment,” Darius said, though the idea that Vivian might have none save Portia to attend her was intolerable. “Her sister is in London as well, and if a lady cannot have the comfort of her mother’s support at such a time, then her sister might be the next best thing.”

Darius withstood yet more scrutiny from faded brown eyes that likely missed nothing. “I don’t suppose you’re on your way up to Town?”

He was—now. Darius rose, sensing the summer heat, the wine, and the time spent in conversation had tired his host. “As a matter of fact I will be soon.”

Longstreet pushed himself out of his chair, a maneuver Darius watched with some concern. William was slowing down yet further, having to pause for balance frequently, and looking even thinner than he had a few weeks ago.

He accepted the cane Darius handed him and aimed a look at his guest Darius could not read. “Will you make your good-byes to Vivian?”

“Lord Longstreet…”

“Now is not the time to turn up prissy,” his lordship said briskly. “If Vivian thought I’d let you scamper off without taking proper leave of her, she’d skewer me where I stand. She should be back now, though she and the Belmont woman have become thick as thieves.”

“They’re both facing impending motherhood for the first time.”

“While I face death,” Longstreet said, “and you face, exactly what?”

Excellent question.

“I’ve been summoned to my brother’s estate in Surrey,” Darius said, “and I’ve my own place to check in on, as harvest approaches. Then too, my younger sister is in Town with Lady Warne, and I should likely make my bow to her.”

“You’ll be busy, rather than fretting over Vivian,” Longstreet observed. “Staying busy helps. Staying drunk decidedly does not.”

“One perceives this.”

“Then you’re a brighter lad than I was. Muriel had to put her dainty foot down with me. Ah, Vivian.” Longstreet’s gaze traveled to where his wife came around the corner of the house. “You’re in time to stroll with Mr. Lindsey before he departs for points south. Don’t stay in the sun too long, my dear. It leaves one quite fatigued. Lindsey, safe journey.”

Darius took the older man’s hand and knew a welling sadness that he might not see William Longstreet again. Nothing but good had come of Darius’s association with the man, and that surprised as it touched as it confounded.

“You’ll listen to Vivian when she orders you to rest and eat and so forth?”

“Hush, lad.” William drew Darius closer and settled both hands around Darius’s one. “You’ll give the woman ideas, and she’s adept enough at fussing and coddling. You’ll look after her for me? I’ll have your word on this, if you’ll humor an old man.”

“You have my word, Vivian and the child.” Darius nodded and swallowed, and then, with Vivian looking on in broad daylight, clasped Lord Longstreet in a careful hug. The man was all bones, his scent one of bay rum and camphor, but he hugged Darius back with surprising strength.

“Vivian, see Mr. Lindsey along, would you? I’m for a little lie down, and then perhaps you’ll send Able to me? The correspondence is piling up.”

“Of course, William.” Vivian watched him return to the house, concern in her gaze. “What was that about?” She aimed the question at Darius, who was also watching Lord Longstreet’s retreat.

“He’s dying, Vivvie.” Darius said it quietly but couldn’t keep the sadness from his tone. “He’s not going to last much longer.”

She slipped her arm through his. “He talks often about when he’s gone, and what I must tell the child of him, and so forth, as if dying comes around every other week. It upsets me, but I think he’s simply trying to get me used to the idea. What were you two whispering about?”

“Nothing consequential.” Darius patted her hand and led her toward a shady path. “You’re feeling well?”

“I’m feeling like a hippopotamus out of water,” Vivian said, and that confiding this was so easy was a pleasure to Darius, even as he wished he could take all the ungainly, hippopotamus sentiments onto his own shoulders rather than leave Vivian to endure them alone.

Love made a man daft—even a man who was trying only to be a good friend.

“Angela says it gets like this, so you can’t wait to be free of your burden, and then you realize you are going to be free of your burden, and after nine long months, you want a little more time to get used to the idea.”

“If she says that after four children, it’s likely true.”

They strolled along in silence until Darius spoke up again. “I’m going to have to depart soon for Surrey, but I’m leaving my direction with the Belmonts, and I’ll leave it with you as well.”

“And then?”

“And then there’ll be a christening to attend, God willing.”

“Or a funeral,” Vivian said softly. She turned into him, and his arms came around her.

“He’s ready to go, Vivvie. We don’t want to let him go, but he’s ready.”

She nodded against his chest. “He is, but why now?”

Darius didn’t answer, just stroked her back and let her be a little weepy and hoped none of the tears were because they were parting. Again. When she was more composed, he resumed their walk, keeping his arm around her shoulders.

“William thinks you’ll be safer delivering in Town where there are physicians at hand.”

“I agree. And Angela is there. She’ll attend me.”

“That’s good, then.” Darius realized they’d soon be within sight of the stables, and rather than turn loose of her, he drew her to a bench beneath an ancient oak. “I can’t write to you, and I can’t call much once you’re in Town, but know that I’ll be thinking of you and praying for your safety.”

She nodded, looking down at where her hand lay in his against his thigh.

“We’ve had an odd summer,” she observed. “Becoming friends.”

“It’s what I can offer you now,” he said, wondering at his own words. They were true, so he charged forth into more truth. “I’ve enjoyed this summer. You are good company, Vivvie Longstreet, and a good wife to your husband.”

“Hold me.”

She pitched against him, giving him little choice, but he was more than willing to oblige. He loved the ripeness of her shape, the subtle luminance of her skin, the maternal secret lurking in all her smiles. To see her here at Longchamps had been a privilege beyond imagining.

“We’re going to get through this, aren’t we, Mr. Lindsey?” She offered him one of those smiles now, a little sad, a little pained, but genuine.

“Yes, my lady.” He kissed her cheek and drew her to her feet. “We’ll get through this too.”

When she waved him on his way at the mounting block, Vivian was the picture of serene grace. She patted his horse good-bye and took his hand one final time.

“Leah has enjoyed your letters,” Darius said quietly, mindful of the grooms. Vivian’s brows rose, and Darius saw she’d taken his point.

“And I enjoy hers,” Vivian said, her smile not at all maternal. “Safe journeys, Mr. Lindsey, and my regards to your sister.”