“That will help. Watching one’s brother fall ill is no way for a boy to spend his day.”

Davey gave a little bow and withdrew, but Alice had been glad for his presence. A governess could be the loneliest of creatures, neither family nor quite one of the upper servants.

She realized, as she pulled a rocking chair up to Joshua’s bed, she felt a sort of belonging as a member of the household staff. She didn’t belong to the other servants, or they to her, but all of them belonged to Tydings. And she belonged to the master of Tydings, for as long as he would have her.

And a little bit—more than a little bit—she belonged to the boys who slept so soundly in their beds. They’d stolen and stormed into her heart, into the empty place left by Priscilla’s absence, and by the absence of any children of her own. She loved them for themselves, but loved them as well for being Ethan’s sons, the little boys who were towing a big quiet man from shadows to sunlight, one pony ride, one tickling session, and one impertinent question at a time.

Joshua Nicholas Grey was not going to die. Alice would not allow it. She’d let down her sister and knew the bitterness of long regrets. She was not going to let down Joshua or Jeremiah or Ethan.

* * *

Joshua continued to sleep, then awaken only to complain of his aches, sore throat, and fever. As uncomfortable as he was, Ethan knew the illness was likely to worsen at night. If it was typhoid, it could go on for weeks…

“Barbara’s illness started off the same,” Ethan said when Alice drew him across the hall into her room. He’d hovered near his son more and more closely as the day went along, first bringing his correspondence upstairs then abandoning any attempt at productivity. Jeremiah, at least, had gone out to the stables with Davey and groomed both ponies, then repaired to the hallway to beat Davey at Patience.

“Joshua does not have cramping of the bowels,” Alice reminded him. She’d probably made the same point a half dozen times earlier in the day. “Intestinal distress is a hallmark of typhoid.”

“I was tempted to send for Nick.” Ethan looped his arms around Alice’s waist and held her loosely, when what he wanted was to clutch her to him. “I thought about sending for him—Nick is the head of our family and travels easily and often—but I simply informed him Joshua was ill with fever and aches, a sore throat, and a tender stomach.”

“You want Nick here because this is the first real illness in your household since your wife died. That’s understandable, Ethan.”

He didn’t argue with her, but she didn’t have the whole truth, either. No one did now, save Ethan, and he should probably leave it that way. Probably, but what if Joshua didn’t recover?

He turned his thoughts from that hopeless outcome and extracted a promise from Alice to meet him in the garden for a walk before the light faded. She’d been in the sick room all day, and Ethan knew inactivity wasn’t in her nature.

He left the nursery, able to do so only because Alice was with him in a way he could not have anticipated. He’d desired her, despite her severe buns, thick glasses, and governessy primness, because some part of him must have sensed this other beauty hidden as effectively as Alice’s physical attractiveness.

Where she committed, Alice Portman stuck to her guns. She would no more leave Joshua’s care in the hands of the maids than she would cast Ethan aside because he was gruff, lacked polish with the fairer sex, and hogged pillows.

She belongs to us, Ethan assured himself as he searched out Mrs. Buxton and ordered two baths and a hot meal. Alice did not yet know it, but she belonged not just to Ethan but to his boys as well.

And if there were a merciful God, they would find a way to keep her.

He was prowling in the library for books—Joshua and Jeremiah loved their stories—when his eyes strayed across the notes Heathgate left him regarding Hart Collins. They were sitting in plain sight, which was no doubt foolish, so Ethan folded them up and stuffed them into his waistcoat pocket. Choosing a storybook proved challenging, for Ethan had no idea which the boys had read, so he stacked a half dozen under his arm and headed back to the third floor.

When he gained the nursery, Jeremiah was sitting on his tidily made bed, watching Joshua sleep.

“He’s going to die, isn’t he?” Jeremiah’s voice was steady, but when he drew in a breath, Ethan heard the worry filling him up. Ethan pulled up a rocking chair and lifted his firstborn onto his lap.

“From this?” Ethan glanced at Joshua too, and the hectic pink spots on his cheeks. “Anything is possible, but I don’t think so.”

“Mama had fevers. She died.”

“Right from the start of her illness, your mother had terrible trouble with her bowels, and Joshua hasn’t had any. He has, however, been sleeping like an old dog, which makes me think his illness is different.”

“I wanted the ponies to know what was going on. They would worry.”

“Ponies are like that.” Ethan hugged his son gently. “Governesses too, I think.”

Jeremiah snuggled closer to his father. “Miss Alice doesn’t act worried. You can tell if you look at her eyes, though. She doesn’t like Joshua being sick.”

“None of us do. If I don’t want her to get sick, I’d best see Miss Alice gets some fresh air.”

“I’ll stay with Joshua.” Jeremiah scrambled out of his father’s lap. “I’ll call Davey if Joshua wakes up. Don’t worry, Papa. I’ll look after him.”

Ethan left on Jeremiah’s childish assurance—there would be no moving the boy, in any case—and reasoning the sooner a papa left, the sooner he could return. He found Alice in her room, a shawl around her shoulders.

“It gets dark so much earlier,” she said, “and I can smell autumn in the air.”

“September has always felt melancholy to me,” Ethan said, tucking her hand over his arm. “Summer is over, the land is preparing to go dormant for winter, and darkness presses in.”

Then too, September was when the public schools began their academic year.

“My father used to hate it, because the boys went back to school in the fall,” Alice said as they made their way to the terrace. “I hated to see them go. The house always felt so much more alive with them around, but I liked the quiet, too.”

“So you could read your books,” Ethan guessed as they emerged onto the back terrace. “It is cool out, isn’t it?”

“Cool and beautiful. Look at the moonrise.”

A big fat yellow moon was drifting up through the trees, spreading its silvery light over the asters and chrysanthemums. “I’m glad we’re out here to see this.”

“You’re warm enough?”

“I’m fine.” Alice smiled, but even by moonlight, Ethan could see she was tired. He settled an arm around her shoulders as they walked and felt her arm steal around his waist. They eventually found the bench under the oak and watched as the moon rose over the gardens. Conversation wasn’t necessary, just the peaceful moonrise and Alice’s company.

As close as they’d been in her bed the previous night, Ethan felt just as close to her now.

“Shall we return to the house?” Ethan asked. “I’ve ordered you a bath too, but trays in the library for us first.”

“Food sounds good. Worrying is hungry work, and soon enough all the vegetables will be in the cold cellar.” They made the distance in companionable silence. Ethan held the door for Alice then touched her arm.

“Let me have your shawl.” He drew it from her shoulders and folded it before handing it back to her, and the expression on Alice’s face gave him pause.

A small thing, to fold a lady’s shawl for her. Some might say presumptuous; others might say husbandly. All that mattered was what Alice would say. “What?”

“Nothing.” Alice tucked the shawl over her arm. “To the library?”

“For sustenance, though I want to go bounding up those stairs and stare Joshua back to health.”

“Come eat, Mr. Grey, or the food won’t be hot.”

He was storing up a treasure house of her various Mr. Greys: stern, affectionate, reassuring, passionate…

Ethan let her draw him into the library, where a tea cart was crowded with dishes. The ambrosial scents of roasted beef and fresh bread wafted up from steaming trays. He stared at his plate when they took places side by side on the couch. “I can’t eat all of this.”

“You can.” Alice flipped her serviette onto her lap. “You skipped lunch and tea, and you are a substantial fellow who needs his sustenance. If you fall over in a swoon, I won’t be able to catch you. Salt?”

“Please.” Ethan unfolded his napkin and began cutting his roast of beef. “Good Lord, this smells delicious. Will you marry me?”

“Of course not.” Alice smiled at her plate. “You’re out of your head with hunger, fatigue, and worry. I could use that salt when you’re done with it.”

Ethan stuffed a bite of meat into his mouth, utterly flummoxed at the question that had come from his lips. Where on earth—where in heaven or on earth—had those words come from? He’d meant them, of course, but thank God Alice had taken them as teasing.

They consumed good beef, green beans, fresh bread, pears, and cheese, limiting their discussion to the meal.

“More salt?”

“Excellent roast.”

“This cheese goes well with the fruit.”

One remark after another, each reassuring Ethan that his proposal had indeed been taken in jest. No harm done. To Alice, at least. He chewed mechanically, wondering if it was better to be rejected as only proposing in jest, or to be rejected because he’d meant each word with his whole heart.

When they finished their meal, Ethan chased Alice off to soak in a hot bath. She went without protest, perhaps sensing Ethan wanted some time with his sons. When she rejoined Ethan in the nursery, Jeremiah slept, and Joshua dozed in Ethan’s arms.