“Except I have no wife.”

This provoked a surprisingly sweet smile from His Grace. “Then you should rectify that poverty posthaste. Because I am the lone male in my household at present, I am more privy to the ladies’ views on your situation than I would be otherwise. I understand you are being stalked by the debutantes and their mamas.”

“Of course I am being stalked.” Lest this conversation continue on into the Moreland home itself, Deene gestured to a bench and waited for Moreland to seat himself before doing the same. “I am the highest available title, unless you count some septuagenarian dukes with ample progeny, and I am in need of an heir. When I am riding to hounds, I will never pursue Reynard with quite the same lack of sympathy I have in the past.”

“The fox most often escapes the hounds, because he’s running for his life. The wrong wife can make you entirely resent yours.”

How honest could one be with a man twice one’s age?

“I cannot say my parents’ union escaped such a characterization.”

His Grace stretched out long legs and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. “Times were different then. Matches were usually arranged by the parents for dynastic reasons, and expectations of the institution were different. Here is my advice to you, young man, which you may discard or heed at your pleasure: do not marry until you meet that person whom you cannot imagine living the rest of your life without. Call it love, call it affection, call it a fine understanding. Put whatever label you want on it. You will be wed for the rest of your life or perhaps for hers, and that can be a long, long time.”

His Grace sat up and speared Deene with a look. “Take your cousin about with you socially. Have him shadow your moves so you’re not waylaid in the rose arbor by some scheming minx. I know of what I speak, young Deene, having climbed out of more than one window in my heedless youth. If it hadn’t been for my brother Tony, there’s no telling what my fate might have been.”

The confidence was surprising and… endearing. Moreland was tall, with the ramrod straight posture of the former cavalry officer and a head of distinguished white hair to go with blue eyes that could turn arctic when his will was opposed.

Just now though, the man did not look so much like a duke as he did like a husband, a papa, a hale old fellow who valued his family above anything else.

“And here comes my duchess now to make sure I’m not lecturing you into a stupor.” His Grace rose smoothly to his feet and met his duchess on the graveled walk. “My dear, I was just coming to fetch you.”

She greeted Deene genially then gave His Grace her hand, which he tucked onto his arm.

“Deene, you will excuse us? Her Grace has requested my escort on a visit to Westhaven’s household, and this is a privilege I would not forego even to ensure I have your vote on the shipping amendments.”

Deene bowed to the duchess, who very likely fit Eve’s definition of an English beauty even in the woman’s sixth decade of life: tall, willowy, kind green eyes, and hair shading from gold to wheat around a face still lovely and unlined.

“Your Graces, I bid you good day, and of course you have my vote, Moreland.”

“Run along into the house, then. I’m sure the girls will be sitting down to lunch. You can ask them who’s most desperate for a husband and avoid the traps accordingly.” His Grace winked, patted his duchess’s hand, and led her off in the direction of the mews.

They had a peace about them, a sense of effortless communion Deene found fascinating, even as it made his chest feel a trifle queer.

He would not be joining the ladies for lunch—the lunching hour had passed—but he let himself in the French doors leading to the Moreland library, thinking to head straight for the front door.

“Why, Lord Deene. A pleasure.” Louisa, Lady Kesmore, smiled at him, a somewhat unnerving prospect involving a number of straight, white teeth. Lady Jenny’s smile was sweeter, and Eve’s smile was forced. They sat on the sofa, to Deene’s eye a trio of lovely women showing graduated degrees of disgruntlement.

“I beg your pardon, my ladies, Mr. Trottenham. I did not realize I’d be intruding unannounced.”

“Deene, good day.” Trottenham rose and bowed, smacking his heels together audibly. “The more the merrier, I say, what? Saw your colt beat Islington’s by two lengths. Well done, jolly good and all that. Islington’s made a bit too much blunt off that animal in my opinion.”

Trottenham apparently had a nervous affliction of the eyebrows, for they bounced up and down as he spoke, suggesting either a severe tic or an attempt to indicate some sort of shared confidence.

“Perhaps the ladies would rather we save the race talk for the clubs?”

“The ladies would indeed,” Louisa said. “Sit you down, Deene, and do the pretty. Mr. Trottenham was just leaving.” She gave a pointed look at the clock, while Eve, who had said nothing, busied herself pouring tea, which Deene most assuredly did not want.

“Leaving?” Trottenham’s eyebrows jiggled around. “Suppose I ought, but first I must ask Lady Eve to join me at the fashionable hour for a drive around The Ring. It’s a beautiful day, and I’ve a spanking pair of bays to show off.”

Deene accepted his cup of tea with good grace. “Afraid she’s not in a position to oblige, Trottenham, at least not today.” He smiled over at Eve, who blinked once then smiled back.

Looking just a bit like Louisa when she did.

“Sorry, Mr. Trottenham.” She did not sound sorry to Deene. “His lordship has spoken for my time today.”

Trottenham’s smile dimmed then regained its strength. “Tomorrow, then?”

Jenny spoke up. “We’re supposed to attend that Venetian breakfast with Her Grace tomorrow.”

“And the next day is His Grace’s birthday. Couldn’t possibly wander off on such an occasion as that,” Louisa volunteered. “Why don’t I see you out, Mr. Trottenham, and you can tell me where you found these bays.”

She rose and took him by the arm, leaving a small silence after her departure, in which Deene spared a moment to pity poor Trottenham.

“I have an appointment at the modiste,” Lady Jenny said, getting to her feet. “Lucas, I’m sure you’ll excuse me.”

She swanned off, leaving Eve sitting before the tea tray and Deene wondering what had just happened. “Did you tell them I’ve a preference for leeks?”

“I did not, but I cannot vouch for the queer starts my sisters take. Does this mean we must drive out?”

He studied her, noting slight shadows under her eyes and a pallor beneath the peaches and cream of her complexion. He hadn’t truly intended the offer, but neither was he exactly unwilling to make good on it.

“Not if you don’t want to. My horse can develop a loose shoe. You can come down with another megrim.”

She grimaced. “I never pretend I have one if I don’t—it’s tempting fate too badly. Are you going to drink your tea?”

“No.” He set the cup and saucer down, feeling vaguely irritated to see her looking pale and peaked. “What’s troubling you, Eve Windham?”

She was silent for a moment, while Deene became aware the library door was closed and there were strawberries on the tray before her. He lifted his gaze from the damned fruit on the tray and clapped his eyes on the lady, which did not do much to stem the useless thoughts proximity to Eve Windham seemed to arouse… provoke, rather.

“I don’t believe in dissembling on general principles.” She glanced out the window to the gardens struggling to advance against a season when the nights were still chilly. “I suppose I can drive out with you.”

“As flattering as your enthusiasm for my company is, I will still oblige you with a turn in the park. Do you need to change?”

He certainly had not intended to spend an hour or two tooling around Hyde Park with Eve Windham, except His Grace’s words echoed in Deene’s head: ask the Windham sisters about the social scene. Any former cavalry officer understood the benefit of sound intelligence.

Eve would know all the debutantes and the climbers, the ambitious mamas and the young girls politely described as high-strung. Abruptly, this little turn in the park loomed like a fine idea, despite any wayward notions Deene’s male parts might be taking.

“I can go as I am, but I must fetch a wrap.” As she rose, she picked up a strawberry and bit into it, leaving Deene to realize that no matter what they discussed, this little trip around The Ring would be a long drive indeed.

Probably for them both.

* * *

As her husband settled onto the coach seat beside her, Esther, Duchess of Moreland, tucked her hand into his.

“Husband, I must ask you something.”

His smile was the embodiment of patience. “If you’re going to quiz me on my habits at the club, I can tell you I’ve been very circumspect in my drinking. There’s nothing more pathetic than some old lord passed out in his chair, droplets of wine staining his linen, yesterday’s copy of the Times crumpled in his lap. You’d think such an example would scare the young fellows into sobriety.”

“It’s about the young fellows I wanted to ask you.”

Beside her, Esther could feel her husband waiting. The patience they had with each other was only one of the blessings reaped from thirty-odd years of marriage.

“Are you meddling a bit, Percival, by having Deene over to the house as often as you do?”

He didn’t immediately break into remonstrations and protests, which suggested the question had been timely.

“He’d do, Esther. Evie bristles when he’s about, but Jenny might suit him.”