“You look healthy,” Dev said. “If I did not know you were sporting the remains of a bullet wound, I would think you in the pink.”

“Thank you.” Anna smiled. “I slept well last night.” For the first time in weeks, she truly had.

“Well”—Val sat down and reached for the iced lemonade pitcher—“I did not sleep well. We need another thunderstorm.”

“I wonder.” Anna’s eyes met Val’s. “Does Morgan still dread the thunderstorms?”

“She does,” he replied, sitting back. “She figured out that the day your parents died, when she was trapped in the buggy accident, it stormed the entire afternoon. Her associations are still quite troubling, but her ears don’t physically hurt.” Dev and Anna exchanged a look of surprise, but Val was tucking into his steak.

Dev turned his attention back to his plate. “Anna, are you ready to remove to the ducal mansion?”

“As ready as I’ll be,” Anna replied, her steak suddenly losing its appeal.

“Would you like me to cut that for you?” Dev asked, nodding at the meat on her plate. “I’ve pulled a shoulder now and then or landed funny from a frisky horse, and I know the oddest things can be uncomfortable.”

“I just haven’t entirely regained my appetite,” Anna lied, eyeing the steak dubiously. “And I find I am tired, so perhaps you gentleman will excuse me while I catch a nap before we go?”

She was gone before they were on their feet, leaving Dev and Val both frowning.

“We offered to assist him in any way,” Dev said, picking up his glass. “I think this goes beyond even fraternal devotion.”

“He’s doing what he thinks is right,” Val responded. “I have had quite enough of my front-row seat, Dev. Tragedy has never been my cup of tea.”

“Nor farce mine.”

She didn’t see him for a week.