Michael’s grin faded as he began to pick at his front teeth.

Nora clasped her hands together in front of her and leaned forward, happy to have the upper hand. “So. Now about you. You know the baby is yours. What’re you going to do?”

Michael took a deep breath, clasped his hands behind his head, and rocked on the back two legs of his chair. Sighing, he said, “I… don’t know.” Staring at the ceiling, he continued on: “On the one hand, the baby is clearly better off being a Darlington. Even in their reduced circumstances, they could provide so much for him. I don’t think I’d be able to give him the same opportunities in life. But, on the other hand, I absolutely cannot stand to see my son being raised falsely by another person.” He looked down from the ceiling, catching Nora’s eyes. “I want to talk to Maggie about it, but she has been avoiding me like the plague.”

Nora nodded, contemplatively tapping her fork against her lips. Slowly, she said, “Do you want me to send a message to her?”

Letting the front two legs of his chair regain contact with the floor with a loud clack, Michael looked at Nora. “Would you do that for me?”

“Of course!” she replied naturally, and then thinking better of it, feigned disinterest. “Well, then again, word on the street,” she said pointedly, staring into Michael’s eyes to drive home her point, “is that gossipy girls aren’t to be trusted, even though they have all of the ins and could easily deliver important information.…” She gazed off somewhere in the distance, trying to suppress a grin.

“Do it for me,” Michael said in a gentle command, half-teasing and half-serious.

“And what if I refuse?” replied Nora, rubbing at her face with the napkin, “I’m not so keen on doing favors for food-flinging ruffians such as yourself.”

“Well,” Michael started, leaning forward, “what if I was to tell you and the entire staff and the Darlingtons that I knew a bit of insider information.”

Nora narrowed her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?” Michael grinned back at her. As much as Nora viewed him as a brother, Michael viewed her as a sister. Specifically, a little sister whom he loved to ruffle up as she did to him, although deep down they knew their intentions were nothing but kind for one another. “Oh, yes. From what I hear there is a young maid who has been doing some extra sewing work on the side and not telling her Lordship about the money she has been saving to go to… where was it? Oh, yes, London…”

Jumping up from her seat, Nora raced around the table, shoving her napkin over Michael’s mouth. Even though all of the staff were in their rooms, she couldn’t help but feel a stab of panic. “Ssh! Stop it!” she hissed. “I’ll do it, I’ll do it!” She could hear Michael’s muffled chuckles coming from beneath the fabric. He reached up and gently removed her clamped hand from over his mouth, letting the napkin fall into his lap.

She plopped down in the seat next to him and stuck out her bottom lip, trying to muster up false indignation. “I was going to do it anyway. You know I care about you and Maggie.”

Michael shifted in his seat to face her and patted her hand, still chuckling. He focused his intense eyes upon her. “And I thank you for it. This means so much to me, thank you.”

Nora looked deeply into his eyes, as if studying his level of sincerity. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, patting his hand back. “You know you are a supreme git, don’t you?” Her face broke into a grin.

“Oh, just write the sodding letter for me, would you?” He retorted, snatching up the napkin and tossing it at her.

“All right, all right, down to business,” she replied, laughing. Striding across the kitchen to where the cookbooks were kept, she ripped a blank page out of a notebook and grabbed a pen. Returning, she pounded the piece of paper down upon the table for dramatic effect and stared pointedly at Michael. “Spill your heart out and I’ll deliver this letter to your fair maiden, words transcribed ’pon this parchment, tucked safely inside a book, and delivered for only your miss to see.”

“You really have a sense for theatrics, don’t you?”

Nora adjusted the pen in her hand, ready to write. “All the world’s a stage, as they say. Now spill it.”

Wesley found himself running down the long drive leading into Wentworth Hall. He hadn’t meant to break into a run, but it was as though his legs had a will of their own. The object of his chase was Therese, who was only a few yards ahead of him. He’d spied her leaving the estate and gone out after her, filled with an overwhelming desire to accompany the young woman whom he found exquisite in every way, from her delicate beauty to the melodious, French-accented voice that flowed from her bowed lips. He had to be near her.

She had seemed so curious about him when they had first set eyes on each other. But he couldn’t mistake her coldness when he visited her in the nursery. She must have assumed he was toying with her, that he was a typical highborn Lord looking to tumble a member of his staff. He would have to convince her otherwise. His time in America had led him to have a much more progressive view of the social classes. What did a title really mean, anyway?

“Bonjour, Monsieur Wesley,” Therese greeted him as he strode breathlessly to her side.

“Good day to you, Therese,” Wesley answered brightly. “Where are you off to on this dreary day?” he asked, pointing up to the thunderclouds rolling ominously overhead.

“I have the morning off, and so I am walking into town to post some letters to friends in Paris.”

“There is no love letter there to some fortunate young man, I hope,” Wesley said as he walked alongside. Though he kept his tone buoyant and teasing his question was not really a joke. If Therese had a love back in France he wanted to know. If so, he intended to make her forget all about it.

“No, monsieur. There is no such fellow,” Therese answered.

“Would you like there to be?” Wesley probed.

Therese glanced at him questioningly from the corners of her eyes.

“I ask only because I need to know if I have a chance with you,” Wesley admitted boldly. “Would you mind if I accompany you into town?”

“There is no need for that,” Therese replied. “It is not far.”

“Wouldn’t you like company, just the same?”

Therese let out a quick sigh. “It is not necessary.”

Her reluctance puzzled Wesley. He didn’t consider himself a snob, but what servant would not welcome the attentions of the lord of the manor? Through the years he’d flirted with some of the maids and never before been rebuffed. And even among his own class, girls usually found his company pleasant. He wasn’t interested in any of those young women, though. Therese was the one he found himself thinking about day and night.

“Don’t you like me, Therese?” Wesley asked. “I hope you do, because I like you. I like you very much.”

“It is not fitting for us to be friends,” Therese responded tersely, keeping her sights glued to the path ahead of them.

“This is the modern world, Therese,” Wesley countered. “I’ve just spent the summer in America with Ian and perhaps I’ve picked up some more contemporary idea from our friends in the New World. In America no one has titles and it simply doesn’t matter. It’s what you make of yourself that counts over there, not some archaic title one was born with.”

“Well, we are in Europe, and here it matters,” Therese pointed out, still unable to meet his eyes.

“I see!” Wesley exclaimed. She really did believe he was toying with her, trying to secretly seduce a pretty young member of the staff for his own lecherous purposes. “I’m not like that, Therese,” he said persuasively. “My intentions are sincere. And I don’t care who knows it.”

Therese let out a light snort of disbelief.

“You don’t believe me?” he asked warmly.

She shrugged.

“Then allow me to prove it.” They were nearly to the front gate and no one from the estate would be able to see them. Wesley stopped her short and stared into her eyes. She shifted uncomfortably. When his face slowly began descending toward hers she stepped back abruptly.

“Stop!” Therese cried, banging on his chest with a quick, hard blow that sent him reeling back several steps. “Stop this moment!”

“Do you find me that repulsive, Therese?” Wesley asked, more hurt than angry.

“There can never be anything between us,” Therese insisted in a heated tone. “Never! Never!”