No one, not even Sebastian’s mother, who thought the sun rose and set on her boy, had even suggested he consider the clergy.

Sebastian wasn’t overly excited about the prospect of spending the next decade or so fighting Napoleon, but as he’d said to Harry-what else could he do? His uncle, the Earl of Newbury, detested him and had made it clear that Sebastian could expect no perks, monetary or otherwise, from that connection.

“Maybe he’ll die,” Harry had suggested, with all the sensitivity and tact of a nineteen-year-old boy.

But then again, it was difficult to offend Sebastian, especially when it concerned his uncle. Or his uncle’s only son, the heir to Newbury. “My cousin’s even worse,” Sebastian replied. “Tried to give me the cut direct in London.”

Harry felt his brows rise with shock. It was one thing to abhor a family member; it was quite another to attempt public humiliation. “What did you do?”

Sebastian’s lips curled into a slow smile. “Seduced the girl he wanted to marry.”

Harry gave him a look that said he did not believe him for a second.

“Oh, very well,” Sebastian relented, “but I did seduce the girl at the pub he had his eye on.”

“And the girl he wants to marry?”

“Doesn’t want to marry him any longer!” Sebastian chortled.

“Good Lord, Seb, what did you do?”

“Oh, nothing permanent. Even I’m not foolish enough to tamper with the daughter of an earl. I just…turned her head, that’s all.”

But as his mother had pointed out, Sebastian wouldn’t have much opportunity for any sort of amorous efforts, not with a life in the army awaiting him. Harry had tried not to think about his departure; Seb was the only person in the world he trusted, completely and absolutely.

He was the only person who had never let Harry down.

It all made sense, really. Sebastian wasn’t stupid-quite the opposite, actually-but he wasn’t suited to academic life. The army was a much better choice for him. But still, as Harry sat there in the drawing room, uncomfortable in the too-small Egyptian chair, he couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for himself. And selfish. He’d rather Sebastian went to university with him, even if it wasn’t the best thing for Sebastian.

“What color shall your uniform be?” Katarina asked.

“Dark blue, I should think,” Sebastian answered politely.

“Oh, you shall look smashing in blue. Don’t you think so, Anna?”

Anna nodded, and Katarina added, “As would you, Harry. Perhaps we should buy you a commission as well.”

Harry blinked in surprise. The army had never been discussed as a part of his future. He was the eldest, due to inherit the house, the baronetcy, and whatever monies his father didn’t drink before his death. He was not supposed to be put in harm’s way.

And besides that, he was one of the few boys at Hesslewhite who actually liked studying. He’d been dubbed “the professor” and hadn’t minded. What was his mother thinking? Did she even know him? Was she suggesting he join the army to improve his sense of fashion?

“Eh, Harry couldn’t be a soldier,” Sebastian said wickedly. “He can’t hit a target at close range.”

“That is not true,” Harry shot back. “I’m not as good as he,” he said with a jerk of his head toward Seb, “but I’m better than everyone else.”

“Are you a good shot, then, Sebastian?” Katarina asked.

“The best.”

“He’s also exceptionally modest,” Harry muttered. But it was true. Sebastian was a freakishly outstanding shot, and the army would be thrilled to have him, so long as they managed to keep him from seducing the whole of Portugal.

The half of Portugal, that was. The female half.

“Why don’t you take a commission?” Katarina asked.

Harry turned to his mother, trying to read her face, trying to read her. She was always so maddeningly blank, as if the years had slowly washed away everything that had given her character, that had allowed her to feel. She had no opinions, his mother. She let life swirl around her, and she sat through it all, seemingly uninterested in any of it.

“I think you would like the army,” she said quietly, and he thought-Had she ever made such a pronouncement? Had she ever offered an opinion as to his future, his well-being?

Had she only been waiting for the right time?

She smiled the way she always did-with a tiny sigh, as if the effort was almost too much. “You would look splendid in blue.” And then she turned back to Anna. “Don’t you think?”

Harry opened his mouth, to say-well, to say something. As soon as he figured out what. He had not planned on the army. He was to go to university. He’d earned a spot at Pembroke College, in Oxford. He thought he might study Russian. He’d not used the language much since Grandmère had died. His mother spoke it, but they rarely had complete conversations in English, much less Russian.

Damn, but Harry missed his grandmother. She wasn’t always right, and she wasn’t even always nice, but she was entertaining. And she’d loved him.

What would she have wanted him to do? Harry wasn’t sure. She would certainly have approved of Harry going to university if it meant that he would spend his days immersed in Russian literature. But she’d also held the military in extremely high regard and had openly mocked Harry’s father for never serving his country.

Of course, she had openly mocked Harry’s father for any number of things.

“You should consider it, Harry,” Anna pronounced. “I am certain Sebastian would be grateful for your company.”

Harry shot a desperate look at Sebastian. Surely he would understand Harry’s distress. What were they thinking? That he might wish to make such a decision over tea? That he might bite into his biscuit, consider the matter for a brief moment and decide that yes, dark blue was a splendid color for a uniform.

But Sebastian just did that tiny one-shoulder shrug of his, the one that said: What can I say? The world is a foolish place.

Harry’s mother lifted her teacup to her lips, but if she took a sip, it was undetectable by the tilt of the china. And then, as her cup descended toward its saucer, she closed her eyes.

It was just a blink, really, just a slightly longer than normal blink, but Harry knew what it meant. She heard footsteps. His father’s footsteps. She always heard him before anyone else. Maybe it was the years of practice, of living in the same house, if not precisely in the same world. Her ability to pretend that her life was something other than it was had been developed right alongside her ability to anticipate her husband’s whereabouts at all possible moments.

It was far easier to ignore what one did not actually see.

“Anna!” Sir Lionel exclaimed, appearing in, and then leaning against, the doorway. “And Sebastian. What a fine surprise. How’re you doing, m’boy?”

“Very well, sir,” Sebastian replied.

Harry watched his father enter the room. It was hard to tell yet just how far along he was. His gait was not unsteady, but there was a certain swing to his arms that Harry did not like.

“S’good to see you, Harry,” Sir Lionel said, giving his son a brief tap on the arm before making his way to the credenza. “School’s done, then?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said.

Sir Lionel splashed something into a glass-Harry was too far away to determine precisely what-then turned to Sebastian with a sloppy grin. “How old r’ you, now, Sebastian?” he asked.

“Nineteen, sir.”

The same as Harry. They were only a month apart. He was always the same as Harry.

“Are you serving him tea, Katy?” Sir Lionel said to his wife. “What are you thinking? He’s a man now.”

“The tea is quite adequate, Father,” Harry said sharply.

Sir Lionel turned to him with a blink of surprise, almost as if he’d forgotten he was there. “Harry, m’boy. It’s good to see you.”

Harry’s lips tightened, then pressed together. “It is good to see you, too, Father.”

Sir Lionel took a hearty swallow of his drink. “Is the term finished, then?”

Harry gave a nod, along with his customary, “Yes, sir.”

Sir Lionel frowned, then drank again. “You’re done, though. Aren’t you? I received a notice from Pembroke College about your matriculation.” He frowned again, then blinked a few times, then shrugged. “Didn’t realize you’d applied.” And then, as an afterthought: “Well done.”

“I’m not going.”

The words emerged from Harry’s mouth in a quick tumble of surprise. What was he saying? Of course he was going to Pembroke College. It was what he’d wanted. What he’d always wanted. He liked studying. He liked books. He liked numbers. He liked sitting in a library, even when the sun was shining and Sebastian was yanking him out for rugby. (Sebastian always won this battle; there was little-enough sun in the south of England, and one really did have to get out when one could. Not to mention that Sebastian was fiendishly persuasive, about all things.)

There could not be a boy in England better suited for life at university. And yet-

“I’m joining the army.”

Again the words came forth, no conscious thought involved. Harry wondered what he was saying. He wondered why he was saying it.

“With Sebastian?” Aunt Anna asked.

Harry nodded. “Someone’s got to make sure he doesn’t get himself killed.”

Sebastian gave him a dry look at the insult, but he was clearly too pleased by the turn of events to make a retort. He’d always been ambivalent about a future in the military; Harry knew that, for all his bravado, he’d be relieved to have his cousin along with him.

“You can’t go to war,” Sir Lionel said. “You are my heir.”

Everyone in the room-all four of them his relations-turned to the baronet with varying degrees of surprise. It was, quite possibly, the only sensible thing he’d said in years.