“He holds the earldom’s trusts, and he’ll not turn loose of them until Asher is demanding he does so in the Queen’s own English with a court order clutched in each fist. The day can’t come soon enough for me.”

“You’d relinquish the title?”

Balfour stopped walking as they gained the path to the stream. “Are you looking forward to being the next marquess? To spending half your time in the stinking confines of London so you can participate in the farce known as the Upper House of Parliament? Will you drag your family the length of the kingdom several times a year to keep up appearances in Town while trying to stay ahead of the cholera and the typhus?”

He strode off in the direction of the burn. “Bloody lot of nonsense, the title. My dear wife brought me wealth, and I share it with the earldom as she directs, but I would much rather have my brother back than all the wealth and consequence in the world. Come along, man. I want to see the great guddler in action.”

Tye followed more slowly, realizing he, too, would rather have his brother back—flaws and all—than the title his father would someday leave to him.

Except that choice was not before him.

“Will you tell Fiona of her impending journey, Balfour?”

“Not today, and possibly not ever.” As he ambled along, Balfour snapped off a sprig of heather and brought it to his nose. “I’ve been in communication with the courts, Spathfoy. Fiona was born after your brother went to his reward. She’s a Scottish citizen. Your dear papa has not filed suit in any Scottish court to gain custody of her, which leaves her, I believe, in my custody, or possibly her mother and stepfather’s.”

“I see.”

Balfour had not been idle since Tye had last seen him. He’d put two rainy days to significant use.

“What do you see?”

“You are expecting a legal action regarding guardianship of Fiona. As far as I know, none has been instituted in the English courts either.”

They’d reached the stream, and Balfour was tugging at his boots. “As far as you know?” He paused, one boot in his hand, one on his foot. “Would your dear papa make you aware of such a thing?”

“I believe he would. Why are you removing your boots?”

“My niece was impressed with your ability to tickle a fish, Spathfoy. I can’t have her head turned by both you and the lad.”

Tye used the tree Fiona had climbed to brace himself while he pulled his own boots off. “My father hasn’t any need to institute a lawsuit, Balfour.”

“He hasn’t?” Balfour dropped his socks on top of his boots and stood with his fists on his hips. “He’s simply going to lift the child from under our noses and expect we’ll accommodate his thievery?”

Tye got his second boot off, and like Balfour, draped his socks over his boot tops. Wool socks…

“My father has sent me an affidavit that ought to be sufficient to guarantee safe conduct for me and my niece from here to Northumbria.”

Balfour’s expression didn’t change, and his tone became, if anything, softer. “Don’t be keeping me in suspense, laddie. What manner of affidavit?”

Tye regarded his socks of soft gray wool. “Quinworth has sworn in writing before witnesses of good character that he’s read Gordie’s will, and in that will, Gordie is very clear that any children are to be raised under the authority of their paternal family. Both the will and the affidavit are witnessed, sealed, and otherwise legally valid documents. I’m sorry, Balfour.”

Balfour swore colorfully and at length in Gaelic. “Write to your dear papa that I will be initiating suit in the Scottish courts to establish my custody of the girl.”

“Balfour, you can’t stop me from complying with my brother’s wishes.” Though Tye wished his brother’s damned will—and his father’s preferences—hadn’t put him in such a contretemps.

“Then enjoy Fee while you have her, Spathfoy, because I will not rest until she’s safely returned to our care.”

“I will do my utmost to see that Fiona’s best interests are served during her tenure with us in Northumbria. I am bending my every effort in that direction already.”

“For the love of God, I wish you’d go bend your damned efforts somewhere else. Now shut your pretty English mouth before you scare the last fish out of the burn.”

He stalked off toward the stream, not even turning when Tye spoke again.

“I’ve proposed marriage to Miss Daniels, Balfour. I think you’ll agree that Fiona’s adjustment to new circumstances will be made easier by her step-aunt’s presence under the same roof. If Fiona’s mother can entrust the child to Miss Daniels’s care in Scotland, then surely the lady’s supervision of the girl will be adequate in England.”

And both of them knew the courts would likely see it that way, too.

Balfour turned, his expression impossible to read. “And has Hester accepted your proposal?”

“She has not—yet.”

He nodded, muttered in Gaelic about the daft, horny English getting their deserts, and slipped into the frigid water so stealthily, Tye didn’t hear even a splash.

* * *

“He has proposed marriage, Augusta.” Hester made this confession quietly, because Fiona was nearby on a blanket with the baby. Aunt Ariadne had declined to accompany them onto the terrace, making noises about her complexion that Hester suspected were intended to hide fatigue.

Beside Hester on the bench, Augusta also spoke quietly. “Is the proposal sincere, Hester? I do not mean to imply you could not earn the notice of such a man, but—”

Hester held up a hand. “I know, Augusta. My experience with Jasper has not left me with the greatest confidence in my judgment. I thought I did not like Spathfoy, but the truth is, I did not know him. He is kind.”

“Kind?”

Augusta’s dark brows rose, and Hester could see her cousin found the notion of Spathfoy’s kindness absurd.

“He teases me, often so gently I don’t even know he’s teasing. He does not take advantage of me, and Augusta, I sometimes feel I am taking advantage of him.”

“Taking advantage?”

Hester nodded, though embarrassment was making her cheeks burn. “He is very skilled in some regards.”

“Hester Daniels, what have you done?”

Augusta had anticipated her vows with Ian. Hester was almost sure of that. That wasn’t censure she heard in her cousin’s voice so much as concern. “Nothing as reprehensible as what I permitted with Jasper, I can assure you of that.”

Augusta patted her hand. “I am relieved to hear it. I would urge you to continue to exercise sound judgment in this regard. Spathfoy cannot mean to tarry here much longer.”

“He’s leaving within the week. He wants me to go with him as his fiancée.”

Augusta studied Hester for such a long time, Hester felt another blush rising. “He’s told you this?”

“Yes, very plainly.”

“Don’t give him an answer yet, Hester. Men benefit from being made to work for their rewards—they thrive on it, in fact. Fiona, stop tickling that child or I’ll make you change his linen.”

Fiona desisted immediately and started singing to the baby in Gaelic.

“I know I’m lonely, Augusta, and I know my confidence is somewhat shaken when it comes to marital prospects, but Tye—Spathfoy—is becoming a friend. I can talk to him about anything—even Jasper—and we laugh together sometimes. This is…” She glanced around, again making sure they could not be overheard. “It’s endearing.”

Augusta was quiet for a moment while Fiona’s childish soprano floated over the gardens in a high, sweet melody. “Did you laugh with Jasper?”

“Not often, but yes, occasionally.”

“Did you think he might one day be your friend?”

“I hoped it, at least at first.”

“You are smitten with Spathfoy, which is understandable. He’s a handsome, wealthy, titled man. If you say he has hidden charms, I will not argue with you, Hester. Nevertheless, such a man can afford to court you properly, to put a ring on your finger, to escort you about all the London ballrooms, to show you off as his affianced bride. Make him give you that at least. Make him wait for your answer, make him do more than pop up here unannounced on some pretext of visiting his niece and sweep you off your feet. You haven’t even met his family, haven’t seen his estates.”

Augusta’s words were low and fervent, also very sensible.

“I don’t know if I can wait for all that, Augusta. I find him very attractive.”

Augusta smiled a feline, married smile. “I found Ian attractive too. I still do, but Jasper left you susceptible to any man who makes an offer, Hester. Can’t you just enjoy the earl as a flirtation?”

“I thought I could—I rather hoped I could, and then he goes and turns up gallant.”

“And here he comes, though how men can look gallant when they’re scowling at each other like that is a mystery.”

“At least they’re not bringing us any dead fish to deal with. Fiona, your uncles approach.”

The girl skipped off, forgetting the baby on the blanket. It was left to Hester to bundle the infant up and take him to his parents. While Spathfoy boosted Fiona into a tree, Ian and Augusta’s heads were bent in conversation under a rose arbor.

All Hester caught as she moved to surrender their son to them was Augusta nearly whispering to Ian, “Husband, we must talk of this further.”

Hester handed off the baby and wondered if Ian was the sort of husband who taught his wife Latin in bed.

* * *

“Ian, that man has proposed to Hester!”

Ian settled back against the coach’s squabs and regarded his countess—his upset countess—and added one more item to the growing list of things a just God was going to hold Spathfoy accountable for—though the Scottish courts likely would not.

Could not.

“Calm yourself, my heart. You’ll upset the lad, and we’ll be all night settling his wee feathers. Hester will never give her hand to a lying scoundrel of an Englishman.”

Augusta looked up abruptly from the child in her arms. “We still haven’t heard from Mary Fran and Matthew?”

“Not a word. I’m keeping the telegraph office in coin, sending wires all over the Continent. Not a single reply.”

“This is not good. You are certain Spathfoy hasn’t told Hester his plans for Fee?”

“I would bet my horse on it. It isn’t that Spathfoy is so English, it’s that he has no wife, no children of his own. He sees them as separate bits of business: you propose to this one, you collect that one for delivery to the marquess. If anything, he probably thinks having Fee at the family seat will be an inducement for Hester to marry him.”

Augusta blew out a breath, her brows knitting in thought. “That is diabolical.”

“That is what happens when a man has no countess to show him how to go on.” He tucked an arm around her shoulders and saw that their son—drat the boy, for it meant Ian wasn’t to have a turn holding him—was falling asleep in Augusta’s arms. “The way the lad is tending to his slumbers now, we won’t get our nap this afternoon, Wife. I would bet my horse on that as well.”

“You seem to think Hester will throw Spathfoy’s proposal back in his face.”

“Of course she will. Hester got a bellyful of scheming, charming men with that Merriford jackanapes.”

“Merriman. And you have it all wrong, Husband.”

He closed his eyes. Augusta might know her own cousin, but Ian knew women. “How is that, my love?”

“Spathfoy is cunning, Ian. Hester might detest the man for flying false colors, for taking Fee away from those who love her just because some old man in England has rediscovered his familial conscience, but Hester will go for Fee’s sake. She’ll marry that useless, handsome excuse for a raiding Englishman to make sure Fee isn’t all alone in Northumbria among strangers.”

“She wouldn’t be that daft.”

“It isn’t daft when you love somebody. Hester spends more time with Fiona than Mary Fran did.”

Ian felt yet another cold slither of misgiving in his vitals. “Than Mary Fran could, you mean. Running Balfour on a shoestring took up more of my sister’s energies than it should have, but Fee had three uncles about her to keep their eyes on her.”

The baby let out a tiny, peaceful sigh, making Ian and his wife momentarily pause to behold their son. For no reason at all, Ian kissed his wife’s cheek.

“Fiona is a child,” Ian said. “All she knows is her mother was always preoccupied with household matters at Balfour, then Mary Fran became enthralled with Matthew. Of course Fee appreciates an adult spending time with her.”