Nick broke in. "Lucky, too. Considering he's been at war. What happened that brought him home? Was he injured?"

Blackmoor shook his head. "To my knowledge, no. I was at Oxford when he returned, so I was not privy to the circumstances of his leaving his post. I know that he was a hero at the Battle of Lyngor. Will would know more about it than I would, I suspect."

Nick asked: "Lyngor... wasn't that in Denmark?"

Will nodded at his younger brother. "Well remembered. I'm afraid I don't know much about your uncle at all, Blackmoor. I began my tenure at the War Office several months after that battle. What I do know is that Lyngor was particularly bloody and one-sided. The Danes were roundly defeated there and lost more than their fair share of men that day. They pulled out of the war immediately, leaving Napoleon with one less ally on the sea."

"Unfortunately, that hasn't seemed to stop Bonaparte from pressing on. It doesn't seem like this war is ever going to end." Kit spoke this time, referencing the French general's recent escape from forced exile and the rekindling of the two-decade-long war. He shot a pointed look at his eldest brother.

"You know I'm prohibited from speaking about it, Kit. all I can say is that British troops are the best trained and British intelligence is top-notch. We have set Napoleon back once... we will do so again."

"One might argue that Napoleon has bested us before, and he might do so again," the ever-logical Kit pointed out — deliberately provoking his brother's ire. "He's already escaped from exile and overthrown King Louis, all while picking up troops and supporters from every corner of France. It seems we're not doing an excellent job of 'setting him back.'"

"If I didn't know better..." William began, warning in his tone, but was interrupted by Nick, who, recognizing the beginning of a political argument that he'd heard hundreds of times before, quickly brought the conversation back to safe ground.

"Well, it appears that London society isn't nearly as concerned with Napoleon or impending war as they should be. This season is shaping up to be more elaborate than any in recent memory. Judging by the number of invitations I have already received, the mothers are out in full force... husband hunting before the season even begins." Leaning back in his chair, he looked up at the ceiling. "I, for one, am running out of excuses to avoid the odious events."

Kit, following his brother's deft change of conversation, said, "Mmmm. It doesn't help that Alex is coming out this year. I've already given up the idea that I’ll be able to avoid Mother's nagging." His tone shifted from resigned to inspired. "I've got it! Let's get Alex married off as quickly as possible. That will make it easier for all of us!"

Nick spoke with dry humor, "I'm not sure it would make it easier for Alex."

Kit feigned disappointment. "Nor her husband, I suspect."

"I don't expect many men will be too thrilled at the prospect of courting Alex, to be honest, what with having us to contend with," Will said, then added, "I confess, the only thing I am looking forward to is terrifying her potential suitors."

Kit chuckled. "It's an additional benefit that, in terrifying them, we shall infuriate her."

The three laughed, each in turn realizing that Blackmoor was silent, lost in thought and removed from the conversation. One hand propped on the window sash, his view into the dark garden obscured by the candlelight reflected in the glass, the young earl was miles away from his friends, distanced from their world and their conversation.

As the laughter died away, the three brothers looked at each other, and William leaned forward in his chair, propping his elbows on his knees as he called his old friend's name. "Blackmoor?" A quiet question, no response. "Blackmoor." Firmer this time, still no response. "Gavin." The given name sliced through the room and hit its target.

Blackmoor spun toward his friends, expression clouded and dark, with a curt "What is it?"

In the silence that followed, Nick rose and headed over to the sideboard to pour another glass of port. "You were worlds away from us." He moved to the young earl, offering the glass. When Blackmoor took the drink, Nick folded his arms and leaned against the window sash, leveling his friend with a look. "'What is it' seems like something we should be asking, chap."

Blackmoor swore silently under his breath and turned back toward the window. "Apologies. I seem to find myself with a great deal on my mind this evening. It makes me rather a rotten host, I'm afraid."

"I was going to point that out myself, what with the remarkable billiard room and the exceptional port," Kit spoke wryly from his seat across the room.

"You'll have to improve upon that if you're going to have any success as an earl."

In forced appreciation for his friend's teasing, one side of Blackmoor's mouth kicked up. "Well, that's part of the problem, you see... I wasn't supposed to become the earl just yet."

Will leaned back in his chair and let out a long exhale. "No, you weren't. It was insensitive of us not to recognize how difficult it must be for you to come to terms with all that has happened. We should apologize. Not you."

The new earl looked at his friends and said, "No. You couldn't have known that I received word this morning...." He paused, then plunged ahead. "The constable in Essex, along with several high-ranking members of the War Office, has concluded that my father's death was accidental." He stalked across the room to the desk, lifted a piece of paper from where it lay, and read aloud quickly and without emotion. "The earl was thrown by his horse, which, in the findings of this commission, most likely lost its footing in the rain. There is no indication of any foul play, and the commission finds that the death of Richard Sewell, sixth Earl of Blackmoor, was a tragic mistake borne sadly of inopportune time and location. The investigative team sends itssincere condolences to the late earl's family, particularly the Dowager Countess and Earl of Blackmoor."

Blackmoor's movements were tightly control ed as he returned the letter to the desk. "That last Earl of Blackmoor, one assumes, is I." He exhaled with what, in other circumstances, might have been described as the beginning of a laugh. "So that's that, I gather."

Nick, always the most sensitive of the Stafford sons, spoke cautiously. "Had you expected the findings to be different?"

Blackmoor met his friend's eyes with a dark look and then redirected his gaze to the ceiling as he leaned against the desk. "To be honest? I don't know what I had expected. My father was a master horseman. I was there the day he rode out onto the estate — I heard him tell my mother that he was going riding. I heard him explain that he was checking on the drainage system in the rain. I saw his face as he left the house. He was a man on a mission."

In the silence that followed, William spoke. "Your father was a great man. He took every part of his life seriously. I believe he would have considered even that small task a vital one."

"Of course, you're right, Will." Blackmoor looked down at his hands. "I suppose I just want to believe there was a reason for his death — something more important than a soggy pasture.

"There was simply no reason for my father to be on those cliffs, no reason for his horse to be spooked, no way that, even if the horse had scared, my father would have lost his seat. In all our years of knowing each other, have you ever known my father to take a fall from the saddle?" He looked at the others, all of whom shook their heads.

"This report," he said with quiet conviction, "is wrong. I can't prove it, but I know it."

He looked at the others in the room, each quiet, each waiting for another to speak first. He saw the shock in their faces, their concern, their uncertainty, and he checked himself. "Christ, this whole thing is taking its toll, isn't it?" With a deep breath, he crossed to the hidden door that led back to the billiard room. Tripping the switch to swing the door open, he turned back to his friends. "No more macabre conversation. Fancy another game?"

There was a deep pause, as the Staffords considered the impact of the scene that had just unfolded and their own next steps. Will stood first and broke the silence; recognizing Blackmoor's embarrassment and desire to end the awkward moment, he spoke with his trademark arrogance: "Certainly, if all of you don't mind being roundly trounced... again." Taking their cue, Nick and Kit groaned in mock disgust and, matching their older brother's grin, stood up to follow Blackmoor back to the billiard table — just as friends should.

five

This whole process is really quite ridiculous, isn't it?" Alex stepped from her scalding bath, receiving a large linen bath sheet from Eliza, who, seeing her charge wrapped in the dry cloth, wasted no time in guiding her to sit by the roaring fire on the other side of the room.

"Head down." Alex flipped her hair over toward the heat of the flames, and Eliza went to work combing the long auburn tresses free of snarls and knots as the fire dried the wet curls. "Ridiculous?" the maid queried.

"Quite," Alex said, her voice muffled by the curtain of her hair and the strange contortion of her body. "I mean, how long was I in that bath? An hour?"

"No' even a quarter of that," Eliza said, unable to keep the humor from her tone.

"Well, it felt like an hour," Alex said grumpily. "I feel as though every inch of my skin has been scrubbed off. And all for what?"

"For beauty," the maid spoke, focused entirely on her task. "The Prince shall think you the most beautiful lady he's ever seen."

Alex replied wryly, "Let's hope that's not the case, Eliza. History teaches us that things never end well when royalty set their eyes on 'the most beautiful lady' they've ever seen. Have a care; if you perform your tasks too well, I could be haunting the Tower of London without a head, alongside Anne Boleyn."

She looked up through her tresses at Eliza, eyes dancing with amusement the maid did not share — and received another shove, reminding her to keep her head down.

"Fine. For beauty, then," she continued, waving one arm, her tone rich with boredom. She stayed quiet for a few moments, all owing the scent of the lavender soap Eliza had used so forcefully to envelop her before picking up her head and continuing, "Am I nearly done?"

"Nay. Head down."

Alex sighed. "I hate this."

"Yer in a funk."

"I am not in a funk."

Eliza made a noncommittal sound and Alex lifted her head to look at the maid, only to have her hair tugged. "Ow!"

"That wouldn't 'ave happened if you'd kept your head down."

Alex snorted in disbelief but kept her head still. The truth was, she was in a funk. Eliza was right. Eliza was always right. Just three years older than Alex, Eliza had grown up alongside the Stafford children in the Essex countryside, the daughter of the cook and the stable master at Stafford Manor. While the difference in their stations was always clear, when the two girls were alone, they were as equal as they could be. From their earliest days together, the young maid had always had the uncanny ability to understand Alex's moods — often before Alex understood them herself.

"Why don't you tell me why you're in such an ill humor?" Eliza prodded, continuing to comb Alex's hair, which was drying quickly in the burning heat.

"I don't really know," Alex admitted. "I am rather dreading this day, this presentation, this... pomp and circumstance."

"Whatever for? It's your first day as a real lady. I've ne'er seen your mother so... well... she's proud as a peacock. I should think you'd be excited. Up."

Alex sat up and spun around on the little stool upon which she was perched, repositioning herself to dry the rest of her hair. Eliza kept combing the long tresses until they shone brightly.

Alex scoffed. "My first day as a real lady. What on earth does that mean? And my mother is excited because I'm one step closer to being married off."

"You know that is no' what she is thinking."

"Not consciously. But it is there. Lurking in the background. A smart match is the future she's always wanted for me. And today is the beginning of that future." She paused, stretching out her legs and leaning back into the heat of the fire. "If only I wanted it as much as my parents do."