Marc led Caroline down the long gallery toward the far end of the manor and to the staircase that would take them near the verandah. He still couldn’t quite believe that she was here. With him. At Saddleworth. The entire thing was surreal.

“Your mother?” she asked, gesturing to a painting that was, in fact, of his mother. She’d been a beautiful woman in her prime.

“Fortunate I inherited her coloring instead of my father’s,” he replied.

Caroline cast him a sidelong glance. “I don’t think I ever saw your father.”

“You didn’t miss much.” There would have been no way for her to see the man. “He never left Saddleworth,” he told her. “Well, he left it on occasion, but he loathed London, and I can’t remember a time when he was there, actually.”

“Sounds like my brother. My oldest brother.”

Marc agreed with a nod as they began their descent down the staircase. “I think he and Masten share a similar temperament as well.” But that reminded Marc why he’d originally stumbled into her chambers that morning, before he’d been sidetracked by her wearing nothing but his robe. “Your other brother…”

“Luke?”

Could definitely be a problem if he wasn’t dealt with. “Did you have any plans to see him this week?”

“Nothing that we scheduled.”

That was a bit of luck. “You’ll need to write him a letter and tell him that you and the girls decided to return to Benton Park. Everyone else in Town, I imagine, might think your disappearance unusual, but they’ll accept that you’ve returned home. Your brother on the other hand…”

Caroline nodded. “I was concerned about that, but Simmons said there was no need.”

As they reached the bottom of the steps, Marc shrugged. “Simmons doesn’t know Luke as well as you or I.” Actually, she may need to send more than one letter. “And probably your son as well,” he suggested. “Is there anyone else you think you should send something to? Someone who might worry? Olivia Kelfield or—”

“Livvie might worry,” she agreed. “And perhaps Hannah Astwick, Bethany Carteret, Cordie Clayworth, and—”

“Yes, yes,” Marc said dryly, leading her toward the verandah. “Everyone loves you, you’re very popular.”

She laughed a bit. “And what about you, my lord? Are you going to pen a similar note to your friends?”

Hardly. Marc shook his head. “My friends would find it suspicious if I did such a thing. Besides—” he shrugged “—I’ve already made arrangements to explain my absence.”

“What arrangements?”

“I told you there’s an actress who owes me a favor.”

“An actress?” Caroline halted in her step and drew Marc to a stop. “What actress?”

“Why?” he countered. “Jealous?”

Her pretty hazel eyes twinkled just so. “Insanely.”

“Well, that only seems fair.” Marc bit back a smile. “I thought I might have to remove Peasemore’s head from his shoulders if he didn’t stop chasing your skirts.”

“Oh!” Caroline’s hand fluttered to her heart. “I forgot about Lord Peasemore. I was supposed to be helping him with something.”

“The man doesn’t need your help,” Marc replied, leading her once more to the doors that led outside. “He can find his own bride if he’s of a mind to have one at all.”

Caroline gasped. “How did you know…”

Marc shot her a grin. “Honestly, love, considering my past profession, do you really think there’s anything I can’t find out?”

And then realization lit her eyes. “Luke told you.”

Marc agreed with a nod. “Aye. He’s a very good friend.”

From the verandah, girlish laughter filtered into the corridor. A mix of Callie and Emma, if Marc wasn’t mistaken.

“Oh—” Caroline glanced toward the doors “—it sounds like they’re getting along.”

* * *

Caroline let Marc lead her out onto the verandah where Emma and a very pretty little girl with black hair and Marc’s light eyes sat together at a long table.

“Did you go up in it?” the girl asked, Marc’s daughter most certainly. Lady Callista Gray.

Emma shook her head. “My cousin is too little, so my uncle said he’d have to take me another time.”

“I think I would be too afraid,” Lady Callista said, shivering slightly. Then she seemed to notice Caroline and Marc. She smiled timidly at Caroline and then said to her father, “Papa! Have you ever gone up in the air in a balloon?”

“My mama says he isn’t afraid of anything,” Emma said before Marc could reply. Then she hopped out of her chair and rushed to where Caroline stood and tugged at her hand. “Mama, come meet Callie.”

“I would like to,” Caroline replied, smiling at the quiet girl still at the table.

“She’s never been to London,” Emma said, dragging Caroline away from Marc. “I was telling her about the museums and Astley’s and Vauxhall and—”

“Are you settling in nicely, Miss Emma?” Marc asked, coming up behind Caroline and placing his hand on the small of her back.

“Oh, yes, my lord.” Emma nodded fervently. “I found Callie in the orangery when I was exploring. I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

“And your same age, I believe,” Marc replied. “Hopefully the two of you will get along well.”

“Callie, is it?” Caroline asked, and at the girl’s nod, she continued, “I’m Lady Staveley, I’m—”

“You’re a friend of my papa’s,” Callie said softly.

Friends barely touched what Marc and Caroline were to each other, though she nodded in agreement. “Yes, and I’m very glad to make your acquaintance.”

“Mama,” Emma returned to her seat beside Marc’s daughter. “Callie likes to paint too.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Caroline said.

“We thought we might paint after lunch,” Emma added.

“And your French lesson?” Marc asked which made his daughter blush just slightly.

“Puis-je s'il te plait, Papa?” Callie asked softly.

Such a softly spoken little girl, almost the exact opposite of Emma in that way. Caroline glanced back at Marc over her shoulder. “Certainly she could do both.” After all, it would be good for Emma and Callie to get to know each other. “If we’re all going to be together, having the girls get along would be in all of our best interests.”

The edge of Marc’s mouth tipped upward as he replied only loud enough for her to hear. “Are you going to side with her all the time?”

“Probably not all the time,” she whispered back, grinning at him. “Only if you’re being unreasonable.”

“I’m never unreasonable.” Marc ‘s gaze dropped to her lips. “I do have an overwhelming desire to kiss you right now.”

She blinked at him. “In front of our daughters?”

He nodded. “They should get used to seeing me kiss you, and often.”

Ridiculous man. He was lucky the girls couldn’t hear him.

Before Caroline could respond however, Emma called out, “Lord Haversham, are you going to marry my mama?”

Marc’s hold on Caroline’s back tightened just a bit. “I beg your pardon?” he asked, turning his gaze on the two girls at the table.

“Emma!” Caroline chastised. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

Her daughter shrugged. “Rachel said that’s why we came here. So you could marry Lord Haversham without anyone in Town interfering.”

“Well, Rachel is not in the know.” For heaven’s sake! What a thing to say! Of course, Caroline assumed she and Marc would marry. They did love each other, and he had vowed that he’d never leave her, but…they hadn’t discussed marriage or their future in any real terms, not really.

“I love your mother very much, Emma.” Marc slid his hand from Caroline’s back and took her hand, towing her the rest of the way to their daughters. “With all my heart, in fact; but we have not come to Saddleworth to be married.”

Emma stared most intently at Caroline, her dark eyes wide in surprise. “Do you love Lord Haversham, Mama?”

Heavens! Caroline never imagined that Emma would ever ask her something like that. She’d been so close to her father. She’d adored David. And while Caroline thought Emma liked Marc quite a lot, there was a big difference between liking him as Caroline’s friend and accepting him as a potential step-father. Still, Emma had asked her a question, and she wouldn’t lie to her daughter. “I do love him, Emma.” Caroline tightened her hold on Marc’s hand.

“Well, then you should be married right away,” her daughter declared without any hint that Caroline’s revelation had caused any sort of angst or anxiety.

All the while, however, Callie blinked at her father in surprise. The poor girl had barely met Caroline before being hit with that news. She’d have to talk to her, separately, just the two of them, and assure Callie that she had no interest in taking her father from her. Honestly, until they’d arrived at Saddleworth, Caroline hadn’t realized Marc cared for his daughter at all, but the speaking glances between the two definitely said otherwise.

“Yes, well, when the time for that comes, Emma,” Marc began, “you girls will be the first to know.”

A pair of footmen, with trays in their hands, appeared on the opposite side of the verandah. Lunch would be blessedly served. Marc navigated the table and held a chair out for Caroline, opposite their daughters. “My dear.” And once she was settled, he took the spot beside her. “Callie, you may thank Lady Staveley for your reprieve from French lessons this afternoon,” he said. “But you and Emma should ask Rachel to join you for your painting day.”

“Thank you, Lady Staveley,” Callie replied.

“Oh, I hope you girls have a delightful day of it.”

* * *

Ah! There she was. His quarry. Sebastian breathed a sigh of relief as he spotted the young maid who worked under Lady Staveley’s employ. He gulped the rest of his coffee and quickly started from the coffee house toward the girl whose arms were quite full with a number of baskets.

“Oh, my dear, let me help you with your burden,” he offered, flashing her a grin that always seemed to disarm the fairer sex.

“Oh, I’m…” She blinked up at him. “Lord Peasemore?”

“Guilty.” He grinned again. “Please, might I help you? It would be my greatest pleasure.”

A blush stained the girl’s cheeks and she shook her head as she tried to brush past him on the street. “I can manage, milord.”

“I’m certain you can.” Sebastian fell into step beside her. “But if you’d allow me to help, I won’t feel so terribly awful about asking a favor from you in return.”

That made her stop. “A favor?” Her brow furrowed, quite predictably.

Sebastian matched her frown and said in sotte voce, “I’m afraid I loaned a book to Lord Staveley last year, and well—” he shrugged “—he died before he could return it to me.”

The girl’s lips formed a perfect “o”.

“A couple of books, actually,” Sebastian continued. “And in all honesty, I’m afraid the set truly belongs to my grandfather, and not really me, and His Grace has just noticed they’re missing.” He cringed slightly. “If Lady Staveley was in, I would ask her to let me search the library for the tomes in question, but…”

The maid’s eyes rounded in surprise. “A set of books?”

Sebastian nodded. “Apparently, my grandfather considers them quite valuable.”

“Which books are you looking for, milord? Do you know what they look like? I could look for them and—”

That would never do, and Sebastian shook his head. “Would you think me awful if I said I didn’t remember? Not really the studious sort.” He flashed her that grin again. “I would recognize them as soon as I saw them, however.”

She seemed to study him, perhaps looking for the truthfulness behind his smile, and Sebastian prayed she didn’t find him wanting.

“Everything at Staveley House is fairly quiet at the moment,” the maid began, and started walking down Piccadilly once again. “Simmons is out for the day as is Mrs. Allen.”

“Indeed?” He fell into step beside her once more.

“Well, there’s no need to be fully…” She shook her head. “I probably shouldn’t say that.”

Say that there was no need to be fully staffed as the family had fled to parts unknown in the middle of the night? Yes, probably not. But there was no need as Sebastian already knew that part. “Your secrets are safe with me, my dear. As long as mine are safe with you. You don’t suppose you could let me peruse the Staveley library for my grandfather’s books, do you?”

She cast him a sidelong glance as she handed him one of her baskets. “As long as you don’t tell anyone.”

Perfect. A genuine smile settled on Sebastian’s lips. “I will never tell a soul.” And he prayed the deciphered code was in London. Because, if not, he’d have to hie off to godforsaken Westmorland. And getting an invitation into Benton Park would doubtful be as simple as getting an invite into Staveley House.