It had been careless and rude of Joseph not to have called on Trevor Rheese, the Earl of Falcondale, and his wife, Lady Piety, since his return from Barbadoes.

He’d been back in London for more than a week. His correspondence during his ten months away had been spotty. Worst of all, he’d left without saying a proper good-bye.

Joseph had told himself he’d been rushed, he’d been busy, but the real reason was that he cared about what Trevor and Piety thought of Tessa. Despite his own outrage at her duplicity, he would not have them dislike her. And they would have, immediately, if they had known what she had withheld from him. Their loyalty to Joseph was absolute, and they didn’t know Tessa at all. His solution had been to keep away after the wedding.

Instead, he had scrawled a quick note before he’d sailed for Barbadoes. It said a hasty farewell and warned Trevor and Piety that his wife “wished for solitude in Belgravia” and please never to call. It had been cryptic and rude, behaviors that he deplored, especially where the earl and countess were concerned, but he had been reeling at the time. The rich gentleman’s daughter who had fallen in love with him—with him, of all people—had in fact wanted only legitimacy for her bastard son. He’d not come so far up in the world after all. Even with all the money and support Trevor had given him.

Joseph had mailed the note, boarded a steam packet for Barbadoes, and he’d not seen them since the wedding.

Now, inexplicably, he found himself wanting nothing more than their warm, unconditional affection and embrace.

And besides, his plan to take Tessa on a tour of his house in Blackheath had been shot. Why take her to his house when what she really wanted was a cottage in bloody Hartlepool, wherever that was.

But more than anything, he was not ready to return her to Belgravia. The call would buy him time to think through his wife’s very humble, incredibly unexpected request to relocate to the North Sea.

It was near twelve o’clock when they arrived at Trevor and Piety’s townhome in Henrietta Place, and it occurred to Joseph that they might intrude on luncheon. He could but hope. Eating would give him more time to think, something he sorely needed, and less time for Trevor and Piety to ask pointed questions.

“You are joking,” drawled Trevor Rheese, the Earl of Falcondale, when he came up behind his butler to see Joseph and Tessa on the stoop.

“Yes,” said Joseph blandly. “I’m joking. It is not me. This is not my wife. We are not standing in your doorway. I’ve engineered a mirage. Or could it be the result of old age on your eyesight?” At fifty, Trevor was still active and fit, but his encroaching decrepitude was a running joke.

Tessa laughed, and Joseph was surprised by the sound. She’d laughed at nearly everything he said at Berymede, but now their conversations were very Serious and Important. Had she laughed at him even once since his return? Had he been remotely clever?

No. I have not. He’d been suspicious and restrained and regretful. No wonder she wished to move to the North Sea.

But now Trevor was speaking to him in Greek, a long, profanity-laden jab under his breath, and bowing over Tessa’s hand.

Joseph frowned. “Look at this princely greeting. When have I ever seen you bow over the hand of a lady?”

“Perhaps if you shared your wife on a more regular basis—or at all—you would enjoy my fine manners. But as it now st—”

“Oh!” gasped a voice from inside the house. “This wretched month has been saved!” Piety Rheese, the Countess Falcondale, shot out the door and leapt into his arms. “Joe, Joe, Joe! You’ve come home!”

Joseph caught her and spun, forcing Tessa to scramble back. He caught his wife’s eye and winked. Lady Piety was only a few years older than Joseph, the mother of three boys, and still brightly beautiful. An American by birth, Piety greeted the world with an earnest enthusiasm rarely seen among reserved Britons.

“And you’ve brought your dear wife!” Piety said, wriggling free and spinning on Tessa.

Tessa was less prepared for Piety’s voracious embrace, and the two women tipped back on the banister. Trevor and Joseph shouted in union and reached to upright them.

“But how long have you been back?” demanded Piety. “And you better say less than one day. I will accept no answer beyond, ‘Piety, I’ve been back less than one day.’”

“Less than a day,” said Joseph.

“You are lying to us—Trevor, he’s lying—and thank God. Because if you have been in London for any time, any time at all, and you have not sent word, I shall never forgive you. But have you eaten?”

Joseph glanced at Tessa. She appeared a little stunned by the countess’s reception, but she shrugged. “We have not eaten, but we could not impose.”

“Stop, of course, you will take luncheon with us immediately.”

“Don’t you mean he will serve luncheon immediately?” asked Trevor, another long-standing joke.

Piety rolled her eyes and whispered to a maid. Within moments, they were seated around a massive table while footmen served cold meats and cheese, fresh bread, and quince. Bowls of parsnip soup steamed in the center of each plate. While they ate, Piety peppered Joseph with questions about Barbadoes, the journey, the guano. Every fourth or fifth question, she slipped in a domestic question pointed at Tessa. Nothing too specific, nothing that might press her to reveal more than she wished about her life.

Tessa was open and cheerful but kept her answers brief. All the while, the earl ate in thoughtful silence. Joseph could feel his old friend keenly studying the two of them.

“And how have you tolerated the London weather, Tessa?” asked Piety.

“Spring brought a bit more mud than I am accustomed to,” Tessa said. “You will remember that the homes and roads of Belgravia are still being constructed. Very few streets have been bricked. We navigate less mud, I believe, in Surrey. But summer was lovely. We are so near the park.”

Joseph cleared his throat. “Perhaps you have not heard . . .” He glanced around the table at the anticipatory expression on Piety’s face. Trevor raised one eyebrow. “Or perhaps you have. Tessa gave birth to a baby in May. A boy. Christian. Christian Chance. My son.”

Piety leapt from her chair so quickly the footman scrambled to catch it before it tipped backward.

“But this is what we heard . . .” now tears broke her voice “. . . but we couldn’t be sure, and you sent no word, and we . . . we were desperate to be of some assistance and see the baby, but we . . . but we . . .” Now she brought a hand up over her mouth and looked to her husband.

The earl sighed and put his napkin beside his plate. “You’ll have to forgive my wife, Mrs. Chance,” he said. “Our sons are nearly grown—two of them left for school last week—and she has been driven mad by her limited access to infants. When she detects the presence of a relevant baby anywhere in her proximity, she runs mad. No child is safe, I’m afraid. It can’t be helped. I’m sorry.”

Joseph chuckled and glanced at Tessa. She was staring at her plate. He said, “Piety, I hope you will forgive our discretion about the baby. I promise, in time, to tell you all about him, and of course introduce you.”

Piety retook her seat. “Honestly, I care less to learn about the baby and more about holding him in my arms. Will you say again what he’s called? I was too excited to properly take it in.”

“Christian,” said Tessa. “He’s called Christian. Christian Trevor Chance.”

And now Piety was out of her chair again, the footman lunging. She rounded the table to embrace Joseph and then Tessa. Joseph caught his wife’s eye as Piety clung to her.

Thank you, he mouthed. How had he not known the baby’s full name? How had Tessa known the significance of naming him after Trevor?

Tessa smiled gently, but then Piety released her and held her at arm’s length.

“Christian Trevor Chance,” said Piety tearfully. “I love it.” She hugged Tessa again. When she finally released her, Piety went to the earl instead of her own seat. Trevor pushed back and she settled in his lap.

“It’s so very good to see you, Joseph,” sighed Piety. “We think of you every day. Every single day. And, oh, how we have longed to see Tessa. Your wedding was the most beautiful, splendid affair. But there were so many guests, we only had the one brief opportunity to speak to you. I can honestly say it might have been the most lavish wedding I’ve ever had the fortune of attending. Your parents’ estate must be one of the most beautiful in all of England.”

Tessa smiled. “The wedding seems like a lifetime ago,” she said.

Silence settled on the room, and Joseph thought about the wedding. It had cost him to keep his friends at bay all this time. He missed Piety’s enthusiasm and Trevor’s pragmatism. He missed their unconditional love. It had been a mistake, perhaps, to not confide in them.

“Piety?” he asked suddenly. “Could I impose on you to entertain Tessa for a quarter hour or so? I should like to speak alone with Trevor, if he has the time.”

“Actually, I’m deuced busy today,” drawled Trevor.

Joseph shook his head. “You are a man of leisure, as anyone who knows you is well aware. One of the many benefits of having a rich wife.”

“I,” countered Trevor, “am a very important architect.” He tipped Piety from his lap. “World renowned. But I shall make time for you because you’ve finally shown your face after being back in London for . . . what was it, darling?”

“Less than one day,” recited Piety, holding out her hand to usher Tessa from the room.

“Right,” said Trevor sardonically. “Less than one day.”

Joseph smiled and leaned back in his chair, considering all that he had, quite suddenly, decided to tell his friend.

When Piety and Tessa were gone and the footmen had been dismissed, he leaned forward and dropped his head in his hands. Speaking to the floor, he started from the beginning.