The butcher’s eyes were bulging like a Pekinese in a too-tight collar, although he was the one gripping Otis by the collar, not the other way around.

“What seems to be the problem?” Ward asked, his eyes moving from his brother’s defiant face to the irate butcher to Miss Midge. In the distance he could hear Lizzie protesting all the way up the stairs after being banished by the governess.

“This boy here,” Mr. Biddle roared. He gave a shake that went all the way down to Otis’s boots.

“Surely you didn’t mean to handle my brother so violently, Mr. Biddle,” Ward stated. One of the consequences of his unexpected sojourn in prison was an extreme disinclination to see anyone mistreated, physically or otherwise.

“I did, and I didn’t,” the butcher said, chin jutting forward, although he released Otis’s collar.

Ward pulled the boy into the crook of his arm and stepped back. “What happened?”

“I caught him stealing,” Mr. Biddle thundered. His mustache puffed out like the tail of an indignant squirrel.

Otis, now looking more put-out than scared, peeked up at Ward. “I didn’t steal anything.”

“He took me chain of office! That’s the symbol of me office as mayor and I caught him with red hands!”

Bloody hell.

It was one thing to pilfer scraps of wood from the stables and entirely another to steal valuables from the villagers. Miss Midge apparently agreed; she was frowning at Otis with all the boot-faced disapproval of a Puritan encountering an unrepentant adulterer.

“Were you a witness to this alleged crime, Miss Midge?” he asked.

“I regret to say I was in the haberdashery with Miss Lizzie.” She gave her charge a direct look. “Otis, explain yourself.”

“What’s to explain?” the butcher said, his voice hard. “The boy tried for me gold chain. I caught him. He’s as crooked as—” He caught Ward’s eye and cut off the insult.

Otis jerked against Ward’s arm. “I’m not crooked!” he shouted. “He said I was a by-blow, and I’m not! My parents were married. What’s more, I have a title, because my father was a lord!” He burrowed his face into Ward’s ribs.

Mr. Biddle snorted contemptuously.

“You may scoff, but Otis is correct,” Ward stated. “He is Lord Darcy, the fifth in his line and the owner of a considerable estate in Devon.”

“I don’t care if he’s the king of England! I know about him and his sort. We hear things in the village. Lord knows what he was planning to do with me chain.”

“I was only hanging it on his rosebush,” Otis cried.

What the hell?

“Why on earth would you do that?”

“Lizzie said she would give me a shilling if I did it and brought her back four roses,” Otis said miserably. “I was going to put it right back on the hook in his shop. The rosebush is in his yard.”

Lizzie was apparently up to some sort of magical foolery. Miss Midge’s eyes narrowed. Ward sighed and turned back to the butcher.

“It seems, Mr. Biddle, that your chain of office never left your premises. My butler will give you a guinea for your trouble, and I will make certain that my siblings stay far away from your rosebush and your chain.”

“I demand that you do something about that thief,” the butcher shouted.

Otis snuggled closer to Ward’s side.

“We villagers need to be able to sleep without fear. Why was he hanging my chain on a bush? I have to reassure me wife there’s no hocus-pocus going on.”

“You are speaking about an eight-year-old boy,” Ward said with quiet ferocity. “I suggest you return to your shop, Mr. Biddle, and contemplate your orders. You have no need to think of my household now or in the future.”

Biddle’s mouth fell open, so wide that Ward could see his fat tongue. Apparently it just dawned on the butcher that he was berating the man who owned the largest house this side of Oxford, and who employed twice as many servants as other estates in the vicinity.

“Good day, Mr. Biddle,” Ward said. Gumwater took Biddle by the shoulder and turned him smartly toward the front door.

Ward scooped up his brother and carried him to the library, followed by Miss Midge. He sat down before the empty fireplace, the boy in his lap. “Bloody hell, you’re a nuisance, Otis.”

“I hate Mr. Biddle,” Otis cried.

Miss Midge sat down opposite them, her hands folded and her heels neatly together.

“Tell us what happened,” Ward said.

“I wasn’t stealing his chain,” his brother said with an angry sniffle. “I was just nimming it for a little while.”

“Nimming it?”

“Thieves’ cant,” Miss Midge put in.

“I was hanging it between heaven and earth.” Otis dragged his sleeve across his eyes.

“I do not understand,” Ward said, with Herculean patience.

“I was hanging it in Mr. Biddle’s rosebush. His own rosebush, between heaven and earth.”

“It sounds as if Miss Lizzie made another attempt at a magic spell,” Miss Midge said. Her voice was tight.

Ward’s heart sank. Since her arrival, the new governess had shown herself to possess no discernible sense of humor, which meant she took Lizzie’s foolery too seriously.

“We must speak to Lizzie,” he said.

Miss Midge nodded and rose.

Otis collapsed against Ward’s shoulder and said something unintelligible.

“What did you say?”

And, after catching the import of it, Ward said, “You’re my brother, Otis. You’re stuck with me, no matter what. Forever.”

He didn’t reply, but Ward added, “Lizzie too. You’re wretched nuisances, but you’re my nuisances.”

He surprised himself.

It seemed he wasn’t going to hand his brother and sister over to his father and stepmother after all.