Bran stepped into Brooks’s, feeling a bit tentative. He’d never been in a gentleman’s club before. He’d left England before he’d had the opportunity. His brothers had certainly never invited him to join them. They’d gone out of their way to exclude him whenever possible, and their parents hadn’t encouraged them to do otherwise. In fact, their mother had specifically told them they would do better to ignore their younger, ill-mannered, defiant brother.

The air was thick with the scent of candles and the sounds of conviviality coming from the famous subscription room. A footman greeted him, and Bran shook off the dark, painful memories.

“Good evening,” Bran said. “The Duke of Kendal is expecting me.” The duke had invited him, and while Bran might’ve preferred to decline, he had to accept his new role. Forming an association with a duke would be beneficial. In fact, the association would happen whether Bran wanted it or not since his daughter had decided that the duke’s daughter was the only good thing about England.

It seemed important that Bran attempt a friendship with the girl’s father. Because, at the end of the day, he’d do anything for Evie.

The footman led Bran through the subscription room. Around him, men sat at tables conversing, drinking, gambling. A few looked up as he passed, their features registering a myriad expressions, none of which were recognition. Bran was exceedingly glad he wouldn’t be meeting the duke in here. It was far too crowded and Bran would likely grow agitated quickly.

Just before they reached the stairs, a man jumped up from one of the tables and intercepted Bran. “Knighton, isn’t it?”

Bran didn’t know the man. “Yes.”

The gentleman, slender and dark-haired with an affable smile, glanced toward the table he’d just left. “We thought that’s who you were. I’m Talbot. I knew your brothers. Good, friendly chaps. We miss them a great deal.”

An instant shaft of dislike sliced through Bran. If this man—and the others—had been friends of his brothers, he wasn’t disposed to want their company. Furthermore, “good” and “friendly” were not words Bran would’ve used to describe John and Wynn. Born a scant twelve months apart, they’d grown up inseparable, to the point of brutally excluding their six-years-younger brother. It wasn’t that they’d just ignored him. They’d gone out of their way to ensure he knew he wasn’t wanted, that he was outside their brotherly circle. And never mind the girl who’d come ten years after Bran. John and Wynn had been long gone by then, of course, off on their grand tour, which they’d taken together. Bran hadn’t even had a grand tour, at least not in the traditional sense. Instead, he’d simply booked passage on a ship, not caring where it took him, provided it was far away from here. From them.

“Thank you.” Bran could think of nothing else to say. He supposed John and Wynn may have matured into kinder men, but he doubted it. They’d never once sought to foster a relationship. While his sister had written to him intermittently, John and Wynn had continued their campaign of exclusion. Or maybe they’d simply forgotten he’d existed. Bran could well imagine that happening.

Bran made to continue on, but Talbot edged in front of him a bit more. “You’ve been in the tropics all this time?” Talbot asked.

Bran nodded. “Yes.”

“And now you’re the earl.” Talbot blew out a breath between his gapped front teeth. “Lucky for you.”

“Are you saying I should be happy that my family died?” Bran stared at him.

Talbot’s face flushed. “Er, no. Of course not. As I said, we miss your brothers a great deal.” He glanced again toward the table, and Bran caught the beseeching look in his eyes.

While Talbot was otherwise focused and before someone could leap to the man’s aid, Bran neatly stepped around him. “Pleasure to meet you, I’m sure,” he murmured. He inclined his head toward the footman, who’d paused to wait, and they continued to the stairs.

Bran’s shoulders twitched as he reached the landing. He’d give just about anything to have his father and brothers back, and not because he felt sad. No, he’d just rather have his old life. And that made him feel unsettled. He should feel sad.

Perhaps he did. His brothers had passed first, over a year ago. He’d received word about two months after they’d drowned in a boating accident, and at that moment, he’d become the heir apparent. Neither brother had a son, and their father wouldn’t live forever. Which meant Bran had to return to England. While he’d reluctantly made preparations, he’d received another letter from his mother two months after that informing him that his father had died of a combination of ague and sadness. According to her, he’d been utterly brokenhearted over the loss of John and Wynn.

Bran doubted their father had been capable of such depth of emotion. He’d certainly never demonstrated any. Until Bran had lost his wife and become the sole parent to Evie, he’d thought he wasn’t capable of such emotion either.

They arrived at a door, and the footman rapped softly. A masculine voice called out, “Come.”

The footman opened the door and waited for Bran to walk past him. “The Right Honorable the Earl of Knighton, Your Grace.”

The duke rose. “Good evening, Knighton.”

“Evening, Your Grace.” Bran walked toward the seating area, where the duke had stood from his chair. He shook the man’s hand.

“Kendal, if you please.” The duke gestured for Bran to sit. “I’m glad you could join me this evening.”

“I appreciate the invitation.”

“It seemed necessary, given the apparent inseparability of our daughters.” Kendal chuckled. “Every day, Becky begs to see Evie.”

“It’s the same at my house. I’m glad she’s found a companion. This transition to England has been difficult.”

Kendal’s brow creased. “I can only imagine. Would you care for whiskey? Or brandy?”

“I don’t suppose you have any rum?” Bran asked.

“I should’ve guessed that would be your choice. I’m afraid I don’t.”

“I’ll send a case over, if you’d like. I have plenty, and more will arrive soon.” He needed at least a taste of Barbados. “I’ll take whiskey. It’s been a while since I had a good bottle.”

Kendal stood, his lips curving into a smile. “I’ve just the thing.” He went to the sideboard and poured a glass, which he handed to Bran. He reached to the table next to his chair, on which stood his own glass. He lifted it toward Bran. “To new acquaintances.”

Bran raised his whiskey. “And happy daughters.”

“Yes, that.” Kendal’s brow arched before he took a drink and resettled himself in the chair. “You said it’s been a difficult transition. Nora tells me you recently hired a nurse. That should help things.”

“It already has.” Mrs. Poole had started a few days ago. At first, Evie had been a bit withdrawn and reluctant. She’d finally shared that she felt funny about liking Mrs. Poole, who’d been extremely kind and warmhearted with Evie. After discussing it with her, Bran had determined that Evie felt guilty that Mrs. Poole would replace Amalie. Bran had told her that no one could do that. Things had summarily improved.

“Your daughter has also helped,” Bran said. “I’m quite grateful for your hospitality. Now that Mrs. Poole is in place, Becky should come visit.” Just yesterday, Evie had pestered him for the dozenth time about Becky coming to their house. She wanted to show Becky all the things she’d brought from Barbados.

“I’m certain Becky would love that. I’ll have Nora make the arrangements.” He sipped his whiskey before setting the glass back on the table. “Who takes care of that sort of thing for you, your secretary?”

“No.” Bran could see what he was thinking. Kendal had a wife to manage such details. “I oversee everything to do with Evie. Though now that I have Mrs. Poole, I can share some of that responsibility.”

“I understand my sister-in-law, Joanna, assisted you with hiring her? Nora was sorry she wasn’t able to help. Christopher had a bit of a cold.”

Bran had thought of Mrs. Shaw several times over the past several days. Evie had been to the Kendals’ house twice since they’d conducted interviews together, but Bran hadn’t seen Mrs. Shaw on either occasion. In fact, he hadn’t heard from her about hiring a governess. “Yes, Mrs. Shaw was quite helpful. She is to assist me with finding a governess next. I understand you will also be looking for one, so I shall endeavor not to steal the one you want.”

A staccato laugh erupted from Kendal. “This is a conversation I never imagined myself having.”

“You never thought to have children?”

“I hadn’t really considered everything that would accompany being a parent. Not just the responsibility, but the overwhelming emotion.” He scowled as he reached for his glass and took another drink. “I don’t usually share that sort of thing.”

Nothing he said could’ve put Bran more at ease. “Me neither, and I feel precisely the same.” He lifted his glass in silent toast.

Kendal inclined his head as a rap on the door interrupted the moment. He glanced toward the sound. “I hope you don’t mind, but I invited a few friends to join us.”

Bran immediately tensed. A “few friends” wasn’t a crowd, but they were still strangers, and right now he was just beginning to feel comfortable with the one stranger. Former stranger, he supposed.

“Of course not,” he fibbed. “I won’t be staying much longer.” He drank more of his whiskey, not quite draining the glass.

“Hell, I didn’t mean to drive you away.” Kendal peered at Bran with curiosity. “I can ask them to go. They’re good sorts, and they’ll bugger off if I tell them to.”

So far, Bran had enjoyed Kendal’s company, so he decided to at least try. If he grew uncomfortable, he’d leave. “Well, if they’re the type you can tell to bugger off, how can I leave?”

Kendal smiled as another knock sounded. “Come!”

The footman opened the door, and three men filed inside.

“It’s about damned time,” a dark-haired gentleman with an athletic build said with a grin.

“We were in the middle of a discussion,” Kendal said, his eyes narrowing, but his tone laced with humor. “And how the hell did the three of you arrive together?”

“I picked them up,” the other dark-haired gentleman said. He wore a sardonic smile and possessed the self-aware gaze of someone who knew precisely who he was and made no excuses. Bran had hoped to carry that same air someday, but had given up at the age of twelve when he’d been declared utterly hopeless by his family.

Kendal looked to Bran. “Knighton, allow me to present the Duke of Clare.” He pointed to the confident gentleman who’d just spoken. “We call him West, and whether he gives you leave or not, you will too. And that is the Earl of Dartford. We call him Dart.” He indicated the other one who’d spoken before gesturing to the third gentleman, a tall blond. “Finally, this is the Earl of Sutton. He’s just Sutton. And sometimes a pain in the ass. But then they all are.”

Dartford adopted an innocent stare. “I thought that’s why you liked us.”

Kendal rolled his eyes even as he quirked a smile. “Pour yourselves some whiskey, and refill our glasses while you’re at it.”

Clare—rather, West—bowed. “At your service, Your Grace.” He crossed to the sideboard and prepared the drinks.

Sutton came forward and shook Bran’s hand. “Pleased to meet you. I understand we should welcome you back to England.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“I’m sorry for the losses that led to your current situation.” Sutton’s tone held an earnest, thoughtful quality that had been lacking in Talbot’s comments earlier.

“No one’s sorrier than me,” Bran said.

“Of that I’m certain. Family is the most important thing.”

Bran couldn’t agree more—as it pertained to Evie. With regard to the rest of his family, he felt the complete opposite. His mother was due to arrive in the next week or so, and just thinking of seeing her threatened to send him into a fit of itching. So he chose not to think of it.

West handed glasses to Sutton and Dartford, then refilled Kendal’s and Bran’s. The decanter came up empty. “Well, that’s unfortunate,” West said.

Kendal waved a hand. “There’s another over there, and the footman will refill it.” He shot an amused look at Bran. “Or we can send for a case of rum at Knighton’s house, which he’s promised me.”

Dartford’s eyebrows rose. “Rum, you say?”

“From my distillery on Barbados.”

“If you find an extra case lying around, send it my way,” West said. “Lord knows I can use the spirits right now. Ivy’s wearing me out. What is it about carrying a child that makes a woman insatiable?”

The three men took various seats, Dartford sprawling on one end of a settee. He sipped his whiskey, and his mouth twitched up. “You say that like it’s a bad thing, West,” Dartford said. “I should think you’d like that, given your predilections.” Dartford looked at Bran. “He has the most charming nickname. Everyone calls him the Duke of Desire.”

Bran would’ve cringed at such a thing, but West’s lips curved into a self-satisfied smile.

“He used to have a rather rakish reputation,” Dartford explained. “But now he’s a devoted husband with an apparently demanding wife.” He arched a brow at West. “I shouldn’t complain if I were you. You will get to a point where your wife is so uncomfortable that the merest indication of sexual interest will send her into a rant.”

Kendal nodded. “Nora was like that with Becky, but more like West’s wife with Christopher. We’ll see what happens this time.” He waggled his brows as his pride-filled smile unfurled.

This news was met with hearty congratulations from everyone.

“Let me understand,” Bran said. “You,” he pointed at Kendal, “and you,” he pointed to West, “and you,” he pointed to Dartford, “are all expecting children?”

“And me,” Sutton said. “In fact, we’re for Sutton Park tomorrow to await the birth.”

“We’ll be leaving the day after,” Dartford said. “Although Lucy has told me more than once that Aquilla has invited us to come to Sutton Park so that they may be together.” Dartford shook his head and looked over at Bran. “Our wives are the best of friends—along with West’s and Kendal’s wives.”

“So, really, the four of you had to be friends,” Bran said wryly.

They all laughed. “Yes, I suppose so,” Sutton admitted. “Thankfully, they’re not half as irritating as the rest of the ton.”

Bran was getting the same feeling and was more than relieved. Their easy camaraderie and obvious affection for each other was heartwarming and quite foreign. Bran hadn’t ever had a friend until he’d moved to Barbados, and he’d left them—a scant few really—behind. All but Hudson, his loyal valet. Could one consider a valet a friend? Bran did, damn the “rules.”

“So yes, to answer your question,” Dartford said, “it seems we are all on the verge of becoming fathers.” He raised his glass toward Kendal. “Again, for one of us.”

A pang of envy cut into Bran. He’d been completely thrown when Evie had come into his life. He’d had affection for his wife, but it was nothing compared to the love he felt for his daughter. He’d looked forward to experiencing that again, maybe with a son, but his wife had died two years after Evie’s birth.

“Your lives will never be the same,” Bran said.

“Thank God,” West said. “I don’t want my old life.”

Dartford’s answer was softer as he lowered his gaze for a moment. “Amen.”

“Don’t get all maudlin,” Kendal warned. “You’ll drive Knighton off, and I rather like him. If nothing else, it’s imperative his daughter continue her friendship with my daughter. For that alone, you’ll all behave yourselves.”

Bran hadn’t minded Dartford’s flash of emotion—whatever it was—and bit his tongue before he leapt to the man’s defense. His experience with male friendships wasn’t great, but he could sense that Kendal’s comment was teasing in nature. And there it was again. London seemed a kinder place than he remembered. Or maybe he was different. It had, after all, been fifteen years since he’d left. It had been another life.

The conversation moved to impending fatherhood, with Kendal and Bran offering advice, particularly as it pertained to surviving their wives’ final days of confinement.

“They’ll all be bloody miserable,” Kendal said. “That doesn’t change.”

Bran cleared his throat. “Actually, my wife wasn’t. In fact, she had a ridiculous amount of energy, right up to when Evie came into the world.” An image of his pale wife with her wide, luminous eyes came to him. He rarely thought of her face anymore. Why was that?

“Aquilla’s the same,” Sutton said. “At least for now. She cleans the house along with the staff.” He laughed. “I can’t stop her.”

“What happened to your wife?” West asked. “If you don’t mind sharing.”

Normally, Bran would mind, but he had to admit he felt at ease with these men. “She died of a fever about four years ago.”

Sutton gazed at him in sympathy. “I’m so sorry. You’ve suffered quite a few losses.” He glanced over at Dartford, who caught the look and seemed to stiffen momentarily. Bran knew in that moment that Dartford had experienced something similar. He also knew that it had impacted Dartford far more than it had Bran. He wasn’t going to ask him about it.

Kendal cleared his throat, which broke the sudden tension. “It seems that perhaps our new friend here might be in want of a wife.” He stretched his legs out and crossed his ankles. “Or would you prefer to remain a bachelor?”

“I should at least try to beget an heir.”

“Hmm, he doesn’t sound convinced,” Dartford said, regaining his earlier lightheartedness.

Maybe because he wasn’t. He’d wanted to marry again and have more children, but now it seemed as though he had to. He remembered the matchmaking his mother had performed when his brothers had wed. They’d scarcely had any input, ending up with wives who would support their standing and augment their fortune. Bran supposed he feared falling into the same trap, not that he planned to allow his mother to help him in any way. Indeed, the only reason he’d agreed to see her at all was because Evie wanted to meet her grandmother. “Marrying seems different now that I’m the earl. It suddenly feels like a requirement.”

“I guess in some ways it is,” Sutton said. “I had very specific requirements for my countess.”

“Yes, but he’s a special case.” Dartford finished his whiskey. “He had reasons for his requirements. Some of us hadn’t planned to marry but found we simply had to.”

Both Kendal and West nodded. “Fell head over heels in love,” West said.

Kendal grinned like a lovesick swain. “Nauseatingly so.”

Bran hadn’t experienced that. He’d married Louisa because he’d liked and admired her. And because she was the only young woman on Barbados for which he’d felt even that much. “The marriage mart in Barbados is not like it is here. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“You may not have to,” West said. “Sometimes love just finds you.”

Sutton snorted. “Yes, well, we’re not all as lucky as you.” He looked at Dartford. “Or you.” He straightened and smoothed a hand over his lapel. “Some of us had to spend an inordinate amount of time at Society events looking for just the right spouse.”

Kendal shuddered. “Thank God, I didn’t.” He looked at Bran. “I detest Society events. I rarely go to any.”

West chuckled. “It’s actually rather ironic since he was quite the rakehell in his youth. But then he retreated and became the ‘Forbidden Duke.’”

Bran blinked at Kendal. “The Forbidden Duke?”

Kendal inclined his head. “Just so. I think it’s the most dashing of our titles, really. Far more respectable and commanding than Duke of Desire. Or Duke of Daring.” He looked toward Dartford.

“I don’t know, it makes me sound rather jaunty.” Dartford’s mouth sprawled into a lazy smile, and his eyes danced with merriment.

“You all have nicknames?” Bran asked, his gaze settling on Sutton. “Except you.”

“Oh no, he has one too,” West said. “He’s the Duke of Deception.” Bran opened his mouth to ask why, but West held up his hand. “It’s a long story and up to Sutton to tell. Suffice it to say he doesn’t care for it, while I adore my nickname.” Again, his smile was self-satisfied.

Bran wouldn’t care for it either. “Who comes up with this nonsense?”

They exchanged glances and promptly broke into laughter.

“Would you believe our wives?” Dartford asked. “They were wallflowers, and they amused themselves by labeling us. The nicknames were their secret for a while, but somehow became known over time. Although I’m fairly certain that Kendal’s and West’s are by far the most notorious.

“How horrid,” Bran said, his neck twitching.

West shrugged. “I don’t mind, particularly since it originated with our wives. I wouldn’t worry if I were you, Knighton. I highly doubt you’ve been given a nickname. No one knows anything about you.”

And Bran hoped it stayed that way. He exhaled as relief coursed through him. “I loathe notoriety.”

Sutton held up his glass. “Hear, hear.”

“Indeed,” Kendal agreed. “Listen, lads, our new friend doesn’t know where to begin to look for a countess. It’s up to us to help him.” He looked at West. “Apparently just you and I since those two are abandoning us.”

“So sorry,” Sutton said, not sounding the least bit sorry.

“And when you say, ‘you and I,’” West said to Kendal, “you mean just me.”

Kendal’s mouth tipped up in a sharp, mocking smile. “Just so.”

West rolled his eyes before looking over at Bran. “I’ll help you.”

“No one better for this task,” Sutton said with an air of jocularity.

Bran was surprised he didn’t tell them that he didn’t require their matchmaking efforts. For whatever reason, he didn’t feel uncomfortable. These men possessed a companionability that brought to mind his brothers, and yet these fellows were far more good-natured. Bran felt as though he were in on the joke instead of constantly outside the group. Because of that, he decided to let down his guard more than usual. “I do think my daughter would benefit from a mother.” He thought of his own and quickly qualified that. “A good, caring mother.”

“Ah-ha,” Dartford said, eyeing Sutton. “He has requirements like you.”

Kendal shook his head. “I hardly think good and caring are anything special—any sensible gentleman would want the same.”

Good and caring were very special. And Bran wouldn’t settle for anything less. “I should think I’d prefer a widow, perhaps someone with children. I’m not interested in some young debutante fresh from her governess.”

“I don’t blame you,” West said. “Maturity is a beautiful thing.” He smiled broadly.

“His wife is mature,” Dartford said.

“None of our wives were in their first blush of youth,” Sutton said. “And thank goodness for that. You’re on the right track, Knighton. I hope things go more smoothly for you than they did for me. It took me years to find Aquilla. Shamefully, she’d been right under my nose the entire time.”

When Bran thought of taking years to find a new wife…his skin began to itch. Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea. Surely he could find a wife without attending an endless parade of balls and routs and whatever other nonsense he’d have to attend.

“I think we can forgo Almack’s altogether,” West said. “It’s a bloody waste of time anyway.” He swung his head to Bran. “The Harcourts are having a ball on Friday. Have you received an invitation?”

“I don’t know.” His secretary said he’d received several invitations, but Bran hadn’t looked at them. “I’ll check into it.”

“If you haven’t, I’ll secure one for you. I’m sure Lady Harcourt will be thrilled to debut the new Earl of Knighton.”

Bran inwardly winced. He didn’t want that much attention. But he had to realize he couldn’t avoid it completely. He’d merely do his best to be as uninteresting as possible. Hell, his cravat was starting to feel too tight and the shirt the new tailor had made wasn’t living up to his requirements—there was that word again. The seams at the shoulders were too bulky. The tailor would have to redo them, and if he couldn’t achieve the necessary result, his temporary assignment would be at an end.

Finishing his whiskey, Bran stood and set his empty glass on the sideboard. He turned to Kendal. “I do thank you for your hospitality.”

“You’re leaving already?” Dartford asked. “The night is young. We haven’t seen how good you are at cards yet.”

“I rarely play.” He’d always been too busy for such things on Barbados. “It was a pleasure to meet you all. West, I’ll send a note about the Harcourt ball.”

West nodded. “Good evening, Knighton.”

Bran made his way from the club, striding quickly through the subscription room. When he was finally ensconced in his coach, he pulled his cravat free and tore his coat off. He pulled at his sleeves but stopped short of divesting himself of the remaining clothing above his waist.

“It’s improper for a gentleman to disrobe in front of a lady.”

Mrs. Shaw’s words drifted over him. She’d sounded prim, but he swore there’d been a spark of heat in her gaze. Or at least interest. He may have shocked her, but he wasn’t convinced she hadn’t liked it.

He thought of West helping him to find a wife. Nausea curdled his gut. He doubted there was a woman in England who wouldn’t find him improper or odd or outright distressing. Louisa had been uncomfortable with him at first, but once they’d established a routine, she’d come to accept his quirks, even if she hadn’t understood them.

How he’d love to find a woman who could do all that.