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“So he insists.”

“I think him a fool. You are more hale than any seven men I know.”

Findlay bowed and departed, so obviously wanting to linger and eavesdrop that Alexander smiled.

The change in his expression evidently encouraged his sister to speak her mind. “Of course, you would not have to worry so much about your health if you had an heir,” she reminded him yet again. “High time it is, Alexander, for you to take a bride.”

“Anthea!”

“It is fearsome quiet at Airdfinnan, Alexander, especially at Christmas. It would be much merrier with little ones underfoot.” She smiled. “I wouldn’t miss you so much if there were half a dozen children here.”

“Then you should accept a suitor and have children of your own,” Alexander suggested gently.

His sister blushed and dropped her gaze, her expression like a dagger to his heart. “Not I,” she said softly, then forced a smile. “And it is you who must have a son to ensure the succession, after all. Is there a woman behind this speedy departure, or a damsel in distress?”

As much as he liked the bright gleam of curiosity in her eyes, Alexander could not lie to Anthea. “There is no damsel, in distress or otherwise.”

Anthea made a face, then stole his glass, taking a tiny sip of the port. “I do not believe your health is compromised. I suspect you simply want away from here.”

Alexander laughed. “Away from Airdfinnan is the last thing I desire.” He could not keep himself from casting a longing glance over the library and its comforts.

“Then you should wed. You’d have every excuse to remain home then and it could only improve your health.”

“Perhaps I will wed after you do,” he teased.

“Perhaps I should wed afteryou,” Anthea countered. “In fact, I will make you a wager, Alexander.”

“Ladies do not wager, Anthea. Surely Mama taught you that.”

“Surely she did, but I would like to, all the same.” Anthea had her stubborn look, which was all too rare these days. It seemed she seldom cared sufficiently about any matter to be stubborn, and just the sight was enough to make Alexander take her wager, whatever it might be. “You always wish for me to return to London and society, at least for a season. I will go with you and your bride, once you choose to wed.”

“Anthea!”

Anthea sat back, looking pleased with herself. “So, the sooner you wed, brother, the sooner I will follow go to London and find a husband.”

“You mean to make a wager you will not be required to fulfill,” he jested. “For each of us are as set against marriage as the other.”

To his surprise, Anthea shook her head. “No, that is not true, Alexander. I would love to marry and to have children.” Her tone was so wistful that he was prepared to find her a spouse this very night. “But it must be the right man, for I would have the same kind of love as Mama and Papa shared.”

“Theirs was a rare bond.”

“So, I must dream of what is mundane, instead of what is rare and precious?” she replied, her tone light. “Alexander, are you the brother I believe I know so well?”

He laughed. “A man has more time to linger over such a choice than a woman.”

“Indeed, and I am already twenty-five, Alexander. You had best hurry to find your lady wife.”

“It is not so simple as that...”

“No, it is not,” Anthea agreed, interrupting him. She leaned forward, her skirts rustling as she removed something from her pocket. “Mama warned me of that. She told me to find a partner who was honest, and one with no secrets, one whose nature I could admire and whose appearance gave me pleasure. She told me the rest would follow.”

“Did she?”

“And for you, I would add that your bride should be young, so she will have had less time to have cultivated secrets. You will be the one to teach her of many worldly matters, and she will adore you for it.”

Alexander was amused. “Is that how a good marriage is contrived?”

“It will be so for you, I am certain of it. Here, I have a token for you.”