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Flora skipped over. “We aren’t going somewhere,” she said in a singsong voice. “Marcia is. We’re just packing her up.”

“You aren’t packing,” Lionel shot back. “Mama and Marcia are. You’re just playing with Marcia’s bonnets.”

The little girl stuck her tongue out.

Her brother followed suit.

Marcia’s father laid a hand on each of the quarreling children’s shoulders.

“And Marcia isn’t packing,” her younger brother piped in happily.

Andrew’s eyes flew to the boy. “She isn’t?” he whispered.

Lionel gave his head a big shake. “Nope. She isleaving.”

Looking stricken, Andrew’s gaze flew from Marcia’s father to Marcia.

She trembled under the force of emotion in his eyes.

“Of course, he knows she’s leaving,” Flora intoned with the complete breeziness of a child delivering words despite not knowing their meaning. “He’s her husband.”

“Well, he wasn’t here,” Lionel groused. “How should I know if he knows? I assumed he was packing, too.”

Andrew looked over the tops of her siblings’ heads and gave his head a befuddled shake. “What is happening?” he mouthed.

Marcia was… going somewhere.

Upon his return from a meeting, Andrew had gone home only to be informed his wife was abovestairs packing her trunks.

Andrew tried to draw in a breath, the ragged inhale noisy in his ears even as it melded with the raised voices of Marcia’s siblings.

All the while, his gaze remained locked on her, and she was so very still, watching him. But he couldn’t identify the emotion in her eyes now, not like he’d always been able to identify it. That was because, before she’d married him, her eyes had been invariably filled with the same happiness her siblings now exhibited. It was just one more thing he’d cost her.

Marcia’s mother cleared her throat. “Andrew,” she said quietly.

Blinking slowly, he looked over. “My lady,” he returned, adding an equally belated bow. “Wessex,” he added.

The older viscount inclined his head. “Andrew.”

Andrew. Not Waters.

That was… promising.

Marcia’s mother offered him a warm smile. “I believe, given your marriage to my daughter, we might dispense with that familiarity,” she said gently.

It was a generous offer, considering all he’d done. But then, mayhap it was easier for her to make that offer knowing her daughter would be leaving him, and this would be the last he would see of her.

His gaze went to Marcia once more. Marcia, who was as still as he’d ever seen her. More still than he’d ever believed her capable of being.

“Andrew, you look very rumpled,” Flora remarked. “Does he not?” she asked of her siblings, and each nodded their agreement. Flora switched her attention to Marcia and their mother. “Doesn’t he look rumpled? Like he—”

“That is enough,” their mother murmured, sweeping over and catching Flora by the hand. “Come along,” she said to the remainder of her children as she took Lionel’s palm in her spare one. “Let us leave Marcia and Andrew alone.”

“But Andrew only justarrived,” Lionel whined. “And Andrew loves to play pirates. I’m sure he’d like to join us while Marcia finishes her packing.”

“I’m certain Andrew will play with you some other time,” Lord Wessex assured his son.

As the four pairs of little gazes went to Andrew, his chest constricted. For Lady Wessex’s had been a false offer, made because of a need to remove her children. After all, he’d not have the privilege of being part of their family. Not in the way he wished, as Marcia’s husband. Grief crested and threatened to drag him under.