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Wolfe maintained his silence, instinct warning it would be the ultimate in foolhardiness to try to mediate this conversation. While he’d never had to deal with so many sisters, he had observed enough of Chance’s struggles to learn a thing or two.

Grace ushered him out to the garden and firmly shut the door behind them.

“It is clear you are overwhelmed by my family, but take heart. It took Thorne and Matthew some time to find their footing. You will too.” She halted then and studied him, wariness in her eyes.

“That is…if you still wish to find your footing?”

Her insecurities prodded him to reveal his earlier selfish inclinations. He prayed they wouldn’t drive her from him, but he couldn’t bear her to think he had so easily changed his heart and mind about her.

He remained silent as they ambled deeper into the garden and seated themselves among the roses on a bench warmed by the sun. “I would not describe my feelings as overwhelmed , my lady.”

“I see.” She plucked at the folds of her skirt while staring straight ahead at the fragrant crimson blooms. “Then how would you describe them, Your Grace?”

“Wolfe—please?”

“Wolfe,” she repeated softly, but it made his heart sing. “How would you describe your feelings in the parlor, if not overwhelmed?”

“Jealous.”

She turned to him and arched a delicate blonde brow. “Jealous?”

“Yes, my lady, jealous.”

“I am afraid I don’t understand.”

“Connor and Sissy have found safe haven. Paradise.” He risked taking her hand.

Her touch both soothed and inflamed him.

“I envy them because while they are free to stay here, I must return to the much-too-quiet halls of Wolfebourne Lodge, with so few servants that it is quite easy to feel as though I am the only soul left on earth.”

“Oh.” Concern echoed loud and true in that one little word she had so softly uttered. It made him smile.

“Yes.” He ran the heel of his thumb across the silkiness of her hand. “I’ve never been a patient man, and yet this predicament is of my own making because I waited so long to take action. Is that not irony itself?”

“It would seem so.” With her head bowed as she kept her gaze on their joined hands, the sunlight illuminated her golden hair, crowning her with a gleaming halo that entranced him.

“Are you truly real, Grace?” he whispered. “Or are you an ethereal being sent to save me from myself?”

She looked up at him, almost startled. Her blue eyes shone like gemstones, sparkling with a sheen of unshed tears. “I fear you will discover I am quite real, and then you will run from me as fast as you can go.”

He cupped her face in his hand. With the innocence of her trusting gaze, she transfixed him, drawing him in and making him care about nothing but remaining in her presence. “I will never escape you, my lady. Nor will I ever wish to try.”

She huffed and gave him a wry look. “I am fractious a good deal of the time, opinionated all the time, and, as you well know, so unconventional that even my family considers me hopeless at times.” She nodded as if to strengthen his defense.

“There have been occasions when my sisters pretended not to know me.”

“How cruel,” he said, while running the backs of his fingers along the soft curve of her cheek.

He so very badly wished to kiss her, but she had as much as thrown down the gauntlet to Serendipity, charging that their time in the garden need not be chaperoned.

He had already failed one test by kissing her in the parlor.

He didn’t need to fail another. “You are perfection, Grace.” He couldn’t resist a smile.

“An ample pairing to my grumpiness, tendency to keep to myself, and hatred of the ton ’s ridiculous games and competitions with their parties, teas, and making sure they are seen while wearing their finest when walking Rotten Row. ”

She brightened, her eyes flaring wide with surprise. “I hate those things too and would rather live in the country than ever set foot in London again.”

He kissed her hand, then pressed it to his cheek, memorizing the feel of her skin against his and dreaming of even more. “We are well matched indeed.”

“If only the way were clear,” she said so softly that he almost didn’t hear her.

“The way is clear. I shall speak with my solicitor tomorrow and apprise him of all that has come to pass.”

“So you are not going to speak with Lady Margaret yourself?”

Wolfe noted that Grace didn’t sound jealous.

Her tone suggested there was only one correct answer, and it would be in his best interest to choose it.

“I intend to speak with her with my solicitor present. From this day forward, I will not deal with Lady Longmorten or her daughter unless I have witnesses to the conversation.”

Grace’s thoughtful expression made him wonder if he had answered correctly. “A very prudent decision—and a necessary one, I fear. I simply wish Lady Margaret would toss her mother’s aspirations to the winds and run away with her lover. That would make matters so much easier.”

“Indeed, it would. Or we could run off to Gretna Green and live in Scotland until the ton grows bored with us and moves on to tattle about others.”

The look she gave him soundly trounced that suggestion.

“I do not run. Nor do I leave behind a mess for my family to endure—or, at least, I try not to make things more difficult for them. I have four sisters yet to find love and marry.” She shifted on the bench and pondered him as if trying to decide what sort of beastly thing he was.

“I can’t say that I recommend love, but now that I have discovered you—and the insistent yearning to be with you—I do believe everyone should experience this horribly infuriating sense of happy hopelessness at least once. ”

“I see.” He rolled his shoulders to shake off the barbs sprinkled through her heartfelt sentiment. “‘Horribly infuriating, happy hopelessness’? You make a poor argument in favor of love, my lady.”

“Happiness and hope should be like sunshine dancing across a fresh green meadow, encouraging it to flourish and bloom with beauty. But it has come to my attention that when love gets involved, worry and fear bite at happiness and hope’s heels like hungry wolves ready to devour any hint of a joyful future. ”

Fearing she was toying with the idea of turning him away, he edged closer and gently drew her into his arms. “Tell me your worries, Grace, and your fears. Tell me so I can be the wolf that hunts them down and devours them.”

She rested her hands on his chest and met his gaze, looking so deeply into his eyes that he swore she touched his soul.

“I worry that I have this wrong, and it isn’t love at all.

I worry for Connor and Sissy if we marry and discover we have little to keep us in each other’s hearts.

I worry for us if we do have it right, but the world makes it so bloody difficult that by the time we win our war, we’ve lost the love that launched it.

” She fiddled with his cravat, then twitched an impatient shrug.

“I warned you I was fractious. Did I also mention I have the terrible habit of overthinking and charging into battle after everyone else has declared a truce?” She leaned forward and whispered, “Mama and Papa were always telling me to slow down, take off my blinders, and think before battling whatever cause stirred my convictions.”

“You are by far the most complicated yet utterly exquisite woman I have ever had the good fortune to meet.” He stole a chaste kiss.

The chaperone brigade could just be damned.

Lifting his head and smoothing her errant tousle of curls back where they belonged, he held her gaze.

“I can’t promise we will never be unhappy, but I can swear without a doubt that I need you, Grace, and that I love you.

Let me help you slay your worries and fears.

Together, and with Connor and Sissy’s help, I believe we can conquer anything. ”

With a sheepish smile, she slowly shook her head. “I always thought I would be the last of my sisters to fall in love, but you have well and truly captured me, Your Grace. I love you too.”

That declaration warranted another kiss.

One not quite so chaste. Gads alive, I need this woman.

But that could not be until they were wed.

With a sigh that was more like a groan, he lifted his head and put a bit of space between them.

Already missing her warmth, he tipped his head toward the house.

“We really should go back inside and join your family.”

“I suppose we should,” Grace said, wrinkling her nose at the prospect. “I am sure Serendipity is about to pop the laces on her corset.”

They rose and ambled back toward the parlor, neither of them in a hurry to leave behind their comforting solitude in the garden.

Wolfe drew in a deep breath and smiled as he hugged her arm closer.

Divine Providence and fate had matched him perfectly.

He almost chuckled. What would the ton think of a duchess who would rather muck about in the fields with her dogs than attend balls at Almack’s and every High Society tea?

Serendipity met them at the double doors she had opened wide. Her demeanor suggested she might have witnessed at least one of their stolen kisses, and her fierce glare almost made him laugh. “Better now, are we, Your Grace?”

“Indeed. Much better.”

Grace patted his arm while giving her sister a daring smile. “He must stay for supper, don’t you think? That will give him more time with the children and the chance to get to know our entire family.”

Serendipity twitched a brow at him. “Well, Your Grace? Who am I to argue, even though I assumed you would wish to leave and tend to the business of procuring another housekeeper? Did you not say yours had fled?”

“I did, but my butler can handle the household well enough until I find another. Feebson has been with the family forever. He knows our needs.” Wolfe noted that Grace appeared to be enjoying this back-and-forth immensely. “An evening here is a delight I could never resist.”

Peals of laughter, happy barks, and loud thumps like the galloping of horses came from the hallways overhead. Doors slammed and shouts of hedgie and haggis made the cacophony even louder.

Serendipity stared at the ceiling and slowly shook her head. “Oh dear. Merry has finally taught them the game.”

Fortuity laughed and clapped her hands. “I can’t wait until Quill is big enough to play.”

Blessing caught Fortuity by the hand and tugged her toward the door. “Come. We can carry Quill and Rorie so they can play too.”

“The game?” Wolfe asked Grace. He glanced upward, following the raucous sounds coming from the second floor. “Gads, are they herding wild horses up there?”

“No. They are chasing each other.” Grace smiled at the ceiling.

“Mama and Papa created this game. One person chases all the others, attempting to turn them into either a haggis or a hedgie with just a touch. If the runner turns you into a hedgie, you have to hug your knees and curl into a ball while grunting like a pig until the runner counts to ten. Then you jump up and you become the runner trying to turn others into a hedgie or a haggis. If you are turned into a haggis, again, you have to curl into a ball and shout fie, fie, fie as the runner counts to ten, and then you become the runner.”

“I take it your father disliked haggis?”

“Despised it ever since his Scottish cousin tricked him into tasting it.” Grace hugged herself while watching the ceiling with a sad, wistful smile. “Papa loved a rousing game of haggis and hedgie. We often played, no matter if we were in the country or the London townhouse.”

“I am so sorry, Grace. I can tell you still miss him very much.” Wolfe wished it was within his power to take away her pain.

She nodded. “In September, it will be three years since he left us, and I still look for him or think I see him out of the corner of my eye. Sometimes, I even think I hear him.”

“I hear him at times when playing cards,” Joy said softly from where she stood, looking out the window.

“I often hear him and Mama.” Felicity dabbed the corner of her handkerchief to her eyes, then tucked it back inside her sleeve. “They are here—watching over us. I just know it.”

“And we are making them proud,” Serendipity said, jutting her chin higher. She turned and leveled a wilting glare on Wolfe. “Would you care to join the game of haggis and hedgie?”

He reached for Grace and smiled. “I would be delighted.”