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“W hat did you tell him?” Hardy Carmody sat back in his chair with a frown. “Where I come from, we would have slit his throat and thrown him in the alley for the raccoons.”

“That wasn’t an option, Mr. Carmody.” Crispin tried to smile. Was it too much to hope his father-in-law’s comment was nothing more than dark humor? “I told him to tell Dunwoody we strolled through Hyde Park, hired a coach for Berkley Square, and lingered under the plane trees before taking refreshments at Gunter’s. After that, as the weather was fair, we strolled to Jermyn Street for a bit of shopping.”

“Where we bought a lovely bowl,” Birdy chimed in. “Venetian glass, I believe.”

“Are you mad? I taught you better than that.” Her father jumped from his seat and began pacing Mivart’s small, private dining room.

“What would you have me do, call him out in the middle of Mayfair?” Crispin asked, resisting the urge to jump up and match Carmody step for step. “The goal is to convince Dunwoody that Birdy and I know nothing. That we are the most boring happily married couple in all the kingdom. He’ll soon tire of following us around town.”

“How long is soon? I saw that man at the church. He was mad as a bear with a sore head. He’s not giving up that easily. I wouldn’t.”

“Boring him isn’t all we’re doing,” Crispin snapped back. “We’ll hear of his next move before he makes it. That reminds me,” he continued, “You were most likely followed as well.”

“Spotted him right away,” Carmody said, brushing off his concern. “I left him standing at the entrance while I walked out through the kitchen.”

“The man with the cigar?” Birdy asked.

“Cheap suit, expensive cigar. It most likely came from the man who hired him. If I understand correctly, this Dunwoody fellow has his legitimate heir. What does he need your sister for?”

“He doesn’t need her. That’s the problem. He tried to kill her and failed. She’s a loose end. He needs to murder her properly this time.” That they were speaking of his sister’s life as if discussing the plot of a play rankled, but there was nothing to be done for it. He was responsible for her.

“Why not tuck her away in an asylum somewhere? No one would believe any accusations she made if she were declared insane. I’m just saying it’s less risky than murder.”

“I thought the same way until recently. Dunwoody’s behavior convinces me that my sister’s child lives. If the boy will inherit, Dunwoody wouldn’t want his reputation marred by any hint of insanity in his blood. His pride wouldn’t allow that.”

“What did he say to you at the church? How did you get him to hold his tongue?” Birdy asked with a frown. “Any man who’d kill his wife cannot be trusted for even a minute.”

“I simply convinced him there was no room for him at the pulpit. To interrupt a sacred ceremony in a holy place was ungentlemanly.”

“Oh, pull the other one,” Crispin said with a laugh.

“I threatened to gut him like a fish if he ruined my daughter’s wedding.”

“Gut him like a fish? And you expected that to be the last of it?” Crispin asked incredulously. “That’s why he’s having you followed too. No doubt he’s having you investigated even as we sit here. He’ll ruin you.”

“I’ve run across dozens of mean little men like him. Like stray dogs, they like to bark but rarely bite.”

“You saw the note, Father,” Birdy said. “Dunwoody bites. He intends to bite hard. We are guests in this country, and he is a peer of the realm. Honesty and good humor will not win these people over. His title trumps your reputation and hard work.”

“I’m afraid she’s right,” Crispin said before smiling wanly at his wife. “I suggest you lie low. Find a country estate to let and take a fishing holiday. You may even want to consider cutting this trip short.”

“We’ve only been here, what, two weeks?”

“A month, Father.”

“I’ll not let that barking dog scare me away from an entire country.”

“I beg you to reconsider, Carmody. Dunwoody will go after your lifeblood. Think of your trading post. Think of the people back on Zingo Island.”

“ Ziinzi !” Carmody corrected him.

“Think of them. The Hudson Bay Company rolls like a snowball down a hill. It gets bigger and bigger. It rolls up everything and everyone in its path.”

“We’ll do what we’ve always done, and we’ll be fine.”

“Father, please…” Birdy interrupted.

“You two need a honeymoon. Carry on boring old Dunwoody to death. I’ll do what I’ve always done and find customers. I’ve got ships to fill, goods to move.”

“Convince him to go back home,” Crispin said over breakfast the next morning.

“I know,” Birdy replied. “But he needs to think it’s his idea.” She’d grown up dealing with hard-headed men and her father was no exception. He’d never admit defeat, but he might be persuaded to consider a chance to regroup.

“In the week since the wedding, he’s had three meetings cancelled on short notice. Because of Dunwoody, doors are already closing in his face. He’ll be an embarrassment soon. Leaving is the only way to save what might be left of his reputation. Out of sight is out of mind. People will soon forget, and doors will open again soon enough when people realize they need his goods,” Crispin explained.

“Has too much damage been done?” Appetite now ruined, Birdy picked at her coddled eggs. Mivart’s kitchen had sent up a lovely breakfast but she was unable to take another bite over worry for her father.

“I know your father will endure. My only fear is that with your father’s retreat, Dunwoody will redouble his efforts to pressure us. I’m still unsettled by what happened this afternoon. You might have been trampled.”

“Someone’s horse got a little too feisty for them. I was in no real danger. Besides, you were right there by my side.” She hadn’t realized Crispin was still thinking of yesterday’s incident. It was frightening at the time, but the feeling quickly passed. Unskilled riders were a menace in any crowded street. Perhaps she should have paid it more heed.

“Dunwoody won’t tolerate being bored for much longer. Shaw says he’s had a visitor from out of Town that left him nervous and agitated. He didn’t know who it was but he promised to find out. He thinks Dunwoody is losing his mind.”

“The good news is that means he still has no idea where your sister is. Mrs. Dove-Lyon must have done her job well.”

“Did you doubt she would?”

“Not for a minute,” she replied. Dunwoody wasn’t the only one who grew bored with their daily tedium. Playing it safe meant they could do nothing to help search for Lamb’s lost child. She’d promised to help and, so far, she wasn’t. “Your sister pines for her child. Dunwoody has us pinned down so we cannot search.”

“My sister’s life is more important to me than Dunwoody’s heir. I don’t know the law on your island, but here in England, she has no legal right to that child. Our hands are tied. We must find another way to win this war.”

“Dunwoody isn’t fighting a war. He’s laying siege.”

“How do you defeat a siege?”

“Stay low. Stay quiet. Then distract your enemy with a war party while the women and children escape to the forest. When the enemy gets close enough, burn everything. They win nothing but scorched earth. As they rest, let the women sneak back in and slit their throats one by one.”

“There will be no throat slitting, or fire, for that matter.”

“I was speaking figuratively,” she said half-heartedly. Perhaps Crispin wasn’t as lion-like as her father had perceived. His knowledge of English law, however, trumped hers, and his assessment of the direness of the child’s situation was likely true.

“At the moment, I’m more concerned with Dunwoody’s accusation. He boldly stated that my sister was deceased when he knew there wasn’t a body. A convenient resurrectionist is his most believable explanation. Suppose someone believes him?”

“It’s so far-fetched.” Birdy placed her hand on Crispin’s arm. “It’s ridiculous. Rally your friends to vouch for your honor. We’ll begin later tonight at the supper your friend Callum is hosting.”

“To be clear, his parents Sir and Lady Mumford are hosting. Are you certain you wish to attend?”

“Will your sister’s husband be there?”

“Decidedly not. The Mumfords have their own quarrels with Dunwoody. To host us after the false charges he hurled in the church is meant to be a stick in his eye.”

“Then I like Callum’s family,” she announced with a smile. “We’ll bring the venetian bowl as a gift to them. Will there be dancing?” She hoped there would be. Music played a large role in tribal life back on the island and she missed singing, dancing, or swaying to the beat of the drums.

“It’s unlikely but I’m not certain. No matter what, I’ll stay by your side. Bring your knife.”

“Do you expect trouble?” She’d been looking forward to their first outing as man and wife but it was as if she’d never again be allowed to forget they’d been threatened. She didn’t possess Crispin’s patience or tolerance for the mayhem that shadowed them.

“I didn’t expect any of this. I didn’t think much beyond saving my sister. Will you ever be able to forgive me?”

“Forgive you for caring? For doing something when your father turned a blind eye? You’ve done nothing that warrants my forgiveness.” Justice back on the island was a simpler affair, but also sometimes bloodier. Dunwoody would either have been stoned by the women of the tribe or Chief Staring Eagle would order the two men to fight until death to settle the matter forever.

“I wanted to kill him, Birdy. When I heard what he did to my sister, I wanted to beat that old man to death. I wouldn’t have blamed my sister for stabbing him to death with a rusty fish fork. He probably deserves it, but I can’t do murder.”

“How did you know that’s what I was thinking?” she asked. Pushing her plate away at last, she stood from the table and walked over to the window. The air was wind-chilled but the sun was out, bright as a promise.

“You get a far-away look sometimes. Far away as in all the way to a little island in Canada.” He quit the table and came to stand by her side at the window. “Beautiful day.”

“Windy,” she replied.

“I’ll hang on to my hat,” he said as he slid his arm around her waist. “Let’s go to Hyde Park for the afternoon. We can feed the ducks the remainder of our breakfast.”

“And you’ll see Mr. Shaw?” she asked with a knowing grin. “Maybe he’d appreciate our breakfast more than the ducks.”

“I need to know if I’m going to be investigated as a resurrectionist. I find it hard to rest easily with the charge hanging over my head.”

“Alright,” she said, throwing up her hands in mock surrender. “Hyde Park it is. Just make sure we get back in time to get ready for the supper.” She spoke the words over her shoulder as she retreated through the connecting door to her room for her bonnet and a suitable wrap.

They were lucky to find an open coach for let and luckier still to find one with clean blankets. While the sun was warm, the wind brought the scent of the Thames and the distant ocean to the streets of Town.

“Comfortable?” Crispin pulled her closer before she answered. “I’ll keep you warm.”

“I am now.” She snuggled closer and smiled. “I was thinking we should meet with Mrs. Dove-Lyon soon.”

“She’s done her part. Whatever for?” Crispin straightened in his seat and his voice held a tinge of irritation.

“She mentioned having many contacts from her matchmaking endeavors. They might be convinced to speak highly of you…”

“No. She’s done enough.” His voice was raised, and he turned away.

“I would consider her a friend to us. I don’t understand your anger.”

“Seeing her reminds me of that awful night I found my sister. The Lyon’s Den and Mrs. Dove-Lyon now remind me of my most desperate hour when I had to reach out for help because I wasn’t rich enough or clever enough to settle things on my own.”

“You did what you had to do. Your sister is alive somewhere where Dunwoody can no longer harm her. Her child lives. Yet you think you’ve failed. Is our marriage a failure?”

“What?” His head snapped around. “I didn’t say that. Don’t even think that. I’m glad I married you. Before you I…I always felt so…alone. My upbringing was coldly polite. I learned quickly to rely on myself. While I’m unaccustomed to having someone at my side, that doesn’t mean I don’t crave your company.”

“I wish you had a tribe,” Birdy said, placing her hand on his arm. “But now we have each other.”

Crispin jumped out when the carriage stopped and held his hand out to her. “Let’s walk for a bit, shall we?” Helping her down, he paid the carriage driver and dismissed him. “We’ll walk in the sun to stay warm.”

“Just don’t lose your hat,” she teased. Crispin was more complex than he at first appeared. She was only now learning the layers to his personality. And she wanted to know more. Something had hurt him once and he was now a walking scar.

“Thinking of your island again?” he teased as they made their way to the footpath and the place where Mr. Shaw would leave his notes for them.

“This time when I was thinking of home, I was thinking about you.” She smiled and patted his arm as she spoke.

“I’m glad it makes you smile. Have I told you how beautiful you are today? Sometimes I forget because you’re beautiful every day.”

“It sounds like you’re trying to flatter me but I’ll take the compliment. Thank you. You’re looking dapper yourself. Especially that hat.” She knew it was new, it had been delivered to the hotel just the previous day.

“I was in need of a new one. It’s the most money I’d ever spent on a hat before and I must say, I’m rather fond of it.”

When they finally found Mr. Shaw’s note, hidden in a small hollow spot in the crook of an old wych elm, Crispin snatched it out and looked around before opening it.

“News?” she finally asked when he didn’t read it aloud.

“My father has been to visit Lord Dunwoody.” He made no other comment, but his voice held the tone of defeat.

“He showed us whose side he was on at the wedding. I know it must be disappointing to you, dear, but it changes nothing.” Caressing his lapel as she spoke, she tried to ease his worry.

“You’re right.” Crispin shoved the note into his pocket, pulled her closer and held her tightly to his chest. “Let’s walk to Gunter’s for tea, shall we? We’ll hire a hack afterwards and be back at the hotel in plenty of time to dress for the party.”

“An excellent idea,” she agreed, glad that she’d worn comfortable walking shoes. The sooner Crispin accepted his father’s unwillingness to be helpful, the better he would be.

Having walked the rest of the way in companionable silence, they were sitting at Gunter’s with two steaming cups of tea and a pastry to split before speaking again.

After taking a sip, Crispin cleared his throat before speaking. “I’m going to pay my father a visit tomorrow. I may have need to move the rest of my things out of the house.”

“I hate that he will only disappoint you again. I understand the pull of family and I admire your loyalty. But you don’t need him. We don’t need him.” If Crispin insisted on seeing his father, she would pay a visit to Mrs. Dove-Lyon.

“I’m giving him one more chance. I don’t want it said I gave up too soon.”

“No one would ever say that,” she replied. He was so hopeful it pained her to see it. “Are we going to eat this pastry or not?”

Later that evening, as they walked into their first social gathering since their wedding. Birdy tightened her grip on Crispin’s arm as he led her to greet their host and hostess. The Mumfords were gracious but Lady Mumford apparently couldn’t miss a chance to remind Crispin that his father ought to have hosted their first dinner. If Crispin took offence he didn’t show it. Birdy knew that back on her island, her father would have been feeding people for at least three days after a wedding. Crispin’s father hadn’t lifted a finger.

One by one, Crispin introduced her to friends she recognized from the wedding breakfast. Back then she’d looked upon everyone with a measure of suspicion. Tonight, they were gaily dressed and affable. As they waited for dinner to be served, it wasn’t long before Lady Mumford herded her over to stand with the other women while the men enjoyed a tot of contraband French brandy.

“Our family thinks very highly of Lord Morgan,” Lady Mumford said. “He’s practically a part of the family. I hope you find the wedded bliss that I have.”

“I’m certain I will.” It was good to know he had friends.

“Your gown is lovely,” another voice chimed in from someone whose name Birdy had already forgotten. “It was clever to match your dress to your husband’s waistcoat.”

“Thank you,” Birdy replied. “Your gown is exquisite as well.”

“I was worried the fabric wasn’t up to the task, but my dressmaker did wonders with it. When you need new gowns, I would gladly take you to her shop. I recommend her to everyone.”

“How kind. I’ll keep that in mind.” She would, if only she could remember the lady’s name.

Supper was a long affair, taking two hours to work their way through seven courses. Of course, it was not meant to be a hurried meal. Table conversation was jovial and Birdy noticed Crispin’s friends made efforts to include her in all subjects. Whether from the company or a full belly, she was content and relaxed by the end of the meal. When Sir Mumford announced there would be games and dancing after supper, she clapped her hands in approval along with the other guests.

Had there been no Dunwoody, no crisis, this is what their married life would have been like. Dinners, conversation, games and dancing. But, of course, without Dunwoody, they wouldn’t be married at all.

Sitting to the side of the parlor with the other women while the men played an elaborate and hilarious game of forfeits, Birdy watched her husband turn into a different man. He smiled more, he laughed more loudly, he teased his friends, told terrible jokes, and acted as if he didn’t have a care in the world. When he performed a handstand on a dare, she nearly cried with joy.

She’d gotten a glimpse of him that she’d not otherwise have seen. This was the real Crispin. The one mostly hidden from her. Oh, there were hints of the real him at night when he came to her bed. But, mostly, she saw her husband with the yoke of so much responsibility across his shoulders that it weighed him down, So much so that it suppressed his personality.

She rather liked his personality after all. She’d do whatever she could to pry that yoke off his shoulders.

“Dance with me.” Crispin’s hand was in her face, breaking her out of her reverie. “They’re rolling up the carpet. They haven’t a quartet, but Callum plays the violin and I play the piano reasonably well. Do you play?”

“Flute,” she replied. “But I don’t have one.” She held up her empty hands and laughed. “I don’t suppose they have drums.”

“I would love to hear native drums one day. I’ve been told it’s nearly a religious experience.”

Laughing their way through a Scottish reel played with some success by Callum, Birdy smiled so wide she thought her face might break. No one was dancing the proper steps and they crashed into each other until Callum set his violin down in defeat. To her utter surprise, her husband, Crispin Morgan, sat down at the piano and sang Grimaldi’s All the World’s in Paris.

Stunned into silence at first, Birdy sat on the edge of her seat while he played. It was a comedic song and those more familiar with the words were singing and laughing along. She could hardly believe what was taking place right before her eyes.

Her husband, beneath all his responsibility, was a clown. A bon vivant. She never would have guessed it. She liked this Crispin. This Crispin would be so easy to love.

His good mood lasted all the way back to Mivart’s Hotel and to her bedroom. His lovemaking was both tender and joyful and she cried out her pleasure as he cradled her in his arms. In the twilight moments before she fell asleep, she knew tomorrow she’d wake up in the arms of the yoked Crispin. Glimpses of the playful him had to be enough.

“His lordship said I wasn’t supposed to let you out of my sight.” Butterworth shifted from foot to foot as if he expected her to bolt for the door.

“I won’t be out of your sight because you’ll be with me.” Birdy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She’d already explained herself twice, and her husband’s manservant showed no comprehension. Crispin was off to see his father this morning and she was going to speak to Mrs. Dove-Lyon. “I am not my husband’s hostage, Mr. Butterworth. I will leave this hotel with or without you. Your choice.” Birdy snatched up her reticule and took a step toward the door.

“Where are we going?”

“The British Museum.” It wasn’t a complete lie, but she still felt a twinge of guilt saying the words.

“His lordship won’t like that.”

“That’s my concern. Follow me.” Rather than taking the stairs to the lobby, Birdy led Mr. Butterworth to the servant’s stairwell down to the motel’s kitchen. A few coins pressed into the hand of an enterprising footman were enough for him to run to the street to hail a passing hack on Avery Row, far from any prying eyes focused on Brooks Street.

It was an open hack, so there was little Birdy could do to hide herself from any of Dunwoody’s spies once they started the journey. She kept her head down as much as she could, but there was no telling who might recognize her.

Great Russell Street was as teeming with carriages as she hoped it would be. Their hired hack blended in with so many others. They departed the coach without incident and walked through the entrance of the museum among a group of schoolchildren.

“Ain’t been here since I was a child myself,” Butterworth mused.

“Do they have another exit? A way out other than the one on Great Russell Street?” Birdy asked as she looked around.

“I suppose so, but we just got here.”

“This is our diversion in case we were followed. We’re walking right out the back door and into another hack if we can find one. Now, think, where is the other exit?”

“This way.”

The exit to Montague Street was probably meant for staff, but she and Butterworth walked through as if they were exactly where they were supposed to be. Stymied at first by the sight of a garden rather than a path to the thoroughfare, Birdy found a footpath that slipped through the hedgerow.

“There’s an empty hack just there,” Butterworth called out as he sprinted into the road. “I’ll run up and nab him.”

Once settled in another cab, Birdy gave their driver the address of the Lyon’s Den in Whitehall. Hopefully, she’d done enough to ensure the privacy of her visit. It was a risk she felt she had to take.

They approached the Lyon’s Den through the servant’s entrance, and she found herself back in the kitchen where it all began. The sick room had a new occupant, but Birdy didn’t allow her eyes to linger. She had enough secrets.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.” Birdy greeted Mrs. Dove-Lyon with a handshake that the older woman quickly turned into a hug.

“I’m always here for my brides and grooms. Will Lord Morgan be joining us?”

“Not today. He’s sent his man to chaperone,” Birdy said, motioning toward Mr. Butterworth.

“Someone here in the kitchen will serve you coffee or tea, whatever your preference,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon addressed Mr. Butterworth. “And I believe I smell some fresh, candied orange scones. Help yourself while Lady Morgan and I chat in my office.”

“I’m not supposed to let her out of my sight, ma’am.” Butterworth bobbed his head in deference as he spoke.

“That’s ridiculous. Are you to follow her into the water closet as well? Surely Lord Morgan did not intend his command to be taken quite so literally. I assure you; a newly married woman might wish to discuss certain sensitive topics away from the ears of her husband’s manservant. We must be allowed our privacy.” As Mrs. Dove-Lyon spoke, she was already ushering Birdy from the room.

“How long do you think it will be before he comes barging in here?” Birdy asked as she took the offered seat in the office.

“My staff will keep him busy as long as they can. Our lost lamb is no longer here. Why have you come?”

“I needed someone to speak to. Someone who understands my particular situation.”

“Have you made no friends?” Mrs. Dove-Lyon retrieved the bottle of port from her desk drawer, along with two glasses. “How are you?”

“Fine.” Birdy answered out of habit.

“No, dear, how are you really?” She poured them each two fingers of an Irish whiskey.

“Confused,” she offered at last. “Last night I saw a part of my husband I’d never seen before. He sang and played the piano. He did a headstand on a dare. We danced a Scottish reel and he laughed the entire time because we didn’t know the steps. It was amazing and wonderful. We had so much fun.” It would be so easy to love Crispin if only she ignored the walls he built around his heart. Birdy swallowed down the drink to steady her nerves.

“So your complaint is…”

“I want that Crispin. The thoughtful, caring, and happy one. He hides so much of himself away that sometimes I feel that I don’t know him at all.”

“It’s much more difficult to dissolve a marriage than it is to arrange one.”

“You misunderstand. I have no wish to undo my marriage. It’s Lord Dunwoody who is causing such havoc. His men follow our every move. My father is having doors closed in his face due to Dunwoody’s interference. The man has continued to spread rumors of Crispin’s involvement in the disappearance of his sister’s body. Every day I fear a Bow Street Runner will come and snatch him away. I fear the stress is more than Crispin can shoulder.”

“We all underestimated Lord Dunwoody’s determination to produce a more suitable male heir.”

“More suitable than who?”

“Forty years ago, Lord Dunwoody’s sister married her paternal cousin, Lord Turpin, and birthed a male child. He was rumored to be an ill-tempered fellow. The most prevalent anecdote is that he once, in anger, emptied his pipe ash onto the hay rack at the home of a cottager with whom he was displeased. The ash was hot and the attached house, with the farmer, his wife, and all six of their children inside, burned to the ground. There were no survivors.”

“Where is he now?”

“The family exiled him to the West Indies to oversee a family property there. The last rumor I heard was that he died there. Killed in a duel by a jealous husband he’d cuckolded. I cannot vouch for the absolute truth of it, but he was never seen in Town again and his family no longer speaks of him. If Lady Dunwoody had not birthed a boy, the nephew would have inherited.”

“None of that has anything to do with my husband. Why does Dunwoody hate Crispin so much?”

“Probably because he tried to stop Dunwoody’s marriage to his sister. Crispin dared to stand up to him and Dunwoody has never forgotten it. But there’s something else bothering you, what is it?”

“Dunwoody’s interference has ensured we have no chance to search for the missing baby. I wanted to ask…” Birdy let her voice drift off, hoping Mrs. Dove-Lyon would understand.

“For my help?”

“You’ve already done so much. I’m embarrassed to ask for more.”

“Like you, I was also moved by our former guest’s plight. Here’s the rub: even if I locate the child, nothing can be done. You can hardly snatch him away on principle. He belongs to his father. Do you wish to know his direction and be impotent of action? What would your husband do with the information, something stupid?”

“I think it would torture him to not take action.” She could only guess based upon what little of himself he’d revealed to her.

“So be careful what you wish for.”

“Back home, I’d seek wisdom from the elders. Then the women would gather, burn some sweet grass, and discuss the merits of each bit of wisdom. We’d talk all night if we had to. I miss that.”

“Sadly, the best advice I can give you is that Lord Dunwoody won’t live forever. If he dies before the child reaches adulthood, the child will be put under the protection of a guardian. It will not be the child’s mother.”

“That’s cruel.”

“That’s English law. Dunwoody will likely specify a guardian in his will. If he hadn’t chosen to vilify Lord Morgan, he would have been the obvious choice.”

There was so much that was foreign to her in this land. Women were dismissed as easily—perhaps more so—than servants. It was the white culture, she decided, because the men at the post at home had thought they could gamble with her like she was a possession.

She wouldn’t allow it there, and she wouldn’t allow it now, especially from her husband. “What can we do?”

“With your husband by your side, you have everything you need. As odd as it sounds, your best hope is that Lord Morgan’s father is named guardian. The child is his grandson and he and Lord Dunwoody have known each other for a long time. He even appears to support the man in spite of his crimes against his daughter. That might provide your husband an opportunity to see the child.”

“That is small comfort if Crispin’s sister will still be denied.”

“Take heart knowing that Lord Dunwoody will provide his son with an expensive education. He may be hidden away, but the child will not be neglected.”

Still, it was not to be borne. This was about more than the child’s monetary support. It was about his relationship with his mother, though it didn’t seem as though any of the men he was related to understood that. “Please do not think me ungrateful. You’ve done so much, and I’ve taken enough of your time. Hopefully, my husband will have some success speaking to his father today.”

Birdy held little hope that her husband’s mission would bear fruit of any kind. His father’s silence in response to Dunwoody’s accusation was all the evidence she needed that the man was worthless to them. What sort of man raised her husband? And why was Crispin so determined to speak with him?