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D iana was not unreservedly happy to see her brother darkening their doorstep that evening. But if Harrington could manage to be civil in the face of Marcus’s provocations, so could she.

Marcus was not particularly subtle in his inspection of the cottage.

He poked disdainfully at the shabby fabric of the sofa and ran a finger across the mantelpiece, checking for dust. He wrinkled his nose in disappointment when it came away clean but found something new to sneer at when he turned around and saw that the dining table was housed in the main room.

But even a duke could not find fault with the housekeeping, and when Maeve came bustling in with a delicious-smelling pork roast, he visibly relaxed.

Had Marcus truly believed that Harrington had her scouring pots and pans?

Perhaps he had. Goodness knew her brother had always assumed the worst where Harrington was concerned.

As the meal wore on and Marcus presumably saw that she was well-fed and well cared-for, his brow visibly unknotted and his shoulders lowered. Harrington made an effort to be solicitous, asking about Marcus’s sea crossing and inquiring about friends back in London.

Diana made sure that she was the one to tell the story of their ill-fated sojourn on Bere Island.

She was careful to frame it as a lark and emphasize how much she had enjoyed having a bit of an adventure.

Every time Marcus started to protest, she cut him off by pointing out how similar it had been to the many excursions they had taken with Aunt Griselda over the years.

Marcus could be spectacularly muleheaded, but she was a Latimer, too, and matched him glower for glower.

After dinner, they repaired to the sitting area before the fireplace. Harrington brought over a bottle of wine. “One of the fellows in the King’s German Legion gave me this,” he said, presenting the bottle to Marcus for inspection. “It’s a sparkling white wine, made in the Rhine valley?—”

“A Riesling,” Marcus supplied.

“Precisely.” Harrington rocked back on his heels. “It’s probably not the quality you’re used to, but?—”

Marcus waved a hand. “Let’s try it.”

Harrington fetched three glasses, then opened the bottle. “Would you like some, darling?” he asked Diana.

She took one of the glasses and held it up. “Yes, please.”

As Harrington poured, she caught Marcus watching them through narrowed eyes.

It turned out to be a very good wine, and they chatted for another hour while they shared the bottle. Finally, Marcus rose to take his leave. As he donned his hat and greatcoat, Diana invited him to join her for her morning walk tomorrow, an offer he stiffly accepted.

The morning was cool and misty. Diana noted with amusement that, now that his identity had been discovered, Marcus had returned to dressing as himself, wearing a silk-lined greatcoat of the softest wool instead of the shapeless brown sack he’d procured from goodness knew where, and Hoby boots polished to a high sheen in defiance of the impressive Irish mud.

Diana took him on her favorite walk, dutifully pointing out notable sights. “This is the Mulrooney farm.” She waved at a figure on the far side of the field, who waved back. “As you can see, Mr. Mulrooney is tending his herd. He is renowned for his fine cheddar cheese and his?—”

“Is he always like that?” Marcus asked abruptly.

Diana gave her brother a strange look. “Mr. Mulrooney is usually hard at work, from what I have observed. Why do you ask?”

Marcus scowled. “I meant your husband.”

“Oh.” Diana considered, taken aback. “Largely, yes. He was perhaps a bit nervous last night.”

Marcus waved a hand. “He seemed… solicitous. Of you,” he clarified at Diana’s puzzled expression.

“I observed that he gave you the most tender slice of the pork roast, taking the slightly charred end piece for himself. He also insisted that you have the last almond biscuit, correctly noting that they are your favorites, and went to let Inge into the back garden himself so you would not have to get up.”

Diana bit back a smile. It was on the tip of her tongue to say, if you believe that to be solicitous, you should see him in bed .

But she had the feeling this was not the sort of thing her brother would wish to hear.

“I can assure you, this behavior is characteristic. I could not ask for a kinder, more considerate husband.”

Marcus gave her a hard look. “Truly? You are not just saying that to placate me?”

“I swear, I am not. I wish you could have seen his distress when we became marooned on Bere Island and it became clear that we would have to sleep beneath the stars. I know you will not countenance it, but you would not have been half as severe on him as he was on himself.”

Marcus frowned. “I know you think I am an overbearing arse?—”

“However would one form such a preposterous impression?” Diana asked dryly.

Marcus acknowledged her riposte with a smirk.

“But I hope you understand that my intentions are sincere. It is a sad truth that a woman surrenders a great many rights the second she signs a marriage contract. In the blink of an eye, she surrenders power over both her finances and her person. Should her husband choose to mistreat her, in all but the most severe cases, the law turns a blind eye. Including…” He paused, clearing his throat.

When he spoke again, his voice was uneven.

“Including the same sort of mistreatment our mother was subjected to at the hands of our father.”

She seized his hand. “Harrington is nothing like our father.”

His expression remained guarded. “Is he not?”

“I swear, he is not. You will find it difficult to believe, but he is exceptionally kind.” Diana paused, scouring her memory. “I cannot recall a single cross word he has said to me. Ever.”

In an instant, the cold reserve Marcus wore like a cloak was gone. His eyes were urgent. “Truly? He is treating you well?”

“He is.” Diana inclined her head back toward town. “Let’s return to the cottage so we can talk.”

They settled on the sofa before the crackling fire. Maeve, seeming to sense the tension in the air, announced that she was heading to the market, leaving them alone.

Diana explained everything. Well, perhaps not quite everything .

She left out the sort of intimate revelations a brother would not wish to hear.

But she told him how Harrington had sought her advice, again and again, as he found himself in over his head with regards to his new position in Parliament.

And that this was the main reason she had wanted to marry him—that he appreciated her not for her dowry, but for her intelligence.

That he respected her and valued her opinion.

When she finished, it was the rare occasion that Marcus looked sheepish.

“Cecilia tried to tell me he was no longer the boy he’d been at Eton.

Fauconbridge, too. But I could not stop fixating on the possibility that he might be mistreating you.

He acted contemptuously toward me for so long, it is difficult for me to picture him any other way.

But if you swear that he is treating you kindly?—”

“He is,” Diana said swiftly. “As severe as you are on him, had you seen him for the last few weeks, I think even you could find no fault in his conduct.”

Marcus nodded. “I am sorry, especially that I frightened you by following you around town. I know you think me ridiculous. The truth is, although I might harp on the size of your cottage, or”—he glanced down, giving a visible shudder—“this hideously ugly sofa, I don’t care about those things.

The only thing I care about is that you are happy and that you are being treated well. ”

She scooted closer to him and laid her head on his shoulder.

“I do know that, Marcus.” It was a funny thing, considering that Diana had been the one to suffer at the hands of their father before Marcus contrived to remove her to Aunt Griselda’s house, while their father had never struck his only son and heir.

But paradoxically, the scars Marcus bore as a result of the old duke’s abuse were at least as deep as Diana’s.

He had been older, for one, his memories clearer.

He had witnessed far more violence, directed toward their mother, than Diana had experienced, as the servants had helped her to hide, and Marcus had acted quickly to remove her from that situation.

He had even been there the day their mother died, and although he had not witnessed her death, he had been close enough to hear her scream.

Additionally, Marcus had always held himself responsible for their mother’s death.

He had forgotten his sword that morning, and although he had been all of eleven years old, he had it in his head that it had been his duty to protect her from their father.

At least that had been one burden Diana had never had to shoulder.

She regarded their father’s abuse, both toward her and her mother, as his failing alone.

But Marcus sincerely believed he also bore a share of the blame.

The truth was that both of them bore scars from their childhood.

They were neither of them quite whole, and perhaps they never would be.

But Aunt Griselda had taken the task of mending Diana’s broken places quite seriously.

She could remember feeling powerless and terrified as she hid behind curtains and beneath sofas as she listened to her father’s footsteps while he searched for her.

But she was powerless no more. Aunt Griselda had made sure of that. Poor Marcus, meanwhile, had been alone at Eton during the darkest period of his life, too afraid to confide even in his closest friends about the wreck that was his family. He had therefore not made as much progress as Diana.

But he would. Just look at how fondly he doted on Alaric.

He had managed to take the right lessons from their terrible childhood and had understood that their father was a model of what not to do.

And, although she didn’t much appreciate his meddling, she knew that his intentions were pure.

That, and the fact that he had come by his neuroses honestly, made it easier for her to make allowances for his misguided behavior.

“I forgive you,” she said. “But you have to try. Give Harrington a chance. And try to get it through your thick skull that I’m no longer a helpless two-year-old.”

He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I will try.”