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H argrave strode into the kitchen and frowned at Mrs. Romney. “Well?”

She glanced over her shoulder at the butler, sighed, and set the teacakes on the rack to cool. “Well, what?”

His expression darkened. “Are you going to summon Flaherty, or shall I?”

“The man’s working. Before you ask, I have checked on Mary Kate every time I take another batch of scones or teacakes out of the oven. She’s resting—something he did not think to let her do last night.”

Hargrave’s pained expression was comical. “Are you… Did you just suggest…” He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. “Flaherty will have to be told how his wife spent the morning—instead of seeing to her duties, she’s been sleeping.”

“Why? Her ladyship is aware, and has no issue with Mary Kate resting today. Poor woman was abducted and nearly perished in a fire! Do you begrudge the young woman a bit of rest?”

“No, but—”

“I would stop there if I were you, Hargrave.”

“Knowing Flaherty, he’ll be angry that we did not send word,” the butler insisted.

“Did Mrs. Meadowsweet suggest that you speak to me directly when you could not convince her that someone needs to bother Flaherty before the midday meal?”

“Hargrave!” The housekeeper entered the kitchen and tapped her foot in annoyance. “I thought you planned to listen to my advice.”

“I did listen, Mrs. Meadowsweet—however, if you will recall, I did not agree with your advice, hence necessitating my speaking to Mrs. Romney…whose advice I am not going to follow either.”

“Good heavens,” Lady Calliope said, walking into the kitchen. “I do not believe I have seen the three of you at odds since Mary Kate and I first arrived at Chattsworth. At the time neither yourselves nor Mary Kate and I knew what to expect or how to deal with one another.”

The butler, housekeeper, and cook gaped at her, but did not utter a sound. Finally, she sighed, “It was a jest. I am sorry if it fell short of the mark. Do forgive me. What are you discussing in such overly loud hushed tones?”

Hargrave squared his shoulders. “Mary Kate has been sleeping for hours now. I believe Flaherty needs to know.”

“He’ll only wake her up to ask her why she is so tired.” The viscountess mumbled, “As if he did not know.”

“Precisely, and that’s why there is no need to bother the man,” Mrs. Romney said.

“But his temper,” the butler reminded the women.

“He does not need to worry about his wife sleeping, when she is clearly exhausted,” Mrs. Meadowsweet said. “Who wouldn’t be after being abducted, knocked over the head, and then nearly dying inside of the squire’s barn when it was set on fire?”

Calliope looked from one servant to the other and asked, “Did our new footman sound the alarm, Hargrave?” Before he could answer, she continued, “He is not used to dealing with a hot Irish temper, but he will need to become accustomed to it.”

“Aye, your ladyship. Though I have to agree with the young man—Flaherty has a right to know.”

“That his wife is exhausted and sleeping, or that Mrs. Romney, Mrs. Meadowsweet, two maids, and myself have been taking turns checking on her for the last few hours?” When the servant did not answer, Calliope asked, “How do you expect Flaherty to perform his duties to Earl Lippincott? The man needs to have his wits about him when he’s stationed on the roof, scouting the perimeter, on patrol to the village and back, or guarding the interior. The poor man has enough on his mind.”

Hargrave’s face paled. “But what if he arrives, and she’s still sleeping? He will demand to know why.”

“The stable master has been informed that Flaherty must speak with my husband immediately upon his arrival on an urgent matter.”

“I see,” the butler replied.

“I thought you might. Let William handle Flaherty.”

“Aye, your ladyship.”

He bowed before returning to his post, and Calliope called out to him, “Hargrave?”

“Yes, your ladyship?”

“See that the new footman understands that nothing in this household escapes my notice, nor his lordship’s. I trust that you do know how deeply we care for every member of our staff—especially those of you who have been in service to William’s father and his grandfather.”

“I shall rectify the matter immediately.”

“Thank you, Hargrave. For that, and your years of loyalty, and for caring for the newest members we have welcomed to our staff.” She turned and beamed at the housekeeper and cook.

“Thank you too, Mrs. Meadowsweet, Mrs. Romney. William and I depend upon you all so much more than you know. So many traditions that I would not have known about would have been brushed aside, and eventually forgotten, had you three not remained with MacReady to pass on the inner workings of Chattsworth Manor to William and me.”

The butler retreated, and Calliope waited until he’d quietly spoken to the footman stationed in the hallway between the rear entrance and the kitchen and returned. “Problem handled, your ladyship.”

“Wonderful, Hargrave. My thanks.” She waited until he’d exited the servants’ side of the house before continuing the conversation. “Now that that issue has been solved and a crisis averted, I believe my little darling should be waking up from his nap. I’ll be in the nursery if you need me.”

*

Flaherty had not had trouble concentrating on his patrol in a long time.

But this morning, halfway through his shift on the rooftop, he found his mind drifting back to the way his lovely wife had bidden him goodbye.

For half a moment, he savored the image of her—rumpled from just rising from their tangled bed linens, her riot of curls curtaining her shoulders, flowing to her waist. His smile came as he remembered the vision of his wife standing gloriously naked as he kissed her goodbye.

Poor darling would no doubt wake up and realize it once she was no longer plastered against him and noticed the chill.

Movement at the edge of his field of vision had him snapping to full attention.

The rifle was in his hands, and the target within range, as he lined up the sights.

At the last moment, he relaxed. Just a doe and her fawn, not a sharpshooter.

The events from yesterday still had him on edge, expecting the worst. He needed to forget about his wife—easier said than done, when all he wanted was to see her smile as he changed shifts going from the rooftop to the perimeter patrol.

Was it too much to ask that they both live and work at the same estate?

“Aye. And ye know why; the lass spelled it out for ye.” Mary Kate and Calliope had developed a closeness—a crisis or near disaster would do that—most likely formed from the moment Mary Kate was assigned as her ladyship’s personal maid.

For the remainder of his shift on top of the roof, he forced himself to set thoughts of his wife aside.

If he needed to think of her, he would allow himself to in between shifts as he moved from location to location—the perimeter to the village patrol, the patrol to interior guard duty—before he would be given leave to collect his wife.

He allowed himself a few minutes longer to think of Mary Kate, reasoning that he needed to decide if he would ask to borrow one of the carriages, or fetch her on horseback.

Horseback, definitely. He could hold her in his arms for the entire ride back.

Though not a long ride, just a few miles, it was far enough that he would be able to breathe in her scent, feel her curves against him, the distracting weight of her in his lap, the silky-soft, fiery tendrils that would have slipped from the hastily fashioned twist of hair she piled on top of her head daily—before she presented her back to him and asked him to please button her up.

His wife was more than just the woman who had been Lady Calliope’s right hand for nearly two years now—she had become a part of the viscountess’s inner circle, trusted to watch the viscount’s heir.

Just as Mollie and Francis had become irreplaceable to Her Grace when she was expecting the twins.

Both maids had been elevated to the shared duty of lady’s maid to the duchess, and then trusted to care for the duke’s heir and his twin sister when they were born.

Flaherty could not remember who had replaced Mollie when she married Finn O’Malley—mayhap no one.

The duke and duchess had had the foresight to hire a highly regarded nanny when the twins were born, and she ended up marrying Patrick O’Malley.

For some reason, neither Lady Aurelia nor Lady Calliope had hired a nanny yet, preferring to care for their sons with the help of their lady’s maids and others on their staff.

Now that the lads were standing up and would be learning how to walk—and then run—Flaherty wondered if their lordships had talked their wives into hiring if not a nanny, then a governess.

Not that it was any of his concern—he rather thought it was the way that all people of wealth and social standing did things.

Ye’re a bloody eedjit , boy-o. ’Tisn’t as if the earl or the viscount will ask yer opinion on the matter.

With a sigh of disgust at his lack of concentration, Flaherty made it through the rest of his shifts without further distracting thoughts of his wife.

Likely due in part to the fact that he’d made a game of counting how many hours it would be till he held her in his arms again.

Kissed her again. Made love to her again.

He clamped down hard on his desire before it became a problem.

He really should not have tired the lass out to the point of exhaustion during the night, but God help him, every time he closed his eyes, he was back in the squire’s barn!

Garahan was there, shaking him, demanding he wake up because the lass needed him.

He remembered it all: Garahan slicing through their bonds, setting them free.

Smoldering piles of dried hay and twigs bursting into flames all around them as the back wall of the barn caved in.

Shaking free of the nightmare, he’d managed to make it through the day without mishap, but not without a nagging headache.

As he strode toward the stables, Sean was walking toward him.

“Ah, there ye are. I’m proud of ye for lasting through yer shifts, Flaherty.

I know it was not easy, having been in yer shoes dealing with the aftermath of rescuing yer wife from a dangerous situation.

Wanting to check on her every hour, but not at liberty to. ”

Flaherty nodded, but kept walking toward the stall, where his gelding was already saddled and waiting for him. His cousin had done this. He glanced over his shoulder. “Thank ye, Sean. If ye don’t mind, I need to hurry. I’m not wanting the lass to worry if I’m late.”

“It’ll get easier once ye’re both accustomed to a routine.”

Routine? Marriage shouldn’t be reduced to something one did at the same time every day, like rising in the morning and washing one’s face.

It should be something special—two hearts that pledged to love one another for the rest of their lives.

Building a strong foundation to raise the family he hoped to have.

Sean told him, “Go to yer wife. Mignonette and Georgiana helped Lady Aurelia with a few of the finishing touches to yer cottage. As Harry was out in the field, she sent Bart over to lay the fire.”

Flaherty snorted. “Do ye know the first time I heard Michael married Harry, I thought to meself, well now, it’ll never work, as Michael always swore he wanted children, and as far as I know, two men… Well, I’m sure ye know what direction me mind went in.”

Sean grinned. “I think me brother enjoyed having a laugh at everyone’s expense simply because his wife preferred being called Harry instead of Harriet.”

“Only an O’Malley.” Flaherty met Sean’s intense look. “Please thank yer wife and Dermott’s, Bart, and Lady Aurelia for me. I have a feeling the viscount may want to speak to me about yesterday.”

“That I will.” Sean walked through the stable doors with him. He nodded when Flaherty swung into the saddle before adding a warning they used to use for one another back home: “Watch out for poachers.”

Flaherty was laughing as he followed the long driveway that would lead him to the road back to Mary Kate.

Lord willing, she would be ready and waiting for him to arrive.

He couldn’t wait to see her reaction to the surprise gift from the earl and countess—their new home among a cluster of cottages built for the married men of the duke’s guard and their wives.

The duke had started the tradition after Patrick O’Malley married the twins’ nanny, wanting the head of his guard to have a home of his own—not far from where his duties lay, but just far enough away to be able to relax and enjoy married life.

Flaherty was honored to be included among the married O’Malleys and Garahans who had already received the gift of a cottage.

Never in his wildest dreams had he envisioned working for the duke and his family, nor receiving such an extravagant, thoughtful gift.

His friends back home would never believe him.

Ah well, no matter. He had a beautiful wife, a lovely new cottage, and the rest of his life ahead of him.

What more could he possibly want?