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“Your children certainly have grown since the last time I saw them,” Frederick said to his sister, Penelope, the following afternoon.

The two were seated on a bench beneath the shade of an oak tree in her well-tended garden, watching her three oldest children playing on the lawn, while her youngest, two-year-old Jasper, burbled nonsense from her lap.

“They certainly have,” Penelope said. “Gretchen just turned ten this summer, and never have I met a more headstrong, opinionated girl.” An affectionate smile plumped her freckled cheeks, and her dark blue eyes twinkled with pride. “I have exceedingly high hopes for her.”

Frederick chuckled, gazing out at the children. “And what about Willie?” he asked, as his oldest nephew chased his sisters across the grass and through the hedgerows. “Is he as headstrong as Gretchen?”

“Oh, no. Willie is my introspective child. He questions everything and will not rest until he finds the answer. And Cathy is my bookworm chatterbox. She can be quite shy, but once she knows you, she’ll talk both your ears off if you let her.”

Frederick nodded. “I experienced that for myself at breakfast. She taught me more than I thought there was to know about the classifications of rocks.”

Penelope laughed, her arms tightening around Jasper as her shoulders shook with mirth. “Welcome to my world, Freddy. Welcome to my world.”

He smiled, his gaze falling on his little nephew with the wispy brown curls and dimpled cheeks. “Jasper looks a lot like your William, doesn’t he?”

Penelope had given the Darrington blue eyes and coal-black hair to all her children save Jasper, who had inherited his father’s green eyes and light brown locks.

“Yes, he does,” she said, looking down at her son. “He looks more like his father every day, it seems. Sometimes this look will come across his face, a stubborn look that reminds me of William whenever he was close to losing an argument.” Her smile faded a bit and her eyes grew misty.

“I’m sorry, Pen,” Frederick said, reaching over to lay a hand on her arm. “It isn’t fair, William leaving you like he did.”

It was an odd way of phrasing it, he knew, as if William’s absence was of his own doing, instead of an unfortunate accident involving his horse. But for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to say that William had died. It felt kinder, somehow, to say that he’d left.

Whether it was kinder to himself or to his sister, he didn’t know.

“It isn't fair, no,” Penelope said with a sniffle. “It’s been over a year, though, Freddy. I feel as though my days of crying ought to have ended by now.”

Her gaze flitted to his, searching yet vulnerable, and Frederick knew what she wanted to hear.

“That’s silly, Pen. William was your husband, and you loved him.” He squeezed her arm. “You mourn for him as long as you need to, hm?”

A grateful smile turned her lips. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

She looked down at her son and kissed his cheek before bouncing him on her knee, which earned an ear-splitting peal of joyous baby giggles.

Frederick couldn’t help but laugh, too.

“I’ve missed you, you know,” she said a moment later, and though she was looking at Jasper, Frederick knew the words were for him. “I’m so glad you’re here, even if there was an ulterior motive to your visit.”

Frederick’s stomach sank with dread, and he shifted uneasily in his seat. Penelope had granted him a reprieve yesterday, but apparently that reprieve had come to an end.

“A married woman, Freddy?” Her gaze met his, the weight of her stare cumbersome. “What on earth were you thinking?”

“An unhappily married woman,” he said, though he knew it would make not a bit of difference to her, nor should it. Unhappy or not, Serena was married, and he knew trifling with her was wrong, but he’d done it anyway.

“Married is married,” Penelope said firmly. “And you were raised to comport yourself with decency and honor.”

He sighed. His sister always had known just how to twist the knife.

“I know that,” he grumbled.

She raised one brow.

“I know, Pen,” he repeated.

“Then why did you do it?”

Because I wanted to.

Because I could.

But all he said was, “I don’t know. It simply happened.”

Penelope snorted. “Twaddle. One doesn’t simply fall into an affair, Freddy. It requires active participation and subterfuge.”

She was right, of course, but the affair with Serena truly had required little effort on his part.

She’d been the pursuer, and she’d pursued him rather vigorously.

He was flattered by the attention, and rather bored with his life, so he’d thought, Why not?

He’d never bedded a married woman before, and Serena was a famed beauty, and rumored to be an enthusiastic bedmate—which proved to be true, by the by.

Of course, Penelope wouldn’t want to know that, nor did he care to tell her.

Indeed, he would rather fart in front of the Queen than talk about sex with his sister, favorite or not. The idea made him feel quite ill.

“I am aware you are something of a rogue, Freddy,” Penelope said quietly, “but even you must admit it was not well done of you. Mother wrote to me after the gossip reached her ears—did you know that? She blamed herself, and lamented her own behavior the whole letter through, asking where she went wrong with you. You’ve disappointed her dreadfully. ”

“I know I have,” he said with a bite to his voice that Penelope did not deserve. “Robert already gave me this lecture, and I am well and truly contrite.”

His sister gave a disapproving sniff. “Are you?”

“I am.”

“And it won’t happen again?”

“It won’t,” he replied. “I promise.”

“Good. You are fortunate, you know, that you came away from this relatively unscathed. I should hate to think what might have happened if—”

“Mama! Mama! ”

A shrill little cry rent the air, interrupting Penelope’s lecture, and Frederick turned as Willie called for his mother again, his voice a squeak as he struggled to break free from his sister, whose skinny arms were wrapped around his neck.

“Gretchen! Release your brother at once!” Penelope called out.

“But, Mama, he called me a smelly toad!” Gretchen’s voice was hot with indignation.

“You are a smelly toad,” Willie grunted, perhaps unwisely considering his position.

“I am not ,” his sister argued, still holding onto his neck. “I do not smell, and if anyone resembles a toad, it’s you . With your toady eyes and fishy lips, it’s a wonder we haven’t released you back into the wild.”

Frederick had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing, though Penelope did not seem amused. Of course, as their mother, she undoubtedly bore witness to scenes like this every day, which must grow wearisome.

“Here,” Penelope said with a sigh as she handed Jasper to Frederick. “Do not drop him, please. I’ll be back in a moment.”

And off she went to mediate her older children, leaving Frederick alone with the chubby little drooler on his lap.

“Well,” he said, a bit awkwardly, “what shall we talk about, tiny man? Horses? Women? Politics?” He wrinkled his nose. “No. Not politics.”

Jasper blew a raspberry and reached his hands out to curl all ten of his undoubtedly sticky fingers around Frederick’s cravat. A beaming, gap-toothed smile plumped his round, rosy cheeks as he wrinkled the formerly-pristine white silk.

Frederick smiled, and he was not so hardened that he could not admit his heart melted a little. Jasper was an endearing little lad, and so were his siblings, as Frederick had discovered last night at dinner.

He’d spent very little time with his sister’s children over the years, a reality that was entirely of his own making.

He’d always been too busy to visit, too wrapped up in his own life—his self-gratifying lifestyle—to bother with visiting his family.

Somehow, he’d become this selfish, self-absorbed person he barely recognized, and he didn’t know if the change had been gradual, or if he’d always been this way and was only now seeing it.

Either way, he didn’t much like the man he was now or the life he’d been leading these last few years. He was weary of it— bored of it—and he wanted to leave it all behind.

He would leave it all behind, only he had no idea what to do with himself if he did.

He sighed, and shoved the troubling thoughts away for another day, turning his attention to his nephew again, who was now chewing on his cravat with vigor.

Chuckling, he reached out to extricate the fine silk from Jasper’s mouth but was distracted by the sudden appearance of his sister’s butler, Higgins, who walked past him to speak with Penelope, his words too soft for Frederick to hear.

“Oh, yes, it’s Tuesday, isn’t it?” Penelope said. “I’d nearly forgotten. Please ask Miss Grayling to join us out here, Higgins, and take the children inside with you. Their playroom must be tidied up or there will be no dessert after dinner.”

The butler bowed amidst the children’s chorus of groans, but as Higgins headed back toward the house, Gretchen, Willie and Cathy dutifully followed.

“I hope you do not mind the interruption, Freddy,” Penelope said, standing beside the bench with her eye on the house. “Miss Grayling is my dearest friend, and she comes every Tuesday to take tea with me.”

“Of course I don’t mind,” he replied. “Shall I excuse myself early?”

“Only if you think there’s a chance you’ll misbehave.”

Frederick’s brows flicked up. “Why would I misbe-”

“Lily!” Penelope stepped toward the house, a warm smile on her lips. “How lovely to see you. Come, join us.”

Etiquette dictated Frederick must stand, but he did so slowly, cradling his nephew firmly in his arms.

He turned to meet this Miss Grayling, only to discover his sister’s dearest friend was none other than the prickly innkeeper he’d met yesterday on the road. She wore another simple gown today, this one a muted green, and again no bonnet, her thick ebony braid coiled atop her head.