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I versley Village was the earl’s seat in Northamptonshire, a seven-hour journey from London.

The family estate, Chaumbers, comprised the Taverston ancestral home and several hundred acres of grounds adjacent to the village.

As Mercury loped up the long, beech-tree-lined drive, Crispin felt a slow unwinding of tension.

Chaumbers might belong solely to Jasper, the earl, but Crispin knew he would never be unwelcome.

It might not be home, but it would always be a haven.

Even so, it was no stately country house.

All agreed it appeared to have been dreamed up by a madman or a drunkard.

In fact, the blame belonged to Crispin’s grandfather and an erstwhile artist friend with ambition to be an architect.

It was the first residence the man had ever designed, and Grandfather’s interference in the planning might have ensured that the poor fellow was never tasked with another.

Built to restore an older house after a fire, Chaumbers’ four wings were neither symmetrical nor balanced in their proportions.

Windows of different sizes appeared haphazardly slapped over the front. Crispin grinned as it came into view.

At least it was unique.

He took Mercury to the stables, where George, the head groom, greeted him—Mercury, not Crispin—as an old friend. A clean, dry stall awaited him. The horse seemed as pleased to be back as Crispin was.

He spoke with George while watching him rub Mercury down, and learned that the earl and countess were in residence, and Mr. and Mrs. Carroll were at the steward’s cottage, but Mr. and Mrs. Taverston and the Dowager had not yet arrived.

He chuckled to think of Olivia as “Mrs. Carroll” and Georgiana as “Mrs. Taverston.” No doubt they were both queens in their own domains.

Someone must have run up to the house to alert Jasper, because he appeared while Crispin was talking to George about horses, primarily wondering at what age thoroughbreds started losing stamina and speed. And if it might not be a good idea to breed Mercury before he did.

“You are here. Good.” Jasper stuck out his hand, and Crispin shook it. No demonstrative affection in front of the stable hands.

“Did you think I wouldn’t come?”

“I laid no wagers one way or the other. Come on up to the house. Vanessa will be thrilled.”

They left the stables and walked the path to the house. The clean scent of grass and wildflowers flushed the stink of London from his nose, and everywhere he looked, he saw lush, thriving greenery.

“How long will you give us this time?” Jasper asked.

A flicker of stress rekindled between Crispin’s shoulder blades. He tried shrugging it away. “Not long enough for you to grow tired of me.”

Jasper didn’t smile. “We thought to have you a while in London. God, Crispin. Whatever compelled you to cart your old commander off like that?”

“The man can’t walk. His sister needed help getting him home.”

“But then you stayed with them all this time?”

“Not the whole time. Only until they were able to hire an attendant. Ha! Jasp, you won’t believe who. Adam. Adam, my old ‘valet.’ He’d been working at Chelsea Hospital.”

Jasper sniffed. “So you had a reunion with the old spy and your old commander.”

“A short one.” That was defensiveness speaking. He’d stayed with the Harringtons far too long. He took off his hat and pushed back sweaty hair, then donned it again. “He was my first superior officer, Jasp. He taught me a great deal. I owed him.”

He wouldn’t mention that the sister was young, pretty, and clever. She sang country ditties in an extraordinary contralto. And she wrote poetry. Jasper would laugh and tell him to turn around and go back. Crispin didn’t want to make Miss Harrington an object of fun.

He didn’t want to say that she was half the reason he’d stayed so long in Tonbridge. And half the reason he’d left.

Jasper said, “All well and good.” They mounted the front steps. The porter opened the door before Jasper knocked. “But please don’t run off again.”

Vanessa rushed into the entrance hall. “Crispin! Oh, how wonderful! We’ll send word to the cottage. Olivia will be so pleased.”

He hugged his sister-in-law. Then Jasper grasped him by the elbow.

“Come up to my study. While I have you alone.”

Crispin knew he could not avoid this forever. Jasper was using his “earl voice.” So he snickered and said, “Yes, my lord .”

The study looked comfortably official, no different than it had in Father’s day, except for Jasper’s new brown leather chair, a nod to Reg’s uncharacteristic burst of sentiment.

Reg had not liked seeing Jasper in Father’s seat.

Crispin dropped onto a couch facing the desk, laced his fingers together, and said, “You may ask, but I have no answers.”

“How do you know when I haven’t asked?” Irritation slipped into Jasper’s tone. He was generally an even keeled man, but Crispin knew how to needle him.

“You want to know what my plans are. I can’t tell you because I don’t know.”

“What are you thinking, then? You must be thinking something. You always are.” Jasper moved to a wall cabinet and pulled out a bottle of brandy. He waggled it at Crispen. “Yes? Or no?”

“No.” He waited while Jasper poured a drink for himself. He supposed there was no harm in telling Jasper some of it. And thereby spare himself a grilling. “I thought I might stay on half pay and live an idle life in London.”

“Would you?” Jasper’s lips bunched skeptically, but his eyes looked more hopeful than doubtful. He sat down. “Not be idle. I don’t believe that, but to stay in London?”

“I went to Albany on Piccadilly to see about leasing a set, but they had nothing available. So that ruled out London.”

“There are other apartments.” He spoke very carefully. “Or you could keep your rooms—”

“I won’t live in your home, Jasper. Would you live in mine?”

He frowned. “Well, but why does it have to be Albany?”

Crispin feigned a disbelieving huff. “It is the toniest building for bachelor gentlemen in all of London. It is where Lord Byron lives!”

“Which does nothing to recommend it. What about your cottage in Binnings? I thought you’d be heading there.”

“I did, too, but I was distracted by my mission of mercy. I will probably go there from here.” He drummed his fingers on his knees, a nervous tic he sometimes forgot to suppress.

Jasper narrowed his eyes at Crispin’s knees, then raised his gaze to peer into his face. “What is the alternative? If you don’t go to Binnings?”

He sighed. He was divulging more than he wished. And yet, he wasn’t likely saying anything Jasper could not have guessed for himself. “I could go back on full pay and see where they send me.”

Jasper leaned forward, forearms on his desk. “Obviously, I would prefer that you don’t.”

“Or”—he drew a deep breath—“I could take the position Wellington wishes me to take. Attaché at the embassy in Paris.” There . He’d confided all. He braced for a storm of unwanted advice.

“Which would mean what? Errand boy? Courier? Advisor?” Jasper’s brow darkened. “Or spy? I thought you’d be finished with—”

“I was never a spy, Jasper. I was a soldier. Sometimes I gathered information.”

“Will you be ‘gathering information’ in Paris?”

Crispin shrugged. “My French is good. And I am an aristocrat. I’d be well-positioned to circulate in the restored Bourbon court.” Jasper looked more and more disturbed. “Jasp, I would just be listening to gossip.”

Until the War Office needed something foul to be done.

“France is still volatile. And you’ll recall aristocrats in the previous Bourbon court lost their heads.”

“I’m an Englishman. I’ll be safe enough.

” He grimaced involuntarily. “From everything but the food.” He shook his head.

“France is my last choice. In fact, I intended to speak with Wellington to decline, but I couldn’t get an interview.

He is trotted from one celebration to the next.

” Crispin stood. Sharing confidences agitated him, but having started, he couldn’t stop.

He paced a few steps. “I left my calling card, and he sent a letter two days later telling me to be at the embassy in Paris on September fifteenth.”

“The deuce.” Jasper harrumphed. “I don’t suppose you could decline in a letter?”

“Bad form.” Crispin grinned ruefully, though he didn’t feel like grinning.

He still felt thwarted by Wellington’s elusiveness.

“I almost did write a refusal, but then had second thoughts. It is the most interesting option.” He wiggled his eyebrows, attempting to lighten the mood.

“French women are said to be beautiful and licentious.”

The study door flew open, and Olivia came running in.

“Crispin! You’re here! We had such a wonderful honeymoon in Binnings.

Oh, but your cottage is a disaster. Benjamin kept finding things he wanted to fix, but I reminded him how annoyed you were when Jasper had the new stove installed.

You have to come see our cottage. It’s done up beautifully.

You brought Mercury back, didn’t you? Can I ride him?

You do know he should be mine.” She paused to catch her breath.

“Livvy, you staid old matron! Marriage has wrought wonders. I almost didn’t know it was you.”

Her eyes widened. Then she punched his shoulder and laughed. “Vanessa said to come fetch you both for supper. What does ‘licentious’ mean?”

*

Crispin picked at the supper offerings, finding little he dared eat. It wasn’t Vanessa’s fault, or Cook’s. They hadn’t known to expect him. Fortunately, the lively conversation distracted him from his hunger.