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He laughed and took the bundle. The baby yawned without waking. Gazing at the perfect round head and pink mouth, his heart softened. He’d been nine years old when his mother had placed baby Olivia in his arms. Now, he felt the same drowning surge of love he’d felt then.

“He’s tiny.”

“He’s not even four weeks old.”

Ah. That was what took them so long. A very forgivable delay.

However, the little creature started squirming and his eyes popped open.

Crispin handed his near-namesake quickly back to Olivia.

Then he turned to Reg and Georgiana, who had two babies to present.

Reg had taken Arthur from a nursemaid. The fellow was gigantic compared to how he had been when Crispin had first met him.

Georgiana held Randolph. Crispin smoothed his hand over one nephew’s head, then the other.

“Good show, Georgiana,” he said, wondering if Jasper would now hound him to have that embarrassing talk with Reg about French letters.

Then he embraced Vanessa. As he was doing so, she whispered to him, “I am here if you need to…to talk.”

Alone among the other Taverstons, Vanessa truly understood war.

She had followed the drum on the peninsula and had fled the French army while retreating pell-mell to Corunna.

She’d lost her first husband there. She would read the published accounts and understand.

But even she could not know . Not Waterloo.

“I might,” Crispin whispered back. “Thank you.” But he didn’t want to burden her. She was surrounded by baby Taverstons. None of them were hers and Jasper’s. He added, “I can listen , too.”

She nodded and stepped back, so that Crispin’s mother could approach.

Mother put her hands on his shoulders and studied him. “Will we go through this again, Crispin?”

He shook his head. “I’ve resigned my commission.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. “Thank God.”

He hugged her tight, then released her. He glanced around, feeling empty armed, as he scanned his burgeoning family. Someone was missing. He tried to tell himself it was Hazard and Alice, but it was not. Surrounded by his loved ones, he was nevertheless alone.

*

After a long visit in the parlor, during which babies were carried off, then brought back, then carried off again, and eventually tea was served and then cleared, Jasper rose and asked Crispin to accompany him to White’s.

He pointed out that the parents in the group were used to country hours and were beginning to droop.

Crispin changed into evening clothes and followed Jasper. His brother evidently wished to speak with him alone.

As they strolled along the darkening London streets, Jasper said, “I’m impressed with that knot in your cravat.”

“I have a new valet. Gerald.”

“I saw him in the hall. He seems rather conventional.”

Crispin laughed. “Yes, well, that is what I am striving toward now.”

“Good luck.” Jasper flashed him a grin, then said, “I’d like to put your name up for membership. Hazard is going to ask you to join Brooks’s. You may join both. But you absolutely must be a member of White’s.”

Crispin tensed. “And why is that? Will it look bad if your brother joins a different club?”

“No, idiot. Because I’ve missed you. And I’d rather not have to join Brooks’s to spend time with you.”

Crispin laughed. He wanted to comment ironically, but could think of no comment to make. Instead, he said, “I’d hoped you would bring Mercury to London.”

“Mercury is my lure to bring you back to Chaumbers when we go.”

“Ha! You’re getting good at this.”

As they walked, Crispin asked about Vanessa’s health. Jasper confided that they had been abstinent for a few months, but would soon try again. Crispin did not confess that he had been abstaining as well, for no explicable reason.

“What about French letters?” he asked.

Jasper shook his head. “The doctor recommended complete abstinence.” Then he grinned. “Fortunately, there are ways around that.”

“And Reg? Did you talk to him?”

“I did.”

“Was it awkward?”

“Not so very. I didn’t go to him. He asked me.” Jasper snickered. “He was very grateful when I explained.”

Crispin laughed. It was not actually funny, but he laughed. It relieved him of a burden. He had purchased one such French letter, at a very dear price, from a fellow officer, just in case the duty of telling Reg fell to him.

They talked about Chaumbers, and how well Benjamin and Olivia were doing, until they reached White’s and went in.

The décor was all dark wood and bold patterned wallpaper, with gold-and-blue trim.

Windows were shuttered against any nighttime disruptions from outside.

Lamps burned along the walls. Bookshelves and racks holding broadsheets beckoned.

As they walked through the dining hall, Crispin was obligated to take a glass of sherry and accept the congratulatory comments of several of Jasper’s friends, before he and Jasper were able to find two empty armchairs near a window.

They hadn’t been seated more than three minutes before Lord Kelley came up and asked Jasper for a word.

He stiffened, nodded, then rose to walk off with him.

A political disagreement, no doubt. Crispin sipped from his glass, aware he should rise and find some fellows to talk to, but he was afraid to be asked about Waterloo.

He watched a short, jovial-looking, dark-haired fellow cross the room and head in his direction. He didn’t know the man, so was relieved when a group of three men seated in a cluster behind him rose in greeting.

“Lord Stirling! Good evening.”

There was much back slapping and hand shaking before the four men sat down. The name Stirling scratched at Crispin’s memory. He had no business eavesdropping—he was no longer a spy. But it irked him that he could not place the name.

“We didn’t think you’d make it tonight. Don’t you have a guest?”

“My wife’s guest. Lady Stirling practically threw me out of the house so they could continue to gossip unmolested.” Lord Stirling laughed. Then stopped abruptly. “It’s a sad case, actually. Lady Bodwell is an old friend. She deserves better than so much misfortune.”

Crispin’s grip tightened on his glass. He remembered now. The Stirlings were Camellia’s London friends. What misfortune?

“Lady Bodwell?” Another of the men mused. “Is she not Colonel Harrington’s sister?”

“Yes. She married Sir Bodwell from Tonbridge.”

“The colonel passed recently, as I recall, didn’t he?”

“Yes, poor soul.”

Damn . It was no surprise, Crispin thought, but sad, nevertheless. He was tempted to turn around and insert himself into the conversation, but then his eavesdropping would be evident, and what he was doing was rude. If he got himself blackballed, Jasper would be furious.

“Bodwell has always been sickly, hasn’t he?” asked the same man.

“I never knew him,” Lord Stirling said. “But I suppose he must have been. From what I understand, it was a marriage of convenience. Bodwell’s property was entailed.”

“Ah.” The stranger’s tone grew solemn. “Past tense?”

Harrington and Bodwell both? Crispin’s chest grew heavy.

Another voice piped up. “Couldn’t do the trick before he died?”

“Well, that’s the worst of it.” Lord Stirling cleared his throat. “There was a babe. A boy. But he came much too early and didn’t survive.”

Oh, God, poor Camellia . That first thought was followed immediately by a flash of unease. He counted back the months —a fog of illness and laudanum, but, surely… came much too early . Too early to survive. Relief overwhelmed his pity. His conscience was clear of this at least.

“Bodwell’s cousin is apparently a rogue. So Lady Bodwell fled to us.”

Crispin drained his glass and set it down. He felt sick. Camellia had far more than her share of misfortune.

“The blazes!” said one of the men. “That’s too bad. How long will you have her?”

“I don’t know,” Lord Stirling said. “She has nothing.” Crispin could imagine him shrugging, pretending a lack of concern, though he could not be pleased with being saddled with his wife’s friend.

“Didn’t Harrington leave her anything?”

“There was a house, but Bodwell sold it to pay the old fellow’s debts.” Stirling paused. “I don’t mind having her, of course. My wife says she is as close as a sister. So, there we are.”

“Is she pretty, at least? Decorative?”

“Now, now, none of that.” Then Stirling laughed. “She’s quite a beauty, actually. But bad luck follows her so closely, I’m almost afraid to have her in the house.”

Jasper returned. Stone-faced. “Kelley is an idiot.” He sat down, then stood back up. He nodded at Crispin’s empty glass. “Let’s go to a tavern. Or a coffee house if you’d rather.” He stopped. “Is something wrong?”

Crispin stood up and glanced at the men behind him to burn their faces in his memory. He was going to have to pay a call on Camellia to offer his condolences. He could do nothing less. Good God!

“Crispin?” Jasper said. “Is there something wrong?”

“Nothing. A coffee house would be better.”