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and Long straightened as the Duchess of Avalon appeared.
    “Your Grace, my apologies.” Kendall bowed deeply, even though a grin still curved his lips.
    “No need for false apologies, William. I plan to be there when you must eat your words. Both of you!” she added with a speaking glance at her eldest son, before lovingly cupping his chin with her graceful fingers.
    Only when he responded with a careless shrug and a kiss upon her cheek did she float into the room. Her black lace gown set off her white hair, which contrasted dramatically with the bold black eyes her sons had inherited. At fifty-three, the duchess was still a beautiful woman.
    “Mother, I fear the party has adjourned to my bedchamber.” Matt smiled, kissing her cheek. Instantly he was transported back to childhood by the essence of rose clinging to her. At bedtime, or whenever he was afraid or lonely, he would be comforted within her arms and surrounded by that scent. “I know you haven’t come to wear the willow over me.”
    “Why bother? She knows you for the stubborn idealist you are!” Long barked out, bringing all eyes to where he lounged against the door. “Mother is well versed in the ways of our world. This goes beyond even its usual lunacy.”
    Recognizing the thread of concern in Long’s practiced boredom, Matt stilled his edge of anger, but he wondered when he would cease being the little brother. “Mother, isn’t it amazing Long and I had the same tutors, read the same books, attended the same school at Oxford, yet we see our world so differently?”
    “My darlings, it is perfectly understandable.” Her light, musical laughter healed his anger and even brought a reluctant smile to Long’s mocking mouth. “You are both intelligent men who know there is more than one avenue to the same place. Each of your paths is unique, as befits my sons.”
    “Mother, please! Kendall hasn’t realized he is surrounded by bluestockings.” Matt couldn’t help but smile at his friend’s befuddled expression.
    “Don’t know about paths or avenues, Your Grace,” Kendall retorted in all seriousness. “But Matt reads more than any man on the Peninsula. Not just battle plans, but poetry!” He spoke the word as if it were peculiarly loathsome, and Matt couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of embarrassment. “Byron! Can’t abide the stuff, myself. Too prosy for my taste.”
    Her Grace narrowed her eyes, regarding Kendall with that certain expression that boded ill. “I shall send a packet of literature for you to read on your journey back to the Peninsula. The volumes will surely improve the tone of your mind. I expect to discuss them when next we meet, William.”
    Thoroughly chastened, Kendall could do naught but bow and hastily empty his glass of port the minute she turned back to Matt.
    “Have you made any progress in improving the tone of Cecily’s mind?” Matt asked, hoping to distract his mother’s attention from his hapless friend.
    “Speaking of your sister. She’s—”
    Whatever his mother had been about to say was forever lost when the subject flew into the room to cast herself upon Matt’s chest. He lifted her up in the air, swinging her around, her delightful laughter as musical as their mother’s. Six months short of seventeen, Cecily was already a beauty. Next year at her come-out, her thick white gold hair and contrasting sherry eyes would make her a reigning beauty; for now she was still his little sister. Setting her back on her dainty slippers, Matt kissed the tip of her nose before releasing her.
    She danced over to Long, who tugged at one long gold curl, which Matt’s whirling her about the room had loosened from its rosy ribbon. “When are they letting you put your hair up, brat?”
    “Long, it is so vexing! You
must
talk to mother. She says I can’t attend Matt’s betrothal party because I haven’t yet had my come-out.”
    “Sorry, poppet, Mother’s right. It would cause unwanted attention.” Matt was