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visibly startled for the first time in his life.
    Rising to her feet and extracting her spectacles, she advanced upon Mr. Rochester and inspected him. “I do declare, you are Mr. Miles Rochester, are you not?”
    “I am,” Mr. Rochester replied. He had the posture and tone of a perfect gentleman, much more elegant and composed than Lord Loxley and his tendency to fidget, a habit which even Lady Mathilda Loxley had not been able to break. “And a pleasure to see you looking so well, Lady Loxley.”
    “A pity about your family,” said Lady Mathilda Loxley.
    Lord Loxley saw Mr. Rochester’s jaw tense briefly, but he remained calm and proud. He looked breathtakingly handsome and noble when his pride had been stung, and Lord Loxley bit the inside of his cheek so that he wouldn’t smile at how endearing it was.
    Lady Mathilda Loxley returned to her seat. “Are you here with my great-nephew on a visit?”
    She had known, while Fitzhenry was at university, of their acquaintance, but Fitzhenry had been careful to present the friendship as nothing more than a shared circle of friends. Lady Mathilda Loxley had disapproved, of course, but she had enough refinement that her disapproval was focused primarily on Baron Rochester’s shamefully liberal Republican politics; secondly on Mrs. Rochester’s scandalous associations with artists and bohemians; and only ever through subtle, slantwise intimation of Mrs. Rochester’s unknown Caribbean heritage.
    “Mr. Rochester has accepted a position as my personal valet,” Lord Loxley explained.
    Lady Mathilda Loxley’s lips pressed together in disapproval. “I see. Well, perhaps we might speak privately, Fitzhenry.”
    Stern and cold though Mr. Rochester might be, Lord Loxley felt much more confident facing his great-aunt Mathilda while Mr. Rochester was standing near him. Drawing upon that confidence, he lifted his chin. “Mr. Rochester is my trusted valet and his father remains a member of the peerage.” Lord Loxley hoped he was correct in that, since he had not yet been able to extract from Mr. Rochester the current status of his parents. “I prefer that he stay.”
    Lady Mathilda Loxley’s disapproval increased exponentially. Lord Loxley strove not to quaver under her gaze, and hoped that Mr. Rochester would remain by his side in the face of Lady Mathilda Loxley’s wrath.
    Mr. Rochester stepped forward and drew out the second chair set at the table. As Lord Loxley settled into it, Mr. Rochester’s hand skimmed discreetly over his back. Utterly inappropriate for a valet, but very reassuring to Fitzhenry Loxley. Mr. Rochester maintained his place standing behind Lord Loxley’s left shoulder, with a hand resting on the back of Lord Loxley’s chair. Lord Loxley felt that Mr. Rochester was not so much attending as a valet ought, but supervising and guarding Fitzhenry Loxley like a possessive lover. He hoped that Lady Mathilda Loxley would not notice the distinction, and felt quite certain that if Mr. Rochester’s pride and possessiveness were any greater, that hand would be resting on his shoulder rather than the back of the chair, even under the disapproving gaze of Lady Mathilda Loxley.
    “You’ll be glad to know, Fitzhenry,” said Lady Mathilda Loxley, as Lord Loxley poured himself a cup of tea and reached for a cube of sugar, “that I have selected you a wife.”
    Lord Loxley dropped his cube of sugar into the little jug of milk. Lady Mathilda Loxley didn’t notice, but Lord Loxley heard Mr. Rochester stifle a cough. “A wife?”
    “Yes,” Lady Mathilda Loxley sipped imperiously at her own tea. “It’s really high time you were married, Fitzhenry, however much you have been enjoying being a gentleman scholar.”
    Lord Loxley decided it was best not to correct her on the subject that his current aspirations leaned more toward the term ‘confirmed bachelor’, which the obituaries always seemed to use when referring to a happily unmarried gentleman who had always