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and this time poured himself a cup immediately. “Devlin was raised with us, at least from the age of five on. Their Graces love him as if he were one of their legitimate sons. They saw to it he had the best of everything, and bought him his colors when Bart joined up, no questions asked. But he still felt second-rate, as if he were on probation…”
    Val stopped and glared at his tea.
    Rather than allow him to maunder on, Nick took pity on his friend. “Your point?”
    “Your father isn’t solely responsible for the fact that you and Ethan haven’t made much progress recovering your friendship,” Val said. “Devlin was stuck, thinking himself unnecessary to us, when he could not have been more wrong.”
    “But my family is not the Windhams,” Nick said. “We have no duchess humanizing us, no matriarch to smooth over Bellefonte’s many rough edges. Ethan is not necessary to us—he will not allow himself to be—and I’m not sure there is an us .”
    Val smiled, a sweet smile the ladies found irresistible. “You are ridiculous. The Haddonfields sport a great deal of ‘us.’ Beckman has followed you all over southern England. George and Dolph can’t get a grade on an exam without you knowing about it. Your grandmother knows before your head hits the pillow exactly how many dances you stood up for and with whom. You remember every sister’s birthday, and her favorite flowers and colors. What is Beckman up to, by the way?”
    Nick scowled at his plate, from which a significant portion of eggs and toast had disappeared, Nick knew not how. “Still rusticating. The earl sent him down to Portsmouth to look in on Three Springs for Grandmother. I don’t think he’s in any hurry to take up Town life, and I can give him one of my estates in Kent when I’m forced to reside at Belle Maison.”
    But not both estates. Beckman could have Clover Down. Title to Blossom Court would always remain in Nick’s hands, no matter what.
    “You’re frowning again,” Val said. “I hadn’t taken you for such an introspective fellow.”
    “Must be the full moon. You up for a trip to Kent?”
    “Of course, if there’s a piano to be played along the way.”
    “I’ll send the requisite notes to my staff.” Nick felt a lift to his mood at the prospect of leaving London. “And ring for more tea, would you? Somebody drank the entire damned pot while you were picking my feeble brains.”
    ***
    Leah did not hurry toward the park, but oh, Lord, she wanted to. She’d tossed away half the night, thinking she should send Reston a note telling him to leave her in peace. Or a note telling him today did not suit, or a note telling him…
    Sending notes safely was no more possible now in Wilton House than it had been eight years ago, so she was going to wave him off in person. Emily didn’t want to marry the man, and Leah had to admit the girl had a point. Reston was the largest specimen of humanity Leah had ever seen; he had muscles on top of muscles, and such tremendous height. For the first time, it occurred to her that not just her father’s servants, but anybody in the park would know she’d met with Reston. Between his height, his golden hair, and his gentleman’s manners, he was that distinctive.
    Gads. What had she been thinking?
    “Good morning.” Reston’s pleasant baritone sounded to her left when she’d been on the bench beside the pond for only a few minutes. “Lady Leah? Yes, it is you. We met earlier this week, I believe, along with your dear sister, Lady Emily. May I join you?”
    Leah nodded and found herself once again sitting beside the compilation of muscle, charm, and masculine appeal that was Viscount Reston.
    “I sent my footman off to purchase some bread for the ducks,” Leah said, her tone clipped. “We haven’t privacy for long.”
    “Then I will reserve the flirtation and flattery for later. Has Hellerington called upon Wilton yet?”
    “He has an appointment Friday next,” Leah said, hating the