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don’t need love, I need a young widow, maybe with a child so I know she isn’t
barren, who’ll give me an heir and be grateful for the security.”
    “That’s a grim
view of the world, to be sure.” Francis said mildly. “I think spending too much
time with the oh-so-dull Hugh has soured you. You must certainly come to
Strancaster House where life will be more cheerful.”
    The colonel
stood and picked up his blue superfine coat, slipping into it while gazing at
his friend thoughtfully. “Speak to Lady Exencour first. I would not want to be
an interloper in your happy home.”
    “Nonsense. Strancaster
House has room for a dozen guests. You need not see us unless you choose to. You
will be no bother at all.”
    “I’ll come
tomorrow, then, if I do not hear otherwise from you. But I would not trespass
on your wife’s good graces.”
    “Isobel will
care not a whit. You might occasionally have to endure the company of Lady
Sophia, however; she is always in and out of the house,” Francis teased.
    “Is she?” Ranulf
raised his eyebrows. “Then I suppose I will have to find a way to tolerate her presence.”

Chapter 5
    The men left Gentleman
Jackson’s together, and Ranulf eventually turned towards his club, leaving Francis
to make his way back to Strancaster House. He went searching for Isobel, and
finally found her in the nursery where their daughter, Catherine, had just
fallen asleep. Isobel held a finger to her lips and led him from the room,
nodding to the nursemaid as she left.
    “I thought she
would never sleep,” she confided. “She is teething, and seemed utterly inconsolable
for some time.”
    Francis followed
her down the stairs and into a sitting room.
     “I am glad she
is sleeping, as it means you will fret less,” Francis said, wrapping an arm
around her waist. “I have to apologize to you for something I have done.”
    Isobel leaned
into him and laughed. “What is that? I cannot imagine you disappointing me.”
    “I don’t think
you’ll be disappointed in me, but you might be displeased. I have invited
Ranulf Stirling to stay with us.”
    “Ranulf
Stirling?” Isobel looked startled. “Why would you invite him here?”
    “He is staying
with his cousin.”
    Isobel wrinkled
her nose. “Hugh Stirling?”
    “You see?” said
Francis. “I felt the need to rescue him.”
    “Hugh is very
dull,” Isobel allowed. “But why would he wish to stay with us? He keeps to
himself these days, I’m told, and we have visitors coming and going all day
long. It is a pity he is so reclusive, I remember dancing with him long ago,
and very charming he was.”
    Francis nodded. “Yes,
he has eschewed Society for the past several years. I’ve never told you much
about him, as I seldom see him now. But when we were in the Peninsula, we were
good friends. He was an excellent officer—bold and dashing, but also thoughtful
of his men and as kind as he could be to the civilians. The Duke trusted him
implicitly, as did I.”
    Isobel glanced
up at this profile. “You seem to think very highly of him.”
    “I do.” Francis
shook his head slightly. “It is hard to explain how difficult it could be—the
mud, the cold, the sleepless nights, the death all around. Ranulf could always
be counted on for anything—whether military advice, a glass of whisky, a
cheerful tune or a friendly ear.”
    Isobel nodded. “I
didn’t realize how much he meant to you. What has happened that he seldom
leaves his home?”
    Francis gave her
a thoughtful look. “He would not wish me to tell you, so you must not betray my
confidence.”
    Isobel drew
herself up with mock indignation. “If you think so little of me, sir, you need
not tell me.”
    He leaned over
and kissed her lightly. “I think the world of you, which is why I am telling
you this. But Ranulf is very quiet about it. He would not want your pity.”
    “Then I shall
not pity him,” said Isobel simply. “He has no need for me to take care of