Rowan exhaled sharply. “What troubles me most is the matchmaker herself,” he admitted. “She is only meant to find me a wife, yet my eldest takes to her as if she were family. Anthony... he likes her. Already. I fear she may prove a poor influence on him.”
Magnus let out a low, amused whistle. “You sound as if she has taken to corrupting him with scandal and vice,” he said, riding closer. “While I do not know the lady that well, my wife, her cousin, adores her. Dorothy would swear she could charm the birds from the trees and still leave the sparrows morally intact.”
Valentine nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. “Indeed. My own wife, Cecilia, is equally fond. The girl has her eccentricities, heaven knows that, but she is of a kind heart.”
Rowan’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Perhaps,” he conceded slowly before shaking his head. “But they are children. A boy canbe impressionable, and she is… unusual. She does not fit any pattern I have encountered. That unsettles me.”
Magnus leaned in. “Ah, truly, this is a rare spectacle. I have never seen you so rattled.”
Rowan shot him a look. “Rattled is not the word,” he said firmly. “Concerned. I am concerned. That is different. Nothing she does would unseat me entirely. But I cannot deny my unease. I have had more than a few encounters with her alone, and she is… unpredictable. Her words, her manner, entirely charming, yes, but occasionally questionable. I cannot decide if I wish such influence on Anthony.”
Valentine chuckled softly. “You make her sound like a firebrand.”
Rowan’s lips pressed into a line. “She once rolled in the garden with my youngest, mud and all, while laughing as though propriety were a ridiculous invention. She ran through the hallways with Anthony, shrieking with delight.”
Magnus laughed, leaning back in his saddle. “I am surprised you have not chased her away yourself, given your—how shall I put it—most exquisite sense of humor. You know, the one that usually leaves an unsuspecting audience both uncomfortable and perplexed?”
Rowan’s jaw twitched, though he fought a smile. “That sense of humor is highly refined and rarely fails to educate those who require it.”
Valentine snorted. “Educate or terrify?”
Magnus grinned. “Precisely. I cannot imagine what she must think of you, Duke. Perhaps she fears for her life, or perhaps she is plotting to make a match of you just to test your wit.”
Rowan’s eyes flicked toward the misty hedgerows, though his thoughts remained firmly on Lucy. “She is clever,” he admitted. “Too clever, and somehow, she has wormed herself into my household. It is unlike anything I have permitted before. I am not frightened; I am wary. That is all.”
Valentine laughed outright this time. “She seeks only to find a wife for you, Rowan. Just let her fulfill her duties, and she’ll be out of your estate in no time. From what I hear, she has no intentions to marry, so you need not worry about her influencing your sons. She won’t be around long enough to do that.”
Rowan let Valentine’s words drift past him, though they did little to ease the tight knot in his chest. Deep down, he found himself watching his sons in a new light. Anthony, so careful, so eager to please, now laughed with abandon. Daniel, who had always clung to order and routine, was suddenly daring, chasing a stick or a butterfly as though he had discovered some hidden delight.
He had not yet allowed himself to consider what it meant that he felt this way. He was not a man given to sentiment nor one inclined to dwell on the subtleties of affection. Yet the sight of his children playing freely with someone outside the family stirred something unfamiliar within him.
He still did not fully trust Lucy. Her manner was too bold, her wit too sharp, her jokes too reckless. She was a stranger, after all, with intentions that were neither his nor the household’s. But he could not deny that she had drawn something out of the boys, something he had not expected.
Rowan tightened his reins, forcing his thoughts back into order. Perhaps she was not the danger he feared. Perhaps she was, in some inscrutable way, good for them. But that did not mean he was ready to admit it. Not aloud, not even to himself. For now, he would observe.
He would remain cautious.
“I know it is supposed to remain in my head…” Anthony muttered, glaring at the open book as though it had personally offended him. “… but it refuses to stay there.”
Lucy had been searching for the Rowan for several minutes, moving through the different wings of the house with growing certainty that he had deliberately chosen to vanish, so he wouldn’t have to deal with her. She had decided to retreat when she reached the south wing study, but paused at the sound of a sigh coming from behind the desk.
At the small writing desk by the window sat Anthony, his shoulders hunched, a book spread open before him with wrinkled pages. His quill lay abandoned beside the inkpot, and his fingers pressed against his temples. Lucy slowed, curiosityovertaking her original purpose, and she took a step closer to ask why he looked so upset.
“You find it hard to understand what you’re reading?” Lucy asked.
Anthony sighed, long and weary for someone his age, and pressed his fingers flat against the page. “I keep thinking if I stare at it long enough, it will surrender.”
Lucy smiled. “Has it shown any signs of weakness?”
He looked up, startled, then gave a reluctant huff of laughter. “None at all.”
She came closer, not immediately sitting, merely resting a hand on the back of the opposite chair. “That is unfortunate. I find most problems are far more cooperative when intimidated.”
Anthony glanced at the book, then back at her. “It’s dates,” he said almost quietly, as though confessing to something mildly shameful. “They do not belong to anything. They’re just there. Father says they matter because they explain how things happened.”
“What do you think? Do they?” she asked.
Anthony hesitated. “Sometimes. Other times, they feel like numbers wearing important coats.”
