“That would be splendid, Master Alexander,” replied Charlotte’s brother. “I should very much like to see it.”
Raven offered the dowager his arm. “The grass is still a little slippery with dew, Aunt Alison.”
“That’s very gentlemanly of you, Master Thomas,” murmured Wolcott—which caused an odd little sound to rumble in Raven’s throat.
Charlotte recognized it as a swallowed snigger. “Actually, Hartley, the boys prefer being called by their avian nicknames.”
“Avian?”He shot her a quizzical look. “I thought you called them Weasels. Which are in the same phylum as birds, but a different class.”
Raven and Hawk started to chortle.
She eyed them sternly. “Don’t be impertinent. Please explain yourselves to Lord Wolcott.”
“On all the fancy official papers, my name is given as Thomas Ravenwood Sloane,” said Raven. “But I’ve always been called Raven.”
“And mine is given as Alexander Hawksley,” chirped his younger brother. “But—”
“But let me guess,” said Wolcott. “You are called Hawk.”
The boy grinned. “Yes, sir.”
“Well, that’s a very fine pair of names.” A smile rippled through his eyes as he set Charlotte’s hand on his sleeve. “Shall we all flap our wings and head to the evergreens?”
Flanked by both boys, the dowager set off at a brisk walk, while Charlotte and her brother followed at a more leisurely pace, with McClellan and the footman bringing up the rear with the picnic hampers.
“They are very fine lads,” remarked Hartley. “I look forward to them meeting their cousins.” A smile curled the corner of his mouth. “It will be nice for Geoffrey to have such well-behaved older boys setting a good example of gentlemanly deportment.”
“You may revise your thinking,” drawled Charlotte, “when they show him how to make stinkbombs.”
A peal of laughter. “I’m glad to hear they aren’t too perfect.” Hartley made a wry face. “Come, come—the smell can’t be so bad. It’s not as if they have access to—”
“Oh, trust me—the stink is far worse than you can imagine,” she interjected. “Remember, Wrexford is a chemist.” A pause. “And he has a very peculiar sense of humor.”
Another chuckle. “Ah. Thank you for the warning.” A pause. “I take it Wrexford and the boys rub along well together?”
“Exceedingly well,” answered Charlotte. “The bonds may not be forged by blood, but they are no less elemental.”
“Alison clearly dotes on them as well,” he observed.
“And they adore her.”
“With good reason. She’s always understood that individuals have different temperaments and different dreams. And that no amount of raging or punishment will change that.” Hartley tucked her hand a little more firmly into the crook of his arm. “It makes me so profoundly happy that we have all managed to reunite as a family.”
Family.
Charlotte watched a lone hawk circling high overhead, a solitary black speck against the vast expanse of the cloud-dotted sky.
The reckless flight to Rome . . . the death of my husband . . . the daunting challenge of finding a way to survive on my own. . .
Never in her wildest dreams had she allowed herself to think the terrible rift with those she had left behind could ever be repaired.
“I am fortunate beyond words.” Halting abruptly, she turned and wrapped him in a quick, impulsive hug. “You are the very best of brothers, Hart. I love you dearly.”
“Well, er . . .” A flush colored his face as he stuttered for words, tongue-tied between delight and embarrassment. “By Jove, Charlie, I love you dearly, too.” A cough. “Always have.”
Charlotte took his arm once again, and they resumed walking, a companionable silence settling over them as Wolcott allowed his gaze to wander admiringly over the surrounding plantings. A hail from Hawk soon drew them off the main walkway and into the glade of evergreen specimens.
“Would you like for me to show you thePinus armandiifrom Cathay, Lord Wolcott?” he added as he darted around a thickly needled bush.
