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Laura, standing amid the primroses and tulips with her heart doing something complicated and unwise, found she could not have put it better herself.

“I like the sound of that,” she said, passing the girl to Miss Borden.

Mrs. Sweppers reappeared then, dusting her hands on her apron. “Now, how about that tour, Your Grace?” she suggested with a smile.

Nathaniel found Everett at their usual table at White’s by early evening, a brandy in hand.

“I should’ve known you’d be here,” he said with a smirk.

“I came back here shortly after our ride.”

“I see.”

“You’ve been in the country so long, my friend,” Everett said, waving him into the opposite chair. “Please tell me you have come back entirely reformed. I would welcome this change wholeheartedly.”

“Reformed is a strong word.” Nathaniel signaled the waiter for a brandy. “Improved, perhaps.”

“Improved?” Everett studied him with clear curiosity. “You look it, which is deeply unsettling. Marriage agrees with you. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Don’t make it stranger than it is.”

“I’m certainly making it. You look like a man who’s had an actual decent week for… once in three years.” Everett’s teasing gentled, just slightly. “All thanks to one particular woman.”

Nathaniel thought of Laura in the garden with dirt on her hands, of her asleep with Iris curled against her, of the panic that had torn through him at the sight of her going under the water, and how long it had taken his hands to stop shaking after.

“She is not at all what I expected when I signed that contract,” he replied.

“That,” Everett said, “is possibly the most honest thing you’ve said to me in a year.”

“I only serve to please you,” Nathaniel drawled before a waiter brought them two glasses of brandy, after which Nathaniel took a sip.

He was saved from speaking further when he spotted Lord Alden across the room, settling at a card table with ease. His grip tightened on his glass.

“There’s your man,” Everett murmured, following his gaze and signaling for another round. “Go get him!”

“Not tonight,” Nathaniel said, rising to his feet. “Tonight, I only play cards.”

He crossed the room and found himself a seat at Alden’s table. For the better part of an hour, he focused on the cards, brandy, the low murmur of conversation. He played carefully, patiently, watching the other players more than his own hand.

Alden played well, sharp-eyed and unhurried. Nathaniel was not surprised and found himself genuinely absorbed in the game by the time the final hand came down. He laid down his cards quietly.

“Well played, Your Grace.” Alden sat back, studying him with new interest, the easy charm on his face sharpening into something more calculating. “I confess I didn’t expect a duke fresh from the country to outmaneuver half this room.”

“I find the country teaches patience, if nothing else.”

“Patience.” Alden turned the word over and then clicked his tongue. “Ah, yes, a rare quality, and a useful one in the business I sometimes find myself engaged in.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Would you be available to meet for brandy later this week? Just the two of us. I have a… proposition that might interest a man of your patience.”

“Is that so?” Nathaniel asked, leaning closer.

“Discreet. Profitable. The sort of thing best discussed away from curious ears.”

Nathaniel kept his expression mild as he leaned back, though something in him went alert beneath it. “I would be glad to hear it.”

“Thursday, then. My club, if that suits.” Alden rose, gathered his winnings with an unhurried hand, and offered him a small smile. “It’s rare to find a man worth talking business with in London. I look forward to it.”

“As do I,” Nathaniel replied.

Nathaniel returned to his table, and found Everett there, brandy still in hand, his easy humor gone. “Well?”