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“Well, it clearly hasn’t changed your loquaciousness. Still as talkative as they come.”

He grunted, and her lips twitched.

“And the estate? Are we to be paupers?”

He couldn’t stop himself; he rolled his eyes. The theatrics of Grandmama were nothing short of extravagant.

“Mr. Dawson has seen to it?” A gleam entered her eyes, one Rafe couldn’t discern. “From his letters, it would appear things are progressing positively.”

Rafe grunted again, and this time not in jest. Grandmama narrowed her eyes.

“He requires a response from you. His letters were…intriguing.”

Rafe arched a brow. “Quarrying for limestone is intriguing to you now?”

She lifted a bored shoulder. “Money is intriguing. The quarrying means money. Did you work closely with Mr. Dawson while at Ironcrest?”

He blinked at the abrupt question. At the oddness of it.

“I am assuming yes? Why else would you have stayed as long as you did?”

He frowned at Grandmother. “There was much to be considered,” he said slowly. “The damage wrought from the fires was considerable—is considerable. But Dawson has never failed the estate. This was not going to be the thing that did it.”

“His father was such a nice man. Is he as well?”

Rafe frowned. “Naturally…Ironcrest has been well taken care of under the Dawson stewardship.”

Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Thank the bloody gods. Rafe had no idea what was spurring this odd interrogation from his grandmother, but he was very much praying this would serve as an interruption.

And for the first time in a long time, his wishes were answered. Derek strode into Rafe’s study. He sent a large smile Grandmama’s way. “Dorothea.” He stepped up to her to buss her cheek, before falling into the armchair to Rafe’s right. “Rafe. God, it’s so bloody good to see you.”

“I saw you when we broke our fast this morning.”

Derek shrugged. “You’re going to have to become accustomed to it, mate. I’m going to be bloody beside myself every time I see you staring back at me.”

Warmth swelled in Rafe’s chest. He was so sodding lucky to have Derek.

Grandmama stood. “I’ll leave you boys to it. It’s Derek’s last night as a bachelor after all.” Her dark eyes homed in on Derek. “You show up tomorrow taphackled or hungover, and I will carve out your innards and feed them to the rats of London.”

Derek’s chin jerked in. “I would never do that to Livy,” he sputtered through his affront.

She patted Derek’s head on her way by. “Of course you wouldn’t, dear.” Then she glided from the room.

Rafe chuckled. Grandmama was…she was something. And protective of those she cared about was one of those things. It was comical to see her balance that protectiveness when she cared about both people involved, as she’d just done with Derek. I love you both dearly, but I’ll happily threaten you for her sake.

“You have been tight-lipped about Ironcrest.”

Rafe groaned. “Not you too.”

“Ah, was that what Dorothea was on about? I saw the look on her face. She was plotting.”

“I’m just not sure about what,” Rafe muttered.

“It’s always about marriage.”

That was true. Rafe just couldn’t puzzle that one together. Grandmama didn’t know anything about Theodora.

“So, before everything…” Derek’s features tightened, but he quickly hid it. “At Grambler’s, you mentioned things weren’t as dire as you’d first feared.”