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“I knew you would understand. I’m to leave tomorrow for London. Graymont’s friend Finch will meet me. A friend of theirs, a duke no less, has offered me a place to stay, and Finch has arranged meetings for me at the Admiralty.” He turned for the door, the dog at his heels. “Oh,” he said over his shoulder, “I’ve left things in order through quarter day, and I’ll leave Bassett to take charge of Hector.”

Cordelia fixed her gaze on the low fire in the grate. Henry had somewhere to go. He had a part to play in the world, while his sisters had their ball and perhaps marriage. He was not careless like Father, but the world of men and their doings called to him.

*

At the water’s edge, Cordelia pulled on her swim cap. Henry was off. He’d said farewell to the dog and slipped out while she was readying herself to swim.

She saw little of what was in front of her. In her head the words she meant to have with Graymont, words that had occupied her sleepless hours, rearranged themselves yet again. The castle might be his because of her father’s folly, but Graymont had no right to interfere in her family’s affairs. To encourage Henry’s return to the navy without any consideration for Cordelia or her sisters was odiously high-handed. If she ever saw Graymont privately again, she would tell him so.

A wave rushed in and wrapped itself, foaming and hissing, around her ankles, making her shake off angry thoughts of Graymont. At this early hour the tide was at slack, between the highs of noon and midnight. She would have little current to push against. She resolved to swim the harder for it and began to wade into the sea when a voice she knew stopped her.

“Miss Staveley.”

She turned to see Graymont striding down the beach in those breeches he now wore for his swim. His face was grim, as she knew hers must be.

He stopped just above her, looking down, frowning. “Is everything in order for your ball?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m not sure that you pay Mr. Winter enough. He is quite a marvel.”

Graymont studied her swim costume. “You hemmed the cut edges,” he said.

“My sister Miranda did.”

“And how are you finding the change?”

Cordelia took a deep breath. He had started the conversation with the very things for which she should be grateful, not angry. “I like it. Thank you.”

“You admit the advantage it gives you?” There was a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“I do. I hope I can credit even—”

“An adversary …” he supplied.

“With a good idea. I am, however, angry with you.”

“Ah.” He moved to stand beside her, looking out at the waves. “Nothing’s changed there.”

“It has, however. You helped Henry to—”

“Escape?” He turned to look at her, one brow raised.

“If that’s how you see it, then my anger is fully justified,” she said.

“He’s twenty, Miss Staveley. He craves adventure, not drain-building.”

“Delamere’s acres are his inheritance. Surely, his duty is to keep the land in good heart. Surely, duty comes before adventure.”

“It does for you, I think, but not for your brother; not yet, anyway. He’s no doubt prepared to do his duty as his officers and mates see it, but here, surrounded by soggy fields and … women …”

“Women! You mean his sisters, his family!” She left him and waded deep.

His voice followed her. “You know why you’re angry with me?” he called after her. “You’re angry because I understand him better than you do.”

She ignored him and began to swim, breaking her pattern, turning east. Anger coursed through her, a kind of energy, making her want to chop the water with her strokes. He’d had the last word. She hated that. Hated that he might be right, that she had not seen Henry’s unhappiness. She concentrated on the cold, the way the calm water slid past her, the way it sparkled and glinted around her, the taste of salt on her lips, the huff of her breath coming and going. She found her rhythm. It was useless to be angry with Graymont. It was like railing at a stone. She willed herself to wall him out, to swim in her own private realm. Whatever her failings as a sister, Henry’s loyalty should be to family.

She reached the turnaround point, and Graymont was there, alive, grinning, hardly winded, as if the sea itself held him up. Somehow he’d passed her by. He flashed a grin at her. She shook her head and started back. The truth was that she could not ignore him. He kept pace with her, and that was more irksome than his passing her. They reached the shallows at the same time. Her feet touched bottom, and she waded out to the beach.

“Why did you swim today?” she asked, pulling off the wool cap.