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I shall be there Friday before noon. It’s the earliest I can manage. I imagine I shall be the last to arrive, and I do apologize. But as you are aware, a soldier is seldom the master of his time.

Please do ask Cook to ensure plenty of ginger biscuits are on hand. Those served at Whitehall are as unpalatable as hardtack.

My love to all…

~Lieutenant Lord Cedric Kellinggrave, in a hastily written note to his parents,

the Duke and Duchess of Landrith

Four hours later

Dovetonwick Court study

Dressed for supper and arms folded, Constantine leaned against the window jamb. The past few hours had not gone as he’d expected. Furthermore, a summons to the study never boded well—particularly mere minutes before dinner. He felt rather like a lad in a skeleton suit called before his father to explain why tadpoles swam about the solarium’s fountain.

How else could a six-year-old observe the wiggly creatures’ progression into frogs?

An old half barrel behind the manor and under the grape arbor had become the amphibians’ new home. Constantine had spent several exciting weeks studying the frogs until the creatures hopped off to a new home.

Even now, when he heard frogs croaking at Dovetonwick Court, he speculated if they were descendants of the tadpoles he’d raised.

Then, just as he did now, Father tried to hide the amused twitch at the corners of his mouth.

Well, things couldn’t be so awful if Father was amused.

“What were you thinking? The gossip would’ve been uncontainable.” At six and fifty, only a few strands of silver interspersed Mother’s flaxen hair. Fine lines framed her mouth and eyes, revealing she smiled often. In truth, Mother’s sense of humor was rather infamous, as were her practical jokes. “Offering her your chamber? La, son.”

She clearly found no humor in the current situation, however.

“Surely you are aware people would presume you’d ensconced your mistress in your bedchamber, bold as brass, Constantine.”

“I don’t keep a mistress, Mother.”

Constantine couldn’t keep the drollness from his tone.

He’d never had the time, inclination, or patience to deal with a demanding woman. Besides, most females possessed an innate aversion to insects, even pretty moths and butterflies.

Except for Miss Roth. Not once had she grimaced, flinched away, curled her lip or little nub of a nose, or cringed.

And his laboratory was chock-full of cringe-worthy specimens.

Arms still folded, he examined a fingernail, then skewed an eyebrow in mock askance.

“Are you suggesting I should begin the practice?” Glancing up, he caught his mother’s startled expression and hastily exchanged a glance with Father. “I quite thought you disapproved of such arrangements.”

Though theirs had been an arranged marriage, his parents had fallen in love and eschewed the practice so popular with the ton of taking lovers. They’d also instilled those values in their children, though Constantine knew full well that his brothers knew their way around a boudoir.

Indigo eyes alight with jollity, Father made a poor attempt to hide his chuckle beneath a closed fist to his mouth and a contrived cough.

Mother gave him an arch look before dismissing Constantine’s comment and returning to the issue that had worked her into a fine fettle. Pacing the floor, she flung him a How could you?glance.

Surely his mother knew her youngest son well enough to know he hadn’t considered beyond his initial impulse. Why others fussed and obsessed over such trivialities, he’d never understand.

Miss Roth needed a bedchamber.

He offered his.

There was nothing more to it.