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“Swimming program? I see smoking, waltzing, undressing, everything but swimming.” He folded the paper sharply then folded it again, and again.

“There’s a demonstration of the sidestroke.” Alan bent and extended his arm, repeating the motion.

“We did that one,” said Claud, and tipped his head, moving both his arms.

The duke looked between them. His expression stirred a feeling akin to sympathy in Nina’s breast.

“Go,” he rasped, and cleared his throat.

Claud dropped his arms, his grin too big for his face. “Truly?”

“Go watch the Bramleys with your uncle.” The duke glanced at Alan. “If he doesn’t object to taking you home.”

“Of course not. But . . .” Alan had a line between his brows. “Come with us.”

“No,” said the duke shortly. “No, I spotted half of the House of Commons in the North Gallery. I, too, must seize opportunity when I see it.”

He spun on his heel, holding the folded handbill like a riding crop against his thigh. Claud looked after him until Alan ruffled his hair.

“On to the show,” he said.

—

Fanny was yelling in the entrance hall when Alan and Nina delivered Claud to Umfreville House. She was yelling at Geoffrey, who, from the sound of things, had only just arrived himself, bearing news that their son was safe.

“And I find out hours later? You show no consideration for me as your wife. But as the mother of your children, I should—”

She broke off at the sight of Claud. He gave her a nervous smile and began talking excitedly the moment she wrapped him in her arms. She let go and put her hand on his forehead.

“You’re not feverish.”

“I’m not.” Claud bent backward.

“You’re filthy.” Fanny stepped away. “You’ll have a bath before dinner. Upstairs with you.”

Claud put down his head and ran with his arms stretched behind him. Imagining himself a porpoise. Alan’s mouth quirked. Claud reached the stairs and waved. Fanny eyed Alan, then Nina, then turned without a word.

Geoffrey swung around to face the butler, a pale man, reactive as a waxwork.

“I’ll receive my guests in the drawing room,” he snapped, and then he, too, spun on his heel.

In the drawing room, Alan stared at the fake Rembrandt on the wall with an increasingly powerful sense of unreality. As though he had stepped back in time.

Geoffrey sat motionless in his chair, blinking at the tea tray on the table.

Alan could almost hear the corresponding click inside his brain.

“You!” Geoffrey jolted. He looked at Nina, eyes blazing. “You are that incompetent, insupportable maid!”

Nina winced and clasped her hands. “I wondered if this would happen.”

“Mind your tongue.” Alan gave Geoffrey a threatening grin. “Or I’ll yank it out.”

“Me? Mind my tongue?” Geoffrey frowned. “I believe this baggage called me a rich, stingy crosspatch.”

“Your grace,” Nina cut in. “We got off on the wrong foot.”

“Wrong hand, if I recall.” Geoffrey glared at her. “You dropped a full tea tray.”