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“After the holidays.”

She nodded. That brow furrow from before must not have signaled confusion, for it was deepening.

“I will spend the holidays here, and Mother will remain at Galecroft,” he added, for they usually spent Christmas together at Galecroft, though from this vantage point, he couldn’t think why he’d subjected himself to that for so many years. “So there will be time for everyone to grow accustomed to the idea.”

He studied the housekeeper, whom he suddenly realized he didn’t know very much about. She had always been the London housekeeper. He associated her with his childhood. With the lonely years. He had been close to the cook at Galecroft, who had long since retired, but other than her, he didn’t have a particularly close relationship with any of his staff.

He decided to take a risk. After all, he was, apparently, a risk-taker now. “Mrs. Tavish, I will be in need of a housekeeper at my new home. In fact, I will need someone to advise me on the procurement of the right type of home. I have been assuming you would prefer to stay on here with my mother, but if that isn’t the case, you are welcome to come with me.”

“Oh, I should like that very much, thank you, sir.” The furrow disappeared.

Extraordinary.

“Excellent. We shall discuss details later. But first, the party.”

She smiled, and he realized he had never seen her smile. “What kind of party to you want to have?”

He didn’t want to have a party, but it could not be avoided. “What … are my choices?”

“A card party, perhaps? I imagine you are wanting to keep it intimate?”

“What do you do at a card party?”

Simon could not blame her for looking at him like he was daft. “Play cards,” he said. “Yes, I know. But how would that go? Sketch the scene for me.”

“We would set up tables. Have a refreshment room.”

“Not that intimate,” he said, reasoning that a card party wasn’t the right context for his plan.

“Well, we could polish up the ballroom.”

“Oh, goodness, no, not a ball. Something more intimate than a ball but less intimate than a card party.”

“A musicale?”

He considered it. “Does everyone watch the players, or do people … roam around?”

“A bit of both, I should think. People can mingle before the music, and we can serve refreshments after.”

“Perfect.”

“Shall I arrange the musicians or would you like to? Do you have a preference as to style?”

“I shall arrange.” He would ask Olive.

“Very good. I will handle the rest. You merely need tell me when you would like this to occur.”

“As soon as possible.” No, wait. He considered the other matter he had on his mind. “Let’s say a fortnight.”

That ought to be enough time, no?

Well, no time like the present to find out. He made for the stairs but stopped a few steps from the bottom and gazed at the ceiling. “Mrs. Tavish, do you think we ought to try to cover this monstrosity for the party?”

“I could have it repainted.”

He considered it. “Better not. We’ll leave it for Mother.” He laughed. There was something darkly poetic about the party—and the outcome he hoped it would yield—unfolding beneath his angelic, rifle-wielding brothers.

Simon found his long-suffering valet pressing a pair of breeches.