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“It is,” Archie said.

“Well, aren’t you just the most modern?”

“I figured since I was building new, I might as well install the latest conveniences.”

“How does it work?” Simon, who had always been interested in architecture and associated fields, asked.

“There’s a cistern on the roof that collects rainwater. In theory. I don’t think it’s rained very much. When you open the valve, gravity pushes the water down. I would demonstrate, but one doesn’t want to waste water.”

“Well, that settles it,” Effie said. “We shall stay here.” Seeming then to think better of himself, he added, “If you agree, Simon. Perhaps you’d rather have your own space. Be free of us.”

In truth, Simon could think of nothing he’d rather do than bunk in with the boys, just as they used to. “Let us stay here.” He rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. “A decision I shall surely come to regret after a week’s time.”

Two hours later, they’d dined—Archie had, as predicted, not eaten the lamb—stripped, and were gathered around the edge of the pool.

Effie dipped a toe in. “Oh, my Heavens, that is cold!”

“Yes,” Archie said. “This may be the fatal flaw in my grand plan.”

Simon tested the water. “It’s not that bad. The key is not to overthink it. Just get in.”

Simon, demonstrating, had to swallow the yelp that rose though his chest—the water was bloody freezing—in favor of remarking, calmly, “Oh, capital. You’ve got built-in benches.”

“Yes.” Archie tapped the edge of the pool. “Out of this same stone.”

Simon settled himself and tilted his head back. It wasn’t fully dark yet; the sky still retained a hint of navy. The first stars were winking out.

Simon’s attention was drawn back to earth by Effie, who, though he was slender and graceful on land, entered the pool as if he were an elephant, slashing and making quite the racket. “This is that bad, Simon!”

“Hush,” Simon said. “Breathe.”

Effie rolled his eyes.

“No one is forcing your hand here, Ef.”

“Oh, I know. I’m just being difficult.”

Archie joined them, letting loose a low whistle at the cold.

“You get used to it,” Simon said.

It was true, with the cold water but also more generally. A person could get used to less than ideal circumstances.

“Gurglewood is a terrible name for this place, Arch,” Effie said, and Simon reminded himself that these were, in fact, ideal circumstances. The water was cold, but he was with his mates. A fire awaited them. Earls Trip had begun.

6

The Dowager Countess of Marsden

August 13, 1823

Twenty-six days before Earls Trip

When Simon called on his brother James’s widow the morning after Miss Brown’s extraordinary visit, he was afraid he wasn’t fully right in the head.

“Simon!” Frances swept into the drawing room in which he’d been installed, her cheeks pink and her smile wide. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Good question. He had no idea why he was here. Just that he’d awakened this morning, after a profoundly unrestful night, feeling a pull to visit James’s widow.