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Simon sighed. At least he had diverted them from the question of how he had acquired his copy of Frankenstein.

“Simon,” Archie said. “Is something the matter? You told me you were taking a new approach to this year’s trip, that you hadn’t brought any work, et cetera. But, and you will forgive my bluntness, you seem rather withdrawn.”

Simon sighed again.

“Out with it, then,” Archie said.

“I paid a visit to my brother’s widow a month or so ago, and she shared with me some news that … well, not to put too fine a point on it, but that has the potential to upend my life.”

He went on to tell them everything he had learned from Frances, because that was what they did on Earls Trips, and it was such a tremendous relief. And perhaps he was being extra forthcoming in an attempt to make up for not telling Archie about the visit to Miss Brown.

The visit to the dowager, he corrected himself—again.

The boys listened with their usual mixture of attentiveness leavened with just enough wry observation to keep things bearable. Simon finished with, “How can I carry on as I always have with Mother, ignoring each other as best as possible but essentially coexisting?”

“Well, if you want to do so, I suppose the way you do it is simply to … do it,” Effie said.

“I cannot unknow what I now know, though.”

“Then I suppose you shall have to reconsider the nature of your relationship,” Archie said.

“I cannot recommend highly enough leaving one’s entire family behind for a life of honest labor,” Effie said, and though Simon knew he was in jest, he answered as if the suggestion had been made earnestly.

“We cannot all turn the operations of our estates over to beloved half brothers—the existence of whom, I hasten to add, suggests that one hasn’t thrown over one’s entire family.”

“Yes, yes,” Effie said. “Anyway, you are far too conscientious to do anything like that.”

“Yet I cannot let my mother’s deeds go … what is the word? Unpunished? That seems overharsh.”

“At the very least, it seems she should know that you know,” Effie said.

“And that you are angered,” Archie said.

“It seems so simple when you say it like that,” Simon said.

“I am confident you will do the right thing,” Archie said, and Effie added, “You always do.”

As per Archie’s request, their evening meal was served all at once.

“I instructed the kitchen to keep things simple,” Archie said as he joined Effie and Simon, already assembled, in the dining room as the maid set a roast goose on the table, joining a platter of glazed carrots and another of roasted potatoes. “I didn’t think we needed more than a handful of dishes.”

“The cook says to tell your lordships that this is the orange cake,” the maid said as she brought out the final dish.

“The orange cake?” Effie wondered. “Is it famous?”

“Everything looks delicious, thank you,” Simon said, dismissing the maid and reaching for the cake.

“Oh, starting with the famous orange cake, are we?” Effie teased.

Effie always ate the pudding first when they dined this way, but Simon generally hewed to a more traditional sequence.

Simon didn’t bother answering. He cut himself a slice, took a bite, and sighed. It was wonderful. Moist and sweet, but the almonds gave it complexity that would otherwise be absent. This would be divine with lemons.

“I say, Simon, what have you done to your nose?” Archie asked as they tucked into the goose. Well, some of them did. Simon had carved and had served some to Effie and himself. He hadn’t bothered offering Archie any. “I meant to ask you in the coach.”

Simon made a show of chewing, buying himself time to come up with a story. He should have prepared one after incurring the wound the night before the trip. “A shaving injury,” he said mildly.

“How did Mr. Janes let that happen?” Effie said, referring to Simon’s long-suffering valet—Simon had never seen the point of a wardrobe that was anything more than practical.