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“Yes, he did,” he said. “You were his favorite, Steph. You were all our favorites. We all adored you. Still do.”

“You had a funny way of showing it,” she said.

“With all the practical jokes?” he said. “I had all those older brothers and an older sister. I had to make the most of the one younger sister I had, for very pride’s sake.” He grinned at her.

“You were horrid,” she said.

“But I would not have done any of it if you had not been a tough little thing,” he said. “I used to enjoy dreaming up the next trick and then waiting for your response. If you had once screamed or dashed off, sniveling, to Dev or Ben, I would have stopped.”

“You mean it would have been that easy?” she said.

“But it would not have been at all in character for you,” he said. “And I would not have loved you half as much. Well, perhaps I would, but it would have been a protective sort of love and not nearly as much fun.”

“Hmm,” she said. She searched his face in the gathering dusk. “But you went away like all my other brothers. Mama and Pippa stayed, but that was even worse than if they had left too, because they were not the same people they had been, and they did not love me any longer. Only Papa did. But then he went and died and it seemed that someone had snuffed the last candle and left me in total darkness. I understand now, of course, that I was not responsible for any of those things that happened, but at the time…”

“You were nine,” he said. “You may believe you are over it all, Steph, but where do you think you got this eternal conviction you have that you are not worthy of the love of those most dear to you? Most notably Bert.”

“He is not dear to me,” she said, astonished that he would even say such a thing. “But he wants to prove to me that he is not superior to me and I am not inferior to him. Though I do not really believe either is true. Oh, I wish I had not started this conversation.” She pulled her shawl farther over her arms and about her shoulders. “I am going to have to go to Redcliffe, am I not? But why did he even ask the marchioness to invite me? He cannot really want to—”

“He wants to court you,” Owen said, cutting her off. “With a view to marriage, I daresay. He would not do it with any other view under the very noses of his father and our mother, would he? He must be in love with you, Steph.”

She jumped to her feet. The sky was purple in the west now and darkening every minute, and the air was growing chilly. “I do not believe it,” she said. “And I do not want it to be true. I am not in love with him.”

He stood up too and gazed at her for a moment before sighing and opening his arms to her. “Come here for a brotherly hug,” he said. When she did not move, he took a step toward her and enfolded her in his arms. He held her comfortingly, her head cradled on his shoulder.

She laughed a bit shakily. “I merely wanted to ask a hypothetical question,” she said. “Sorry—a question on a hypothetical matter.”

“Well,” he said. “I have no idea who you were talking about, Steph, but my advice to the person invited would be to let life happen for a while without worrying about where it is leading. Look where doing just that has led me. No, poor example. Though I am enjoying myself enormously, I must say.”

She laughed as she stepped back from him. “We had better go and spend an hour or so with Devlin and Gwyneth,” she said. “We will be making an early start in the morning.”

He grasped her hand and ran down the hill with her. He was trying to make her trip, she thought, or at least shriek with fright. He had not changed. She threw back her head and laughed, and he turned his head and grinned at her.

—

It was a long, wearying journey, but finally, when they were approaching yet another anonymous village on an overcast afternoon and Stephanie hoped they would stop at least long enough to stretch their legs and drink a cup of tea, the carriage slowed and made a sharp turn onto a tree-shaded driveway. Her mother, who had been dozing with her head on Matthew’s shoulder, started awake.

“Are we there?” she asked.

“Certainly,” Matthew said. “We are always there, Clarissa. Or always here, depending upon how you look at it. Now, there is a thought to ponder. Are we always there? Or are we always here? Or, deepest thought of all, are we always both there and here?”

She punched the shoulder she had just been using as a pillow while Owen laughed and shuffled the cards with which he had been playing before putting them away in the leather pocket beneath the window on his side of the carriage.

“At Redcliffe Court, I meant,” she said. “I feared we might still have a few hours to go.”

She checked her hair, put on her bonnet, which had been on the seat beside her, tied the ribbons in a neat bow beneath and to one side of her chin, and pulled on her gloves.

“All respectable again,” Matthew said, his eyes twinkling.

The wide driveway wound between trees on either side until they gave way at last to rolling, tree-dotted lawns, beautifully kept and freshly mown. And there was the house, a massive gray stone structure of classical design. There was an imposing pillared portico in front and grand front doors, which were opening even as Stephanie watched, half leaning across her brother. A portly silver-haired man, probably the butler, and two young footmen in smart livery stepped outside. The butler moved to one side of the doors while the footmen trotted down the steps to meet the carriage, which was rolling over the cobbled terrace and drawing to a halt.

The Marquess and Marchioness of Dorchester, both smiling, followed the servants out and came down the steps to greet their guests.

One of the footmen opened the carriage door and held it, while the other lowered the steps and stood aside.

“Clarissa, welcome to Redcliffe,” the marquess said, offering a hand to help her descend.

Stephanie glanced toward the front doors, but there was no sign of anyone else coming out to greet them.