“How is he?” she asked, opening it wide. “That poor young man. He was sent home to recover from the recurring fever following a wound that had turned putrid, and in his delirium he thought he really was coming home—to the way things used to be. He expected to find his mother and sisters and his old life here.”

“He has been thoroughly washed from head to toe and put between clean sheets and tended and dosed,” he said. “Netherby is sitting with him while he rattles on about what a famous lark it is to be over there fighting. He will sleep soon, the physician has assured us, and now that his wound is clean and he can be cared for by a doctor again, the fever should run its course within a few days and stay away. He is going to need some recovery time, however. He will need to be fattened up, but with everyone here who will be eager to fuss over him, that should not take long. Come outside with me to stroll in the garden. It is a bit late for Kew today, I am afraid.”

She did not even stop at the drawing room to pick up her bonnet and other things. She went outside with him, her arm through his, and reveled in the feeling of the warm breeze on her cheeks.

“I really am sorry for all this,” he said as they strolled among the flower beds. “Your dearest wish was a modest one—someone to wed. Someone, not hordes of others associated with him. I promised to protect you from all that and have failed miserably so far. You will be thinking me a fraud and a deceiver.”

“No,” she said.

“Shall I send you home to Withington?” he asked. “I know you sent your own carriage there after you moved here. Would you like to go back to the quiet privacy to which you are accustomed? Perhaps, if you are kind and prepared to give me a second chance, I could bring the special license to Brambledean when I am released from my responsibilities here, or even sooner if you wish, and we can marry privately there and live privately ever after there.”

“And next spring?” she asked. They had come to the small herb garden, which had indeed been set out as an old-fashioned knot garden, each cluster of herbs separated from others by low walls of stone. The smells were as enticing as those of the flowers. “Would you not need to come back here then and every year?”

“You could remain in the country when I am in Parliament if you wished,” he said.

“That would not be marriage, would it?” she said. “I have not been forced into anything, Lord Riverdale. You are not responsible for me. I chose to meet Mrs. Westcott and Lizzie. And Lady Jessica. I chose to meet the Dowager Duchess of Netherby and the duchess. I agreed to a family wedding when your mother suggested it. I suggested inviting Miss Kingsley and her daughter to our wedding.”

He was smiling at her and drawing her down to sit on a wooden bench near the knot garden. “And I suppose you chose to meet Harry and Netherby,” he said.

“I met them under unforeseeable circumstances,” she said. “It was not your fault. And I am glad it is over with. He is very formidable, is he not? I am not sure why, but he is.”

“Netherby?” He laughed. “I used to think him a bit of a fop and scoffed at those who always seemed to think there was something dangerous about him. And then I discovered that he is dangerous, though he almost never needs to prove it.”

She looked at him. “Well?” she said. “You cannot tell me that much without explaining yourself.”

“Cousin Camille was betrothed to Viscount Uxbury,” he told her, “but he forced her to end the betrothal as soon as he discovered she was illegitimate. He was not pleasant about it either. And then he tried to ingratiate himself with Anna. When he turned up uninvited at a ball in her honor and tried to harass her there, Netherby and I kicked him out. The morning after, he challenged Netherby to a duel in Hyde Park. No doubt he thought it would be an easy victory for him, especially when Netherby, who had the choice of weapons, chose none at all. On the appointed morning he stripped to his breeches and nothing more—not even boots. I was his second and thought him mad. Everyone else there thought him mad. Uxbury laughed at him. And then Netherby proceeded to knock him down—with his bare feet. When Uxbury got up, Netherby launched himself into the air and felled the man with both feet beneath his chin. Uxbury was unconscious for some time. I do believe Netherby went gently on him, however. I was and am strongly of the opinion that he could have killed Uxbury with the greatest ease if he had wanted to. Afterward, he explained he had been trained in various Far Eastern arts by an old Chinese master.”

“Oh,” Wren said, “how splendid.”

“Bloodthirsty wench.” He grinned at her. “So Anna thought, and so Lizzie thought. They were both there, hidden up a tree and behind the tree respectively. Ladies never ever go anywhere near duels, I must add. You would have been there too if you had been given the chance, I suppose?”

“Oh, definitely,” she said, and he laughed outright.

“Miss Heyden,” he said, “you are going to fit right into this family, you know.”

She smiled at him. What a lovely thing to say. Just as if she were no different in many ways from Lizzie or the Duchess of Netherby. And she realized, like a sharp stab to the heart, that she had always longed for just that—to belong, to fit in.

He lifted one hand to cup the left side of her face and ran his thumb lightly over her cheek. “Thank you,” he said, “for tending to Harry, especially when he was smelling so ripe and his language was not any better. He is very precious. Had he retained the title, he would have borne it well. He was very young and a bit wild, but he would have settled down within a year or two and done a far better job than his father did. He is of sound character. His mother saw to that.”

“You are not responsible for him either,” she said. “I have discovered your character flaw, Lord Riverdale. You mentioned it yourself in Hyde Park. You would take the burdens of the world upon your own shoulders if you could and solve them. You cannot do it, and it is not a good idea even to try. We all have to find our own way in life. It is, I believe, what life is all about.”

“Finding our way?” he said. “You mean we get to choose? It did not feel that way last year when my life was turned upside down and inside out and all I wanted was the old life back. I had found a way through that and I had followed it with determination and hard work and satisfaction.”

“You had choices even so,” she said. “You could have chosen to ignore the monstrosity that is Brambledean and continued along your familiar path. You could have chosen to marry for love or not at all. You could have chosen any of the young ladies who have made their preference for you this year clear. You could have ignored my more blatant marriage proposal. You still have choices and always will. So do I. I could leave for Withington tomorrow morning if I chose.”

“And do you choose?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “I am going to remain here and marry you. I must have met about half your family already. I can surely survive meeting the other half.”

He laughed again and then closed the distance between their mouths. He kissed her warmly, lingeringly, gently. She breathed in the scents of rosemary and sage and mint and thyme and the background fragrances of sweet peas and other flowers and thought that she could forfeit passion for this sense of … Of what? She could not put a name to it. Affection, perhaps?