This is a happy week for my brother. And for my sisters too. I do not want that happiness marred by the quarrel that is between you and Constantine. How would they feel if the two of you were to appear at the house with blackened eyes or bloody noses or raw knuckles? They are already fond of Constantine, and they respect you. They do not deserve to be upset by some petty private quarrel." "It is certainly not petty, ma'am," he said stiffly. "But your point is taken. Has /your /happiness been marred?" "Not really." She smiled again, the bright, sunny expression he remembered from the Valentine's assembly. "Is this where my ancestors are buried? Constantine did not bring us here when he showed us the park." "Perhaps," he said, "he thought it too gloomy a spot." "Or perhaps," she said, "his grief for his brother is too new and too private a thing to be shared with cousins who did not know him. I wish I had. Was he as sweet as Constantine described him?" "Oh, yes," he said. "He may have been handicapped in many ways and he may have looked different from other people, but we could all learn from persons like Jonathan. He was unfailingly affectionate, even toward those who were impatient with him." "Were you?" she asked him. "Impatient, I mean?" "Never with him," he said. "He used to hide from me when I came here - after my father died and I became his guardian, that was.

Sometimes, if he could keep from giggling, I would have to waste precious time finding him. But he was always so delighted when I did that it would have been churlish to be annoyed with him. It was Con who put him up to it, after all." "To amuse him?" she asked. "Or to annoy you?" "Always the latter," he said. "Did he resent the fact that you were Jonathan's guardian," she asked him, "even though you were not much older than he, if you are older at all, that is?" "He did," he said curtly. "But surely," she said, "he must have understood that it was not really you who had been appointed guardian, but your father, who was older and wiser and more experienced than either of you." "I suppose he did," he said. "Could you not," she asked, "have shown some sensitivity and turned over the guardianship to Constantine, even if only unofficially?" "I could not," he said. "Oh, dear." She looked steadily at him, her head tipped to one side. "You really are a most inflexible, uncommunicative man. It is just that it seems to me that the enmity that has grown between the two of you is unnecessary. And now you are demanding that Constantine leave here though it has always been his home. Can you feel no compassion for him?" "Mrs. Dew." He clasped his hands behind his back and leaned a little toward her. "Life is not such a simple thing as you seem to believe it to be. Perhaps it would be as well for you not to try to advise me on matters about which you know virtually nothing." "Life is often simpler than we give it credit for," she said. "But if you wish me to mind my own business, I will. Where is my great-grandfather buried?" "There." He turned and pointed and they both moved toward the grave.

She gazed at the headstone and its flowery praise of the earl who was buried there. "I wonder," she said, "what he would say now if he could see us here - the descendants of the son he cast off and the woman his son married." "Life is never predictable," he said. "And it was so unnecessary," she said, "all the conflict, all the suffering and loneliness there must have been on both sides. Here we are anyway, but with so many precious years missing." Her eyes looked wistful. Con had been right about one thing, Elliott thought. She /did /have fine eyes - even when they were not laughing. "Where is Jonathan buried?" she asked.

He took her to the newest grave. Its headstone was immaculately clean, the grass around it short and free of weeds. Someone had planted spring flowers there, and snowdrops were blooming and crocus leaves were pushing up through the soil.

Someone cared. Con, he supposed.

A guilt offering? "I wish I had known him," she said. "I /do /wish it. I believe I would have loved him." "One could not help being fond of him," he said. "But not of his brother?" she said, turning her head to look at him. "Perhaps if you had laughed at his attempts to needle you every time he had Jonathan hide from you, you could all have laughed together and been friends. Perhaps what you need as much as anything is a sense of humor." He felt his nostrils flare. /"A sense of humor?" /he half barked at her. "In the handling of serious duties? In dealing with a rogue? In looking after the interests of a slow-witted innocent? And in dealing with impertinence too, I suppose?" "The impertinence being mine?" she said to him. "I could not simply let you fight, you know, without at least trying to stop you. And now I was merely attempting to point out a way in which you might make your own life happier as well as easier. Constantine at least /smiles /much of the time even if there is sometimes an edge of mockery in the expression. You never smile. And if you continue to frown all the time, as you are doing now, you will have permanent lines between your brows before you grow old." /"Smiles," /he said. "Ah, now at last I understand the great secret of life. If one smiles, one will have an easy, happy time of it, no matter how much of a rogue one is. I must learn to /smile, /ma'am. Thank you for the advice." And he smiled at her.

She looked steadily at him, her head cocked to one side again. "/That /is not a smile," she said. "It is an angry grimace that makes you look a little like a wolf - though I have read that in many ways wolves are the gentlest, most admirable of beasts. You have twice referred to Constantine as a rogue. Just because he resented your guardianship and encouraged Jonathan to play tricks on you? And because he ignored your ultimatum and remained here until we came? /Rogue /is rather a harsh word to describe such a man, is it not? If there is no more to his perfidy than what you have told me, you cannot expect me to accept your opinion without question." "It is a desirable thing, ma'am," he said, "to know whose word you can trust and whose you cannot." "And I am supposed to trust yours?" she asked him. "I am supposed to take your word for it that my cousin is a rogue? I am supposed to disregard everything /he /says? I have no reason to trust you or to distrust him. I will make my own observations, my lord, and draw my own conclusions." "I believe," he said, "our breakfast awaits, ma'am. Shall we walk back to the house?" "Yes, I suppose so," she said with a sigh. "Oh, goodness, I have no gloves." She touched her head. "And no hat. Whatever must you think of me?" Wisely, perhaps, he refrained from telling her.

So he had no sense of humor, did he?

Good Lord, he thought as they walked side by side in silence, was one supposed to be cracking jokes at every turn and laughing like a hyena even if no one else did?

Or was one supposed to ooze false charm as Con did?