“She is.” Heathgate’s smile was fleeting as he patted the horse’s neck. “And a lady of particulars. How fare your boys?”

Parenting was a useful source of small talk, though Ethan had never appreciated this before. “They are busy. We’ve just come back from several weeks with Nicholas and his countess at Belle Maison, and picked up a new governess in the process. I have only two children, and yet it seems they cause enough mayhem and activity to bring the entire house down on occasion.”

“It gets easier,” Heathgate said. “My last one was easier than the first one, and thank the gods she’s a girl, because my marchioness was determined Lady Joyce have a sister.”

“Two will be my limit. Your family thrives?”

“Loudly. Hence the appeal of a quiet hack. Constantina here could use a chance to catch her breath on the way home.”

The words held a careful invitation. “I’ll join you,” Ethan said, because to do otherwise would be rude. He liked Heathgate, had liked him before his acquisition of his grandfather’s title. The marquis cared not one whit for Society’s opinion, and he’d married where his heart led, despite his wife being merely a viscount’s spinster daughter. There was really nothing not to like.

Except Heathgate had seen Ethan in the worst, most vile, degrading moments of Ethan’s life. The knowledge lay between them, assiduously ignored every time they met.

So… onward to more small talk.

“My sons have recently demonstrated to me their affinity for jumping their ponies,” Ethan said. “At a dead run.”

“Of course. They’re boys.”

“And thank God,” Ethan went on, “they’re on a pair of game ponies. But Joshua and Jeremiah will soon acquire more of my height, and I was thinking something from your brother’s stable might serve as a next step.”

“Ladies’ mounts? I suppose the principles are the same. Greymoor found my son James’s first pony, as well as Pen’s. You might corner Greymoor at a gathering of the clan at his place on Wednesday. I’m sure his countess would be happy to send along an invitation.”

And just like that, another turning point loomed before Ethan. He’d owned Tydings for seven years, and yet he didn’t socialize, didn’t trade calls, didn’t expect to be invited to share a drink or a meal with his neighbors. First, he was of questionable ton, being illegitimate, but then he’d committed a far worse transgression by marrying his mistress. Even had the neighbors been amenable, the idea of turning Barbara loose on the unsuspecting gentry of Surrey had been unthinkable.

And then the boys had come along, his marriage had gone utterly to hell, and a couple of years later, Barbara was gone.

“It’s just some food and drink with the neighbors, Grey,” Heathgate said. “A picnic, with children rocketing about, pall-mall balls whacking into the dessert table, babies needing attention at inopportune moments, and papas being told to wipe cake off that one’s mouth or put it on this one’s plate. We do it mostly for the ladies, but also for the cousins.”

“How old is your oldest?” Ethan asked.

“He looks to be the same age as yours,” Heathgate replied, his expression patient.

“Joshua and Jeremiah haven’t been in company much,” Ethan said. “They did fairly well at Belle Maison.”

“So bring as many footmen and nannies and dogs as you need to keep them in line, or try to. Each of my children has a separate nanny. They spell each other, the nannies, that is, but the happiness of my entire kingdom turns on the morale of my nannies.” The marquis sounded absolutely sincere.

“One understands, sometimes, why women can be hysterical.”

“One does. So you’ll bring the boys? We gather around four, when the heat starts to fade and the babies have had their naps, and we don’t stay late, because the older ones get cranky if they’re out too long.”

That a marquis should know these things was reassuring.

“I’ll have to bring their governess, Miss Portman.” For any number of reasons. “She will enjoy getting acquainted with the neighbors, I think.”

“Your governess has some odd connections,” Heathgate observed as his horse stepped carefully over a fallen log.

This oh-so-casual comment crossed over from small talk to something more significant.

“Her last position was with some squire’s daughter down in Sussex for five years. How could her path have crossed yours?”

“Not mine. I don’t know if she told you, but her brother is Benjamin Hazlit.”

And how did Heathgate know such a thing? “Your snoop of choice. Nick’s too.”

Heathgate did not dignify that with confirmation. “Hazlit spent the night with us last night, as he sometimes does when he and I have much to discuss. Felicity likes him, and he told her he was calling on his sister, Miss Portman, this morning. Her ladyship dug in, as she will, and extracted from him his sister’s location.”

“Impressive, your marchioness.” Was this why there was a neighborly invitation now, after seven years? The titled neighbors wanted to look over Hazlit’s sister? Had Hazlit put them up to it? “I think Alice likes her privacy, and I know I like mine.”

“We all appreciate privacy. Hazlit more than any of us.”

“He said there was scandal.” Ethan paused, not sure how much to say. “He didn’t ask for me to keep it in confidence, so I don’t suppose there’s harm in telling you.”

Heathgate waved a gloved hand in impatient circles. “Out with it, Grey. I’ve known you half your life, and you know my discretion is reliable.”

An oblique reference, but valid.

“I don’t know what the scandal involved, except that both sisters were affected, and the siblings not at the family seat all use different names to avoid the repercussions of the scandal. There is wealth of some sort, and an estate in the North, but Hazlit told me only that much.”

“He’s a closemouthed devil, but there are more scandals hanging on my family tree than Hanover has princes, Ethan. Let sleeping dogs lie, and all that.”

That Heathgate would use Ethan’s name was a slip. They hadn’t ever assumed such familiarity and probably never would, out of consideration, not for Heathgate’s great title and consequence, but for Ethan’s dignity.

Heathgate smiled. “Have I offended? You can be honest, you know. My wife always is, and it has toughened me considerably.”

“You have not offended. You do surprise me, though.”

“Probably for the first and only time. I will tell Greymoor and his countess to expect you with your entourage on Wednesday, rain or shine.”

“My thanks.” Ethan nodded by way of a mounted bow, and let his companion take the branch of the path that would lead back to Willowdale, while Ethan turned around, overdue to investigate Wellington’s progress against Bonaparte.

“You are comfortable with Wednesday’s outing?” Ethan asked Alice at breakfast the next morning. The boys had taken off with Davey to try to dig a pond suitable for the reenactment of Trafalgar, though Davey was under strict orders to keep the ocean blue smaller than the size of two horse troughs.

“What I want doesn’t matter,” Alice said. “My charges will go off to socialize with the neighbors, and I will attend them.” Her lips were compressed into a prim line, and she was taking only the smallest sips of her tea.

This testiness on Alice’s part wasn’t about an invitation to picnic with the neighbors, though she was probably not looking forward to that. Ethan regarded his boys’ governess and concluded she was unhappy with her employer, and maybe, were she honest, a little bit with herself. Ethan was unhappy with himself, too.

Alice was under his protection, plain and simple. In the dark hours after midnight, he’d decided he wasn’t to be kissing her, importuning her, or—if he could even figure out how to manage such a thing—flirting with her. She seemed to be sending him the same message, not in so many words.