“Yes?”

“Unconventional,” Val said, though that term wasn’t quite right either. Her hands on his body would be warm too, though how he knew this, he could not say. “Ellen could be considered eccentric, but I prefer to think of her as… unique.”

Darius said nothing, finding it sufficiently unique that Valentine Windham, son of a duke, wealthy merchant, virtuoso pianist, and favorite of the ladies, would think of Mrs. FitzEngle as Ellen.

Val peered over the soffit as several slate tiles slid down from the roof on the newly constructed slide and bumped safely against the cloth padding the bottom of the chute.

“It works,” he said, grinning over at Darius, the only other occupant of the house’s roof.

“Of course it works.” Darius sat back on his heels, using his forearm to wipe the sweat from his brow. “I designed it. I don’t recall you ordering another entire wagonload of goods from town.”

Val followed Darius’s gaze down to the yard, where a farm wagon pulled by two exceptionally sturdy horses came to a halt before the house. A handsome black saddle horse was tethered behind, not one Val recognized. Val and Darius both availed themselves of the slide to get from roof to yard, causing the lead horses’ ears to flick and the occupants of the wagon to start whooping with glee.

“Settle down, you two,” barked the driver. “Lord Valentine will think he’s set upon by savages.” The man hopped down, along with the two lanky adolescents who’d been so enthusiastically cheering the sight of grown men sliding to the ground.

“Axel Belmont at your service.” The driver grinned, swiped back his blond hair with one hand, and stuck out the other. “Though you might not think so when I warn you my sons Dayton and Phillip have invaded your undefended borders with me.”

Val extended a hand, recognizing the tall blond fellow from his friend Nick’s wedding to Darius’s sister Leah just a few weeks past.

“Good to see you, Professor,” Val said, “and may I make known to you the Honorable Darius Lindsey, late of the roof, but whom you might have met at Leah and Nick’s wedding. How fares your dear wife?”

Belmont’s smile softened. “She’s much better, particularly now that I’ve taken the heathen off the property. Nick wrote that you were working on a project not an hour’s drive from Candlewick, and I have come to inspect progress.”

“We’re still very much in the planning stages,” Val said, though this further evidence of Nick Haddonfield’s friendly meddling was mentally noted. “We’re also glad for some company. Darius fears we’re going to be kidnapped by elves.”

“Boys!” Belmont’s offspring stopped in midpelt toward the house. “Get this wagon unloaded, and mind you put the contents in the carriage bay where they’ll stay dry. The first son of mine on that roof without Lord Valentine’s permission gets his backside walloped and has to learn how to tat lace.”

Loud groans, followed by reluctant grins, saw the boys reversing direction and heading for the wagon at a decorous pace.

“Spare them no sympathy,” Belmont warned. “Not by word, deed, or expression. Abby is teaching them how to charm, and between that and their natural guile, they are shamelessly manipulative.”

“They’re also at an age where they can eat entire horses, tack, and all,” Val mused. “But run all day, as well.”

“In the opposite direction of their parents, unless it’s meal time,” Belmont said, eyeing the house again.

“Come along, Professor. I’ll give you the tour. Dare, you want to come?”

Darius shuddered dramatically. “I’ve had the privilege. I can work on calculations while you lie to your guest about the potential of the place. Mr. Belmont, a pleasure to see you again.”

“Axel,” the blond corrected him. “Philip and Dayton are underfoot, and formalities are futile. A surrender of all but the barest civilities is the only reasonable course.”

“Your gutters don’t work,” Belmont said in patient, magisterial tones, “so the water backs up, sometimes under the eaves. If the squirrels or bats have been busy, that puts water in your walls or attics or both, and water will destroy your house more quickly than wind, snow, or most anything else save fire.”

“So I must replace all those gutters and spouts,” Val concluded, eyeing the seedlings growing in the gutters.

“You must subdue your jungle, as well,” Belmont pointed out gently as he ambled along beside Val in the yard. “I went through this same exercise when I married my first wife. Candlewick was in disrepair, and yet it was all we had. You prioritize and try to put each season to its best use. And you work your bloody arse off.”

“That much I am prepared to do, but other than the roof, what would you prioritize?”

They meandered the house, the property, and the outbuildings, exchanging ideas, arguing good-naturedly, and tossing suggestions back and forth. By the time they’d finished a complete circuit of house, outbuildings, and immediate grounds, the sun was directly overhead—as near as could be determined through the trees.

“Now comes the reason you’ll be glad we crashed your gate,” Belmont said. “Get Mr. Lindsey to set aside his figuring, or the locusts will not leave him any lunch.” Belmont retrieved a very large wicker hamper from the back of the wagon and bellowed for his offspring to wash their filthy paws if they wanted even a crust of bread. A picnic fit for a regiment was soon laid out on a blanket spread in the shade.

“Compliments of my wife,” Belmont said, “in exchange for getting her menfolk out from underfoot for a few hours.”

“Lunch!” Dayton and Phillip gamboled up, every bit as energetic as they’d been hours earlier.

“One of their nine favorite meals of the day. Sit down, you lot, and wait for your elders to snatch a few crumbs before you destroy all in your path.”

As food was passed around among the adults, Belmont continued speaking. “Day and Phil concocted a plan for Phillip to start school a year early so all five Belmont cousins could have one year at university together. Abby was enthusiastic about it, since it will give us a little time at Candlewick before the baby arrives and all hell breaks loose once again.”

“I didn’t realize you were in anticipation of a happy event.” Val smiled genially, but ye gods… Val’s sister-in-law Anna had just been delivered of a son, while the wife of his other brother, Devlin, was expecting. David and Letty were still adjusting to the arrival of a daughter. Nick’s wife would no doubt soon be in a similar condition, and it seemed as if all in Val’s world could be measured by the birth—imminent or recent—of a child.

“I find the prospect of parenthood…”—Belmont’s expression became pensive—“sweet, an unexpected opportunity to revisit a previous responsibility I took too much for granted.”

“He didn’t appreciate us,” Day translated solemnly then ruined the effect by meeting his brother’s gaze and bursting into guffaws.

“I did.” Belmont corrected them easily. “But as a very young father might. I am an old hand now and will go about the job differently.”

Val rummaged in the hamper, finding the topic unaccountably unsettling. “I put you at, what? Less than five years my senior?”

“We’re surrounded by duffers, Day.” Phil rolled his eyes dramatically. “The only saving grace is they’ve no teeth and can’t do justice to the meat.”

“You two.” Belmont scowled at his sons. “No dessert if you don’t make some pretense of domestication immediately.”

“Not that.” Day rolled to his back, letting his arms and legs twitch in the air. “Phil, he uttered the Worst Curse, and we’ve hardly done anything yet.”

“May I finish your sandwich?” Phillip reached for his brother’s uneaten portion.

“Touch it”—Day sat up immediately—“and it’s pistols, swords, or bare-knuckle rules.”