Back to the house for the midday meal. Guy, who’d abruptly left for London after the ball, had returned, and he joined Ash, his always hearty appetite whetted further by his journey.
“Business to see to,” Guy told Ash as an explanation of why he’d gone, though Ash would not dream of asking for one. Guy’s affairs were his own. “Heard you were low. Glad to see you better.”
Ash slid away his empty plate and reached for his tea. Guy intercepted Ash’s cup and dropped a dollop of whisky into it from his flask.
“Enforced rest and home remedies,” Ash said as he sipped the doctored tea. “Aunt Florence, my valet, and Mrs. Courtland were my jailers.”
Guy’s brows shot upward. “Mrs. Courtland? Interesting. You look the better for their tending.”
“I am quite cured.” Indeed, Ash hadn’t felt this well in an age.
Ash firmly changed the subject, and they spoke of mutual acquaintance and Ash’s plans for his estate until they finished tea, and Ash headed for the garden. The children would be out any moment, ready for their afternoon’s respite.
“Is Mrs. Courtland about?” Guy asked as he followed Ash. “Or did she race back to London as soon as you were cured, to continue ferreting out a wife for you?”
Ash scowled. “I have no idea. I saw her off this morning—back to her friend’s house on the other side of my park.”
Guy studied him with interest. “Saw her off? She was staying here?” At Ash’s nod, Guy’s tone softened. “Was she, indeed?”
“To nurse me,” Ash said abruptly. “Aunt Florence recruited her.”
“Ah, I see.”
Ash lost his patience. “It is clear that you don’t.” He turned abruptly, hearing the voices of his daughters.
He bent down, his troubles falling away as he waited for Evie and Lily to run to him. Ash rose with one daughter in the crook of each arm and carried them along the path, Lewis running behind. Guy joined them as they tramped to the wide space in the middle of the garden, where a lawn around a fountain made a soft place for the children to play.
Again, Helena’s words came to him. You adore your children and take every sort of care for them.
She’d told him her husband had only known his father from afar. Ash’s father had been a bit less stand-offish, but when Ash had been young, the custom had been to keep the children quiet and out of the way as much as possible. Ash’s father had been plenty busy running the estate and sitting in the House of Lords—as Ash was now—but Ash had vowed that when he had children, he’d not be a stranger to them.
Ash had ordered a few cricket bats and balls to be left on the green, and now he slid off his frock coat and spent a pleasant time showing his daughters how to bat the easy balls Guy tossed them, and teaching Lewis how to refine his pitch.
Lily enjoyed the game, though Evie was more content watching the others. Evie read much, and as her sister and brother ran about, she whisked a book from her pocket and buried herself in its pages. Ash did not admonish her—he for one, thought women should be well-read and learned. The gentlemen Helena described who were put off by it were idiots.
As they rested on the grass, Lewis had to pull out the be-damned letter describing Ash’s perfect match. Ash had sworn the letter had been thrown away or burned—Edwards had taken it at his request—but here it was in Lewis’s pocket.
“We have been thinking, Papa,” Lewis said in his serious Marquess of Wilsdon manner. “About whom you should marry.”
Ash sat up abruptly but tamped down his impatience, not wanting to snap at his son. “I believe I have said we should forget all about the matter.”
Lewis nodded. “I was in error when I proposed that Mrs. Courtland should help find a wife for you. Evie, Lily, and I have discussed it, and we have concluded that your perfect match is Mrs. Courtland herself.”
Ash went still. All three children watched him anxiously, Evie with a worried expression, Lily in hope, Lewis remaining solemn. Ash expected to hear Guy laugh, but his friend was strangely silent.
“Lewis,” Ash said warningly. “No.”
Lewis took on the stubborn look Ash often saw in his own reflection. “You told me that when I faced down opposition in the House of Lords, I should be ‘clear, concise, and unafraid’. And so I put it to you.” He lifted the paper, his fingers shaking a bit. “She must be tall—Mrs. Courtland is only a few inches shorter than you. I saw you kiss her in the garden, and she did not have to stand on her tiptoes at all. She must not be too thin or too wide. Mrs. Courtland is right in between, as you would have discovered when you put your arms around her. She must like children—she does like us, even when we are unruly and late for supper. She does know how to sew—when you were sick, she sat with Aunt Florence and mended your shirt.”
Ash could not stop himself touching the sleeve of his shirt—he’d torn it while helping fix the thatch. He imagined Helena’s eyes on her competent stiches as she and Aunt Florence gossiped and sewed.
“She must not adhere to timetables, and must teach you to leave off them,” Lewis continued relentlessly. “I have heard Mrs. Courtland argue with you about your timetables, and I believe she will persuade you to leave off them. You ought to propose to her very soon, perhaps marry her by Christmas. That way, you can start the Season with a wife.”
Lewis folded the paper, his face holding dogged resolution. Evie peered at Ash more fearfully, Lily lifting her chin. Guy, lounging on his side, said nothing at all, tactful for once.
Ash’s jaw was so stiff he could barely move it to reply. “I believe I told you to leave it alone, Lewis. Now give me that
