James took a glass of water from one of the workers, took a sip, then dumped the rest of the glass over his twin’s head. “Better?”

Jason yelled, then groaned in pleasure. “Much better. Why don’t we swim later?”

“You’ll freeze your parts off,” said their father.

“I can’t wait,” Jason said. He heard an ancient cackle and looked over at his grandmother, sitting close to Mrs. Tewksbury, an elderly lady herself, but not by any means an octogenarian. She couldn’t be older than seventy. She had white hair threaded with soft brown strands, a sweet round face with few lines. She seemed utterly unflappable, and the greatest shock of all-his grandmother seemed to like her immensely. Not five minutes after they’d met, Jason heard them yelling at each other in the drawing room. He’d never heard a single person yell back at his grandmother before. He was nailed to the spot.

His grandmother sailed out of the drawing room some minutes later, saw him standing there, and gave him a sweet smile. He’d hugged her to him. “You don’t like Mrs. Tewksbury, Grandmother?”

She eased back from him and patted his cheek. “Angela? I do believe she’s got a nice wit, my boy. You may call Horace. I wish to go home now and speak to Cook. Angela’s coming to dinner.”

James’s voice brought him back. “I like Angela. You never know what’s going to come out of her mouth. I do believe she fascinates Grandmother, and vice versa.”

“It is a miracle,” said their mother, hugging both of them even though Jason was wet and dirty, James only dirty. She stepped back and raised her face to the sky, her eyes closed, her lips moving.

“Mother, what are you doing?”

“Ah, James, I’m praying this miracle doesn’t disappear with the arrival of nightfall.”

Douglas said, “If the miracle fades away, I’ll do my best to cheer you up tonight.”

His boys looked at each other, then down at their boots, not a word coming out of their mouths.

That evening, after dinner, the weather continued warm, a sickle moon hanging high in the sky. Jason walked into the east garden where all the naked male and female statues cavorted in timeless pleasure. Strangely enough, he was thinking of the last race he’d run against Jessie Wyndham. He’d been on Dodger, she on Rialto ’s son, Balthazar. Dodger’s head was down, he was dead serious, focused on the finish line in the distance. With not more than twenty feet to go, Jason turned to look over his shoulder to see exactly where Balthazar was. His heart fell to his boots. Jessie wasn’t on his back. Oh God, she’d fallen. Jason, terrified she was hurt or even dead, immediately wheeled Dodger about only to hear Jessie laugh. Laugh? He watched numbly as she hoisted herself back straight in the saddle, dug her heels into Balthazar’s sleek sides and galloped past him, over the finish line a moment later. She whipped a rearing Balthazar around and called out between shouts of laughter, “Jason, I’m sorry to do that to you, but Balthazar can’t bear to lose a race. He stops eating. Once he nearly died he was so distressed over a loss at the McFarly racetrack. I had to do something.”

And Jason said mildly, “It’s no problem at all, Jessie. That was an excellent trick.”

“I’ve been doing it since I was twelve. I’ve never had to fling myself sideways with you before. I’m surprised James didn’t warn you.”

“No, James never said a thing.”

“I wonder why the children kept mum.”

“There was no reason for anyone to warn me since I’ve never before beaten you in a race.”

She’d given him a fat smile and nodded, recognition that if she hadn’t done him dirty, he would have won. When she dismounted, praising Balthazar, Jason rode up to her, smiling, and let Dodger at him. He bit Balthazar’s flank, hard. Dodger hadn’t been as philosophical about the dirty trick.

He was smiling absently as he looked up at Corrie’s favorite statue, a kneeling man frozen for all eternity between a woman’s legs.

He turned quickly when he heard a gasp. “Hallie. You found your way in here.” She didn’t look at him, only stared around at the various statues.

Jason said, “There are fifteen statues. Each, I suppose you could say, with a different approach to the theme. I believe it was my great-grandfather who brought them back from Greece.”

She didn’t say a single word. Her eyes did not waver.

He pointed up at the statue. “Most women prefer this one, once they are married, but only if their husbands aren’t clods.”

She looked more closely and blanched. “Oh dear, what is he doing?” Her voice shook, but she didn’t look away from the statues. Jason said, his hand on her arm, “Come along.” When she still didn’t move, he grabbed her hand and pulled her away. He left the east gardens, still pulling her back toward the glass doors that opened into his father’s-no, James’s-estate room.

“No, no, please, Jason, please, let’s not go in yet.”

“You shouldn’t be looking at those statues. You’re too young and too ignorant.” He said nothing more, merely looked down at her, his arms crossed over his chest. He watched her tongue rub over her bottom lip.

“I’m not young nor am I particularly ignorant, but I will be honest here. It was difficult to break myself away.”

“You’d still be there, staring up, your mouth open, if I hadn’t dragged you away.”

“Probably true. Please, don’t go in yet. I wanted to talk to you, and it’s not about the statues.”

A elegant brow went up.

She was scuffing her slipper against a small rock.

Finally, after the silence dragged out, he sighed. “Spit it out, Miss Carrick.”

Her head came up and she said, all stiff and cold, “Please don’t call me Miss Carrick in that awful formal voice again. You’ve called me Hallie for a good week now.”

“Ah, the princess gives a direct order.”

She wrung her hands. “No, I didn’t mean that, truly, I only meant that when you speak in that tone it makes me feel lower than a slug. I hate it when you use my last name like you despise me so much you don’t even want to acknowledge Hallie.”

Jason leaned back against a sessile oak tree older than his grandmother, arms folded over his chest, and waited.

“I wanted to talk to you-All right, I really wanted to apologize. I was wrong to speak like that about Mrs. Dickers. It was such a shock to know that you and she-”

“You’re ruining it, Miss Carrick.”

Hallie sucked in her breath. “You can freeze someone with that voice.”

“Yes. I learned it from my father. James as well.”

“Don’t you see? She’s so much older than I am, and I simply couldn’t imagine you and she were, well-”

“This is getting better and better. How long do you plan to make excuses for yourself?”

She took a step toward him, reached out her hand, then dropped it again at her side. “We’re going to have to live together, Jason. I can’t live with you freezing me like this, like you’re still angry, perhaps still disgusted with me. Oh, very well, I’ll spit it out like you want. No more excuses. What I said was mean, it was petty, I’m a horrible person. Are you content now?”

“Hmm,” he said, turned on his heel, opened the door to the estate room and disappeared inside. She stared after him, angry that he’d walked away and wanting to fall to her knees and beg him to forgive her.

Jason turned back to see her still standing where he’d left her, her face pale in the moonlight. He called out, “If I were a man who wished to marry, something I will never wish to do again in this lifetime, I would be strongly inclined toward Eliza Dickers. She is warm and kind and very funny.” He didn’t look back again.

And she wasn’t.

Well, all right, so perhaps she wasn’t warm and kind and funny all the time. She doubted strongly that Eliza Dickers was either. How could one be all those good things all the time? Surely even Mrs. Dickers had moments of pettiness. A pity her husband was dead, or he could be consulted. Surely she’d occasionally called him a bonehead or a fleabrain.