“It’s your profession, not mine.”

Mr. Kettering refrained from commenting on what Darius’s profession must be, and began asking the questions Darius knew he had to answer. Names, dates, exact amounts, and conditions. The document would be straightforward enough, leaving a tidy sum in Vivian’s hands, or in Kettering’s hands for the benefit of Vivian and her firstborn child, should Vivian remarry. The trust was revocable only by the creator, that worthy soul being Darius, and the principle invested, some in the five percents, some in ventures of Kettering’s choosing.

Hashing through all the what-ifs and in-the-event-ofs took two hours, but Darius left satisfied he’d done what honor demanded.

He couldn’t claim he’d behaved without self-interest—not that he’d expect that of himself. Some of William’s first installment had gone to liquidation of immediate debts, and some of the second would go to enhancements at Averett Hill. If there were a third installment, a portion of that sum would go to a trust for John, because Trent’s money was largely tied up in trusts for his children, and Darius never wanted John scrabbling for necessities, as Darius had been for his entire adult life.

Vivian wasn’t lying in wait for Darius, exactly, but she did make it her business to quietly learn where his quarters were, and to frequent the shops closest to his neighborhood. She also went riding as often as the weather permitted, which was hit and miss, at least for most of February. She listened rather more carefully than she had previously to idle gossip when she made calls on the wives of William’s various associates.

She heard no mention of the Earl of Wilton’s younger son, though she did hear the older was out of mourning, and perhaps once again in search of a bride.

By the time March rolled around and Vivian’s menses were absent for the third time, she’d all but given up hope of seeing Darius again by chance. Still, she’d gotten in the habit of taking Bernice out for a hack in the park, and in another few weeks her riding habits wouldn’t fit. So when the weather moderated a trifle, Vivian was again hacking along the Ladies’ Mile when she spotted a pair of riders ahead, moving along at the walk.

She knew that piebald gelding—or thought she did.

The rider was female, petite, blond, and unfamiliar to her, though there on the big chestnut sat none other than Darius Lindsey.

This hurt, physically and emotionally, to see him with a young lady—a very young lady—smiling and enjoying a day that whispered of spring. Whoever she was, she was on Darius’s personal mount, the one reserved for him, always available to him.

Now Vivian understood why Darius hadn’t wanted them to run across each other: not because he wanted shut of her, necessarily, but because even though he was shut of her, he sought to spare her sensibilities.

Vivian drew Bernice down to the walk and made as if to pass the pair, when the mare decided to turn up friendly. She whickered at Skunk, who stopped, planted his hooves, and turned a curious eye on the mare.

The blonde offered a cheerful smile. “Good morning. You will excuse my mount, but he has a mind of his own, much like his owner.”

“Good morning.” Vivian would have edged Bernice forward, but the way the horses were positioned, that would have meant brushing stirrup to stirrup past Darius.

“That’s a lovely mare,” the blonde said. “I told my brother I’d get along better with a mare.”

“Tell your father,” Darius said. “It’s his stables that lack a suitable lady’s mount and require that you borrow my horse if you’re to go for a safe hack.”

“A generous brother.” Vivian addressed her words to the blonde, lest Darius see the relief in her smile. “You must be Lady Emily.”

Emily turned a questioning glance on her brother. “Darius? Where are your manners?”

“Lady Longstreet, I believe?” Darius’s expression was bored, as if he’d rather be home reading The Times than indulging the ladies in their socializing. Vivian nodded rather than address him, and Darius continued with the introductions.

“Dare, you and Arthur lead on, and I’m sure Skunk will follow along.” Lady Emily ordered her brother around with apparent confidence in his compliance, and he maneuvered the chestnut back onto the path ahead of the ladies.

“How do you know my brother, Lady Longstreet?” Emily’s expression betrayed simple curiosity and maybe even some friendliness.

“In truth, I’ve known your sister longer,” Vivian said. “We came out the same year. I trust she’s keeping well?”

Emily’s lips thinned. “Leah will be setting her cap for a husband this Season, or my father will know the reason why, but as wonderful as she is, the men ought to be lining up to offer for her.”

“A loyal sentiment, and one that takes the perspicacity of men as a given.” Vivian’s mouth kept making words, despite the dictates of prudence. “That, I’m sad to say, is likely a mistake.”

“I heard that.” Darius drew rein until his horse was even with the others. “Though where Leah is concerned, I’m afraid I have to agree. It will take a special man for each of my sisters.”

“Spoken like an overprotective older brother.” Emily was not offering a compliment.

“Spoken like a wiser older brother,” Darius said. “Watch your whip, Em. You don’t want it bouncing along on Skunk’s quarters like that. But tell me, Lady Longstreet, how are you faring?”

“I’m in good health.” Vivian fiddled the reins to hide her smile. “William caught a cold while at Longchamps, and he’s not quite shaken it yet.”

Darius considered her, and she felt his gaze travel over her in a quick—perhaps reluctant?—perusal. “Spring will likely take care of that. You will give my regards to your husband?”

“Of course.” Vivian glanced up to see him watching her. There was a guarded tenderness in his eyes that pierced her to the bone with its veiled warmth. Her lips turned up, and without willing it, she was smiling at him, a smile full of longing and remembrance and hope.

“Emily.” Darius called to his sister more sharply. “If we take this turnoff, we can be back on the street and heading home. Lady Longstreet, good day, and… take care.”

“Lady Emily, Mr. Lindsey.” Vivian nodded her farewell, and just like that, he was gone, muttering something to his sister about keeping her hands closer to the horse’s withers and looking where she was going.

Vivian hardly knew where she was going, but Bernice must have, for they were soon towing their groom back to Longstreet House. How wonderful to have seen Darius, though to Vivian’s eyes, he’d looked tired and a trifle drawn.

And how… hard, to see him and not be able to touch him and truly talk to him. This time, Vivian had been lucky—he’d been with his sister. But if there was a next time, and she came upon him in the company of one of his fast women? She’d had the impression he didn’t openly socialize with them, but what if she were wrong?

She handed the reins to the stable boy and was trying to sort through her jumbled feelings, when Dilquin appeared at the porte cochere.

“My lady, his lordship is home early from Westminster, and he’s asking for you.”

“She seemed very amiable to me,” Emily said, and though her tone was casual, her eyes held the overly discerning curiosity of a sister whose instincts have been piqued by an older sibling.

“I hardly know her, Em.” Darius let his considerable fatigue show in his tone. “Leah could probably tell you more about her. Her husband is quite a bit older.”

Emily grimaced. “A May-December wedding. Meaning no disrespect to my father, but I can’t see the appeal.”

“Even if it’s a Duke of December or Marquis of Early November?” Darius asked, but good God, Emily was sixteen, a child, and here she was considering marriage. It made him feel old, and… lonely. Trent and Leah had both dipped their toes in matrimonial waters. If Emily soon followed suit, Darius would be the only one of the siblings not to do so, and yet, how could he?