“Get me one of Bram’s shirts,” he said. “I can’t wear this.” He started to shrug out of his jacket, grimaced, and murmured his thanks when Travers stepped forward to help him. “You don’t think I should join the party, do you?”

“It’s not for me to say.”

There was no mistaking that it was a tart reply, and Bode noticed that Bram’s valet was careful to avoid eye contact. That was answer enough. “I imagine I’ll never be forgiven for leaving you behind when I moved out.”

“No, sir.”

Chuckling, Bode began unbuttoning his shirt while Travers placed the jacket over the back of a chair. “That’s more like it. I value your opinion, you know.”

A proper valet might have offered a haughty sniff. Travers snorted. He was a small, wiry man who had once moved through the rigging of the majestic Black Crowne clippers with the agility of a monkey. The collapse of a burning mast had crushed his right leg some fifteen years earlier, and while there were those who said he’d been fortunate not to lose it, he still chafed at the brace that helped support his weight and often wondered if he’d have been better off with a peg. He knew men who still worked the ships with a peg. The brace made him ungainly. Worse, it made him rattle. He remembered what it was like to move with the stealth of fog. Now his comings and goings were announced by creaks and clanks, and no amount of oil to the hinges silenced all that racket at once.

Bode’s fingers paused on the last button. “You heard Bram’s engaged?”

“I heard.”

“What do you think?”

Travers lifted an eyebrow. “I think you might have left it to too late. That’s what comes of taking care of everyone but yourself.” He pointed to Bode’s swollen eye. “Look at what you have to show for it. Bram’s stealing Comfort and you’re getting none.”

Bode supposed he deserved the opinion he asked for. “She loves him.”

“Of course she does. Bram wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Bode shrugged out of his shirt. “She might even be good for him.”

“No doubt about it. Still, I had it in my mind that you need her more.”

It wasn’t a new idea to Bode either. He said nothing.

“And would be better for her, too.” Grinning widely, Travers held out one hand for Bode’s shirt. “This is for the rag bin.” He swung around, dragging his leg slightly.

“I have a plan, Sam.”

Samuel Travers paused and rubbed his bony chin with his knuckles. “Never occurred to me that you didn’t. You always were a real good thinker, Bode.”

Bode gave him a pointed look and gestured toward the door. “The shirt, Sam.” It wasn’t until Travers was gone that Bode allowed himself the indulgence of a sympathetic smile. He’d known when he left home that he was abandoning the man who had mentored him more than his own father, but leaving Sam behind had been done for a purpose. Bram needed mentoring now, although judging by tonight’s behavior, Bode had good reason to wonder how much his younger brother was open to influence.

He leaned toward the mirror and examined the cut on his scalp. Ruffling his thick, dark copper hair around the wound, he attempted to hide it. His mother would notice, though perhaps the other guests wouldn’t look past his eye. That was going to be a shiner. He only remembered having had one like it before, and he’d been about twelve on that occasion. At least he’d been proud of that one, earned as it was for defending Bram from a trio of bullies. That was twenty years and three thousand miles ago. Most often the score of years seemed less distant than the geography. He was still looking out for Bram.

Travers’s return brought Bode out of his reverie. He accepted help slipping into the shirt and put up with Travers fussing about the fit of the jacket until the valet began making soft clucking noises. Stepping away from the mirror’s unforgiving reflection, Bode put out a hand.

“Enough,” he said. “There’s no more that can be done. Certainly no one’s going to blame you if I’m turned out like a sow’s ear instead of a silk purse.”

“A lot you know. Your mother will say I shouldn’t have turned you out at all. Send for the doctor, that’s what she’ll want to do.”

“Well, there are probably three of them downstairs, so it’s more likely I’ll be trampled when they rush forward to do her bidding.”

“There is that.” The momentary gleam in his eye said that he approved. Sobering, he looked Bode over, and then tilted his head toward the door. “Go on. Have a care you don’t upset your mother more than you can help it.”

As advice went, it was exactly what Bode knew he needed to hear.

Very much afraid that Bram would be unable to conceal his amusement, Comfort did not hazard a glance in his direction. Alexandra was a formidable presence, a force of nature on the order of earthquakes and tidal waves, and she did not suffer anyone opposing her for long. Determined and forthright, she made her opinions known, and for those who lacked her clarity of purpose or principle, she was entirely capable of making her opinion theirs.

Comfort dutifully allowed herself to be moved through the guests lined six and seven deep close to the ice sculpture and lemonade drinks fountain and deposited next to her uncles. Their expressions told her they’d been swept up in Alexandra’s wake as well.

“Apparently we haven’t accepted everyone’s best wishes,” Tucker whispered as Comfort leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.

When she did the same to Newt, he said, “If I die right here, don’t let them bury me with this idiotic smile on my face.”

Comfort tamped her own smile as she turned to offer herself for Alexandra’s inspection. At her side, she felt Bram’s fingers close over two of hers and squeeze gently. Comfort had always suspected that Bram might be a little afraid of his mother, and she accepted that his gesture was as much to steady his own nerves as it was to steady hers. She’d never told him that while she sometimes stood in awe of Alexandra Crowne DeLong, she wasn’t afraid of her.

Alexandra looked over her impromptu receiving line with the gimlet eye of a shipmaster examining his crew. Behind her, the ice sculpture at the center of the fountain dripped steadily, but its shape was still recognizable as the flagship of the Black Crowne fleet, the Artemis Queen. Alexandra might have been the inspiration for its figurehead. She stood like the immortal huntress, shoulders back, chin up, prepared to challenge anyone who did not meet her approval. At fifty, she was a handsome woman, though in her youth she had never been beautiful or even what passed for pretty. She’d once confided to Comfort that she’d grown into her features, and given the length of her nose, the narrowness of her face, and the bony definition of her jaw, it was the best she could hope for.

Her hair was her vanity. Thick and lustrous, it was a deep shade of red and only beginning to reveal threads of silver. For tonight, it had been arranged in a smooth coil and artfully accented with white rosebuds. More rosebuds, this time in silk, trimmed the tiered flounces of her ball dress.

“You’ll do,” she said at last. She speared Newt with a second glance. “Stop fussing with your collar.”

Newt’s hand dropped to his side with such alacrity that even Alexandra was moved to smile.

Inclining her head toward him, she said quietly, “Ask Bram for the name of his tailor. A thick-necked man like yourself can benefit from a good fitting.” She straightened, nodded her approval a second time, and moved into position beside her son. Almost immediately there were guests advancing on them.

Comfort, suddenly recalling Bode’s description of the young ruffians as a swarm of locusts, had an urge to take a step back. These people were much better dressed, but Comfort believed they were capable of picking her bones clean, even if they’d leave her pockets untouched. A sideways glance at her uncles warned her they felt similarly, and probably weren’t as confident that their pockets were safe.

Feeling every bit the pretender she was, Comfort nevertheless managed to accept the kind sentiments expressed by Alexandra’s guests. While her response tended to be reserved, she couldn’t help noticing that Bram was considerably more at his ease, cheerfully managing the fraud as though it were sport. She was not endeared.

Had she not been so aware of his good humor, Comfort wouldn’t have sensed the change in him as quickly as she did. It was not a difference of tone or manner, but one of temperature. Where their fingers touched, his had gone cold. She was still trying to think what to make of it when the orchestra abruptly stopped playing.

Her attention, like everyone else’s in the room, was drawn to the cause of the disruption. Bram’s fingers threaded in hers, and this time it seemed to Comfort that he wasn’t offering what might pass for encouragement. It seemed, rather, that he was clutching her.

Perhaps he was, she thought. His brother looked like hell as he straightened from having the violinist’s ear. Whatever efforts Bode took to make himself presentable, they weren’t sufficient. On the other side of Bram, Comfort heard Alexandra inhale sharply. This was followed by a similar intake of breath from many of the female guests. To Comfort, it seemed as if the air had been sucked out of the salon. Seeing Arleta Ogden weave unsteadily, she supposed it was a good thing Bode took the time to scrub away the blood. There might have been fainting otherwise.

Comfort was tempted to curl her lip at Miss Ogden’s dramatics. Instead, she remained politely fixed on Bode as he prepared to address his mother’s guests. She felt certain that she knew what he was about to say. Her lips moved around the word even as he spoke it.

“Surprise.”

And just like that, there was air to breathe. Bode’s voice might have been a stone skipping across the glassy surface of a pond. Tension broken, light laughter rippled through the salon. Even Alexandra was able to give up a faint smile. Bram’s hand felt warm again.

“I apologize for the lateness of my arrival,” Bode said. He pointed to his swollen eye. “I don’t know what explains this except for the lowering truth that I should not go poking around my own warehouse with a walking stick and no lantern when there are boxes and barrels so precariously stacked that a mother cat and a litter of kittens can push them down on my head.”

Comfort blinked. The lowering truth? What happened to the Rangers and the ruffians? She watched as Bode scanned the gathering with his good eye. Before she could look away, he found her. He only held her gaze for a moment, but she knew a warning when she was given one. Bode’s cautions were as sharp as darts. He’d learned something about a gimlet-eyed stare from his mother and showed he could use it to good effect.

“Please,” he said, gesturing to the musicians to pick up their instruments. “I hope you will forgive the interruption and go on as you have. It seemed prudent to make one explanation rather than dozens.”

“More like a hundred,” Newt said in an aside to Tucker. It came out more loudly than he’d intended, but then again, he was a thick-necked man and had a voice that touched all the bass notes before it left his lips. He smiled unapologetically as Alexandra turned a disapproving eye on him.

“Thank you, Mr. Prescott,” Bode said. “It is easily a hundred.” As though in sympathy, he mirrored Newt’s unconscious gesture of tugging on his collar. He was glad for an excuse to do it, because Bram’s shirt was an uncomfortably close fit. “And nearing a hundred degrees. Let’s open the doors, shall we? Mother? You don’t object?”

Alexandra capitulated graciously. “Whatever you like, Bode. It’s your birthday.”

“Well then, I do like.” He extended his hand toward her. “Will you take the floor with me?” When she nodded, he stepped forward to go to her. Guests parted for him. He permitted Alexandra a moment to frown and fuss as she examined his face before he took her arm and led her into the clearing made for them. “Everyone,” he called out just as the music began. “Pretend you’ve wished me happy and go about the important business of enjoying yourself.”

Comfort watched Alexandra as Bode turned her on the floor. Her smile was unrestrained and her skin fairly glowed. She looked a decade younger than her fifty years.

Bram jerked his chin in the direction of his brother. “He looks just like our father. She loved the good-looking bastard.”

“Mind your language,” Tucker growled.

“Pardon me,” said Bram. “You’re right. I forgot myself. I meant to say handsome bastard.”

Comfort set her jaw so she wouldn’t laugh out loud, but her eyes warned Bram that he needed to apologize. It wasn’t that Tuck objected to blue language, only that he objected to it being said around her. When he thought he was outside of her hearing, he favored certain expressions that would put color in a sailor’s cheeks. She might have given in to her amusement if Newt hadn’t stepped away from his post and invited her to take a turn with him. She accepted his offer gratefully.

“Tucker can be a bit of a prude at times, and that’s nothing I’ve not said to his face,” Newt told her. “Not that I approve of Bram’s language either, but I would have taken him aside and said as much, not made a point of it in front of you. That’s not the way it’s done.”

“His father was a thorough bastard, though.”

Newt gave a shout of laughter. “That’s my girl.” Comfort had to guide him through the next few steps while he recovered his timing. “Do you think Bode knows about your engagement to Bram? He didn’t mention it.”

“I imagine his mother is telling him now.” It was odd, Comfort thought, how she could manage to avoid an outright lie by not quite answering the question that was asked.

“Tuck and I were surprised by Bram’s announcement,” Newt said.

“I saw that.”

“We were thinking he should have said something to us beforehand.”

“I told him that. He thought he was being modern.”

“Is that what he’s calling it?”

Comfort thought it best not to make any response. Uncle Newton was a single syllable away from a tirade.

“How do you suppose Bode will take it?” asked Newt.

“I haven’t thought about it.”

“Perhaps you should. He’s steering Alexandra this way, and unless I miss my guess, we’re about to change partners.”

Comfort’s distress was real, although she forgave her uncle for thinking she was merely flattering him by pretending not to want to leave his side.

“Chin up, Comfort,” he said, bussing her on the cheek before he turned her over to Bode. “At least you won’t have to worry that he’ll tread on your toes.”

Overhearing this, Alexandra looked alarmed at the prospect of Newton doing as much to her beautifully shod feet. She made one last appeal to her son as Newt led her away. When it was clear Bode wasn’t going to change his mind and rescue her, she flung the accusation of heartlessness at him.

Comfort observed that the epithet had no impact. It didn’t come as a surprise. “Perhaps you are heartless.”

“This can’t be the first time you’ve thought it.”

It wasn’t, and she realized she must have shown that in some small way, because he gave her a smile that hinted at superiority. “Smug is an expression not suited to a man with only one useful eye.”

“Your point is well made.”

“Oh, I know I made it well. It begs the question, was it taken?” She heard him laugh softly. The sound lingered at the back of his throat, aging like a fine wine before it touched his lips. Realizing that she was staring at his mouth, she quickly lifted her gaze. His pathetically swollen eye looked painful; his good one looked amused. “Is there something particular that you want, Mr. DeLong?”

“Bode. I’m going to be your brother-in-law.”

“Bode,” she repeated. “Now, will you take me back to Bram?”

“In a moment. It doesn’t hurt for my friends to see that I’m pleased with the engagement.”

“You told me you don’t have friends here.”

“I’m making some.”

Comfort had never heard that Beau DeLong possessed a shred of humor. His reputation was for working hard and then working harder. She didn’t trust this man holding her. She wasn’t even sure who he was. Her regard grew suspicious. “Did they club you on the head?” she asked.

“They?”

“The mother cat and her litter.”

“Oh. I might have a lump or two at the base of my skull.”

Comfort peered more closely at his good eye to see if the pupil was contracting properly. She couldn’t tell without holding a candle flame close to it.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Trying to determine if you’re concussed.” She thought it was to his credit that he didn’t ask why. Some part of him must know he was behaving strangely. “You’ve danced with me longer than you danced with your mother,” she said. “And done so beautifully in spite of your injuries. I imagine everyone is convinced that you are over the moon at the prospect of having me become a member of your family. Now, please, escort me back to Bram.”

“When this piece is ended.” He glanced in his brother’s direction. “Bram appears to be deeply engaged in conversation with Tuck.”

That did not ease Comfort in the least. “If they’re talking politics, it can’t end well.”

Bode didn’t disagree. “Why do you think Bram chose tonight to announce your engagement?”

“You should ask him.”

“Not before this evening.” Even as she said it, she wondered if Bram’s answer would support her or make it seem as if she were lying. Just now, she wasn’t certain that she cared.

“Bram takes some odd notions into his head.”

Comfort didn’t hear a question, so she kept quiet. Perhaps if he only talked to himself, he’d grow tired of the company.

“You’ve always impressed me as a sensible influence. Mother says the same. How long have you and Bram known each other?”

“Since my coming-out.”

“That’s right. The party. You were what? Sixteen?”

“Yes.”

“And he was seventeen. Nine years, then. You wrote to each other, I believe, when he went east to Harvard. And didn’t you later attend some seminary for young ladies?”

“Oberlin College,” she said. It was difficult not to grit her teeth at his condescension. “In Ohio. Men also attended.”

“Did your uncles realize that when they packed you off?”

Now she understood he was purposely trying to rile her. Although she was unclear as to his motive, it made it easier not to give in. “You know them,” she said lightly. “Do you think they’d let me go anywhere without sending three Pinkerton men in advance of my arrival?” He surprised her by chuckling again. “Actually, Uncle Newton accompanied me there and remained until he was certain I was settled. Uncle Tuck attended my graduation and escorted me home.”

“I see. You and Bram corresponded while you were both away?”

“Yes.”

“As friends.”

“You say that as if you cannot fathom it, but it’s true.”

Bode did not trouble himself to pretend he believed her. He made a small shrug to indicate it didn’t matter. “How many proposals of marriage have you had, Miss Kennedy?”

“Mr. DeLong,” she said deliberately, “if you persist on being rude, I’ll make you wish you were still fighting off the Rangers.”

“I think it must be four,” he said. “Perhaps five. What was wrong with—ahhh!” Bode’s right knee buckled as pain arced jaggedly down his leg. It was like electricity crackling between two copper leads, only this was a jangling nerve between the base of his spine and his kneecap. It made no difference that Comfort was responsible for crippling him; his only choice was to accept her support when she offered it or fall flat on his face.

Several men rushed forward to lend their assistance, but Bode put up a hand and held them off. “Something to sit on,” he said. “That will be enough.” Almost immediately he felt the seat of chair pushing against the back of his knees. Comfort bent with him, easing him down. Through a haze of pain, Bode saw she was actually smiling. Those attending him might mistake her expression for sympathy and concern, but he knew she was sincerely pleased to have put him so firmly in his place.

“He was fine,” she said by way of explanation. “Until he wasn’t.” Comfort backed away as more guests crowded in. When she saw that Alexandra had reached Bode’s side, she ducked out and went in search of Bram.

She came toe to toe with Tucker Jones first. He smiled, slipped his arm in hers, and would have dragged her out to the portico if she had not accompanied him willingly.

“I saw that,” he said without preamble. “You wedged your foot between his, stepped sideways, and bore down on him.”

Comfort sighed. “He was annoying me. Do you think anyone noticed?”

“Other than Bode? I doubt it. You moved as smoothly as Chin Fong clearing opium eaters from the back room at the Snow Palace.” Tuck shook his head. “That was an observation, not high praise.”

Her mouth twitched.

“Oh, very well. It was an observation and high praise. Bode’s not likely to forget what you did. How did you know he’d go down so easily?”

“I knew his back was bothering him,” she said honestly. “And I took shameless advantage.”

Tucker didn’t care about that. “How was he annoying you? Was he improper?”

Comfort was trying to decide how to answer that when Bram appeared at her elbow. “Oh, I was looking for you. Do you mind, Uncle Tuck? I wanted to take some fresh air with Bram.”

Tucker waved them off, but not before he made Bram shift uncomfortably under his most implacable stare.

“Why did he look at me like that?” asked Bram as he escorted Comfort off the portico and into the garden. “Did you already tell him?”

“I’m not going to do that here,” she said. “So, no, I haven’t said anything. He looked at you like that so you aren’t tempted to annoy me.”

“Oh. Do I? Annoy you, that is.”

“Frequently.”

“Well, I’m less likely to do it now that I know your uncle can turn me into a pillar of salt.”

Comfort flashed him a grin. “Did you see Bode? Is your brother all right?”

Bram shrugged. “I couldn’t get close. I think Mother intends the servants to bear him upstairs on a chair like he’s the Pharaoh Ramses. I wanted to make certain that you suffered no injury.”

“Me? No, I’m fine. It was sudden, and I suppose he could have pulled me to the floor if I hadn’t been quick or strong enough to support him, but I was, so that’s that.”

Bode looked her over, gauging that what she said was true. “He asked you about the engagement, didn’t he?”

“Yes. He’s curious about the suddenness of it. I told him we hadn’t discussed it before this evening.”

“True enough. I’ll remember that.”

“I think he means well,” she said, surprising herself. “He’s accustomed to looking out for you.”

“Cleaning up after me, you mean.”

Comfort could have told him that if he didn’t take his position as society’s—and his mother’s—fair-haired bad boy quite so seriously, Bode wouldn’t have to carry a broom and dustpan. She held her tongue. “I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to. I did.” He sighed heavily. “What can he possibly find objectionable about me asking for your hand? You are educated and even-tempered, possess sound judgment, and exert a reasoned influence.”

“Maybe he thinks I will bore you,” she said dryly. She was all the things Bram said she was, and more than a little bored herself by so much in the way of good sense and moderation.

“Maybe you would, but I believe he’d be glad of it.” The words were out before he properly heard them. “I’m sorry. I meant no offense. That came out in a ridiculous fashion.”

“It’s all right,” she said.

But there had been a hitch in her step, and Bram knew that he’d bungled it. “You don’t bore me,” he said. “You couldn’t.”

“I could,” she insisted. “If we were married.” She stopped in a pool of torchlight and waited for him to turn to face her. “Eight weeks, Bram. You’ll wish at the end of it that I’d won the negotiation. We’re friends, certainly we are, but we’ve never—what’s the old expression?—oh, yes, we’ve never lived in each other’s pockets.”

“It’s true that we haven’t, but you’ll see that it doesn’t matter. You’re looking on the wrong side of things, Comfort. Hasn’t it occurred to you that at the end of two months you’ll be the one wishing you’d accepted my original terms? I intend that we should have such a fine time as an engaged couple that you will put aside your reservations about my character and want to accept my proposal in earnest.”

What Comfort wished was that she could duck into the shadows. It required a great deal of effort to keep her expression guarded and skeptical. “We’ll see,” she said. She took his arm and led him away from the light and toward the stone bench where she’d found Bode. “But I’m doubtful.”

The door had just closed on the retreating servants when she spoke. “This is why you should come home,” she said, gesturing broadly to indicate the length of the damask-covered chaise.

“I am home,” Bode said reasonably.

“Do not pretend you are obtuse. You know perfectly well what I mean.”

“Yes, I do. It’s a familiar argument.”

“I prefer discussion.”

“So do I, Mother, but surely we know by now that this will end badly.”

Alexandra stopped pacing, regarded her son for a long moment, and finally sighed. “You shouldn’t assume I’m surrendering my position just because I’m choosing not to continue this discussion.”

One corner of Bode’s mouth kicked up. “It never occurred to me.”

Sweeping her train to one side, Alexandra dropped into the wing chair closest to the chaise. She plucked several rosebuds from her hair and dropped them on a side table. When she saw Bode giving her a look while pointing to his chest, she glanced down at herself and saw a cluster of white petals clinging to her bosom like snowflakes. She carefully collected them and dropped them on the table.

“The roses were Mrs. Dufré’s idea. She showed me illustrations in one of her pattern books from Paris. I think perhaps it was too much. Rosebuds are for young women, not matrons, and certainly not widows.”

Bode arched an eyebrow at her. “And not for mothers who are marking their son’s thirty-second birthday.”

“That’s right.”

He rubbed his chin, a reserved half smile still playing about his mouth. “I wonder what a proper response might be.”

“Bram would know.”

“He certainly would.”

Alexandra fell quiet, waiting. When Bode didn’t fill the silence, she did. “You could try, you know.”

“Very well. I don’t think I’ll mention you were skirting dangerously close to self-pity.”

“No. Don’t mention that.”

“Then perhaps what I should say is that you are an arbiter of good taste and your tastes influence fashion. You’ve made rosebuds extraordinarily popular this evening, and Mrs. Dufré should thank you for carrying off her design with such confidence.”

“I’d rather you didn’t say any of that either.”

He chuckled. “All right. The truth, then. You made the rosebuds want to be the rose.”

She stared at him. “My God,” she said quietly. “You have his silver tongue.”

“Bram’s?”

“No, your father’s.”

“You’ll understand if I don’t accept that as a compliment.” Alexandra nodded, her expression momentarily sad as she reflected on the past. “I don’t think I meant it as one.” She forced a smile. “Still, it was lovely what you said.”

Bode returned her smile. The fire crackled beside Alexandra and light flickered in her hair, accenting the deep red color more beautifully than the rosebuds had. His mother deserved to be happy. Wasn’t that what Comfort said to him this evening?

“Are you happy, Mother?”

Alexandra did not mask her surprise. “What an odd question. Did you take a blow to the back of your head?”

“No,” he said. Because she looked as if she might get up and verify his denial for herself, Bode put a hand to the base of his skull and rubbed hard. He managed not to grimace. “I swear it, no.” He watched his mother deflate slightly and ease back into her chair. “It’s not an unreasonable question, you know. Are you happy?”

“Are you living at home?”

“No.”

“There is your answer.”

He sighed. “Your happiness cannot be dependent on that.”

“Who says? Show me where it’s written.”

“Now who is pretending to be obtuse?”

She returned his stare pointedly.

“Me?” he said. “You think I don’t understand?”

“I know you don’t. You’re not a parent.”

“How does one explain Father? His happiness never depended on the choices his sons made.”

“Nothing explains your father. He sired you. He was not a parent. And I would challenge your assertion that he was happy.” Diamonds glittered as she waved one hand dismissively. “But all that aside, it remains a truth that raising my sons is my singular achievement. If I want to rest my happiness on their choices, then that is my prerogative.”

“God, but I wish you’d had half a dozen children. Your happiness is a considerable burden for two sons to shoulder.”

“Two sons. Four shoulders. It seems adequate, if only you and Bram would share it evenly.”

Groaning softly, Bode closed his good eye and let his head thump against the back of the chaise. The contusion at the base of his skull throbbed. He shouldn’t have rubbed it quite so hard. He picked up the covered icepack Travers left for him and held it over his shiner.

“Bram seems to be doing his part to help,” he said.

“You mean his engagement?”

Bode turned his head a fraction and risked a narrow glance at her. “Has he done something else?”

“That will always be a question, won’t it?” Her rueful smile said she accepted it. “But, yes, I’m pleased with his announcement and his choice.”

“His timing?”

“It was unexpected, I grant you that. I think if you had arrived on time, he would have chosen another venue to make the engagement public, but a celebration had been planned, and he saw an opportunity to give our guests something else to talk about besides your absence.”

“Then perhaps I should have apologized for showing up at all.”

“Nonsense.”

“I was being facetious, Mother.”

“Oh. I don’t usually miss that. I must be more tired than I thought.” As if to underscore her point, she yawned abruptly. “Well, there you have it. I’m going to bed. I’ll send Travers back to assist you with your nightclothes. Do you mean to sleep on the chaise?”

“Yes. I think I will.”

“Whatever is most comfortable,” she said, coming to her feet. She approached the chaise and bent to kiss him. His forehead was cool beneath her lips, and she looked to the icepack as the cause. “Sleep well, but make sure Travers leaves a bell with you so that you can call for help if you need it.”

“I shall,” he said dutifully.

Straightening, Alexandra gave Bode one last head-to-toe study. “I cannot understand how the collapse of a stack of boxes and barrels simultaneously injured you at the front and the back.”

Because it seemed as if she didn’t expect an answer, Bode didn’t supply one. “Good night, Mother.”

“Good night.”

“Come here, bad boy.” She chuckled softly when he didn’t even make a show of resisting her. Turning on her side, she cradled him close and rubbed her chin between his ears. His long gray-and-white hair tickled her. “We missed church, but I’m guessing we weren’t the only ones. Uncle Tuck might be up, but he’ll be having breakfast in his room, and I imagine Uncle Newt is still snoring.”

She remained in bed a little longer, rising only when she felt she was in danger of drifting back to sleep. She did not want the day to slip away from her, not when she had explanations to make. The carriage ride last night had afforded her the only real opportunity to present the facts to her uncles, and she’d been loath to disturb the quiet calm that was their blanket on the journey home.

She rang for assistance and asked for a bath to be drawn. Suey Tsin moved about as quietly as the cat, occasionally causing Comfort moments of alarm when she rounded a corner and came upon the girl unexpectedly. While Comfort soaked, Suey Tsin presented day dresses for her to wear. Communicating in truncated English, rapid-fire Chinese, and a flurry of gestures, her maid presented a compelling argument for the ice blue dress being more suitable as evening attire, for a dinner party perhaps, or for the theater, and as a result, Comfort chose the lemon yellow pinstripe.

By the time she arrived in the breakfast room, Newton was sitting in his usual place at one end of the table and studying the paper folded in thirds beside his plate. Although he rose slightly at Comfort’s entrance, and gestured to her chair, his eyes never left the account he was reading.

Amused, she kissed the cheek he absently offered and took her seat. She had just unfolded a linen napkin over her lap when Tuck joined them. She looked up in surprise. “I would have wagered that you’d already taken breakfast in your room.”

“That’s why Newt and I have always cautioned you against making wagers. You don’t have the head for it.” He sat, snapped a napkin open with considerable flourish, and laid it protectively over his chest like a bib. Ignoring Comfort’s mild censure, he leaned forward and sniffed deeply. He immediately ferreted out the covered platter that was hiding the bacon and reached for it. After placing three crisp strips on his plate, he passed it to Comfort and then poured himself a cup of coffee.

“I make wagers all the time,” she protested. She permitted herself one bacon strip, put four on Newt’s plate, then thought better of it and took one back for herself. “Every time I make an investment for the bank, in fact.”

“That’s different.”

“What he means,” Newt said, still staring at his paper, “is that mostly you’re wagering other people’s money. You’re more clearheaded when it’s not your own.”

Comfort bit off one end of a bacon strip and waggled what remained of it at her uncles. “Are you two ever astonished that you made your fortune in banking?”

“Always,” said Tuck.

“It passeth all understanding,” said Newton.

“Well, as long as you know it.” She took the platter of scrambled eggs from Tuck and spooned a heap onto her plate. She left it to Newt to serve himself. He did not always take eggs if he judged them too dry. Comfort poured coffee, added cream, and spread a dollop of orange marmalade on a triangle of toast. “Are neither of you going to say anything?” she asked, raising her cup to her lips.

Attention on his paper, Newt merely grunted, but Tuck asked, “About what?”

“You know very well. Bram’s announcement. Our engagement. Plans for the wedding.”

“Oh, that. Newt and I decided that it was for you to say.”

“Say what?”

“Whatever you like, dear.”

Newt finally pushed the morning paper away and looked up. “It was unexpected,” he said. “Even Tuck didn’t have an inkling that it was coming. You could speak to that first.” He examined the eggs, decided they were to his liking, and added them to his plate. “If you want to, that is.”

Comfort tried to recall a time when the pair of them had tiptoed around anything. They’d always been considerate of her feelings, but this was excessive. “I wasn’t expecting Bram to make an announcement either.”

“I wondered,” said Tuck.

“There was a moment—just as quick as a finger snap,” said Newt, “when I thought Bram might have steered his ship aground. You saved him, though.”

“I did. It would have been embarrassing to all of us if I hadn’t.”

Tuck snapped a bacon strip between his fingers. The sharp crackle of the sudden gesture caught all of them off guard, and Comfort gave a start. Tuck looked at the part of the strip dangling from his fingertips and just shook his head. He muttered an apology because it seemed he should, although he was uncertain what he was apologizing for.

Newt spoke up. “Tuck and I don’t mind a little embarrassment. It’s more concerning that Bram didn’t speak to us first, and apparently not even to you.”

“When did he propose?” asked Tuck. “Just last evening, or were you keeping secrets for upwards of a day or so?”

“I can keep a secret from you for longer than that.” She glanced at Newton. “From both of you.”

Neither argued. They merely regarded her politely, waiting.

“He’s never proposed,” she said, giving it all up at once.

“Hah! I knew it,” said Newt.

“You did not,” said Tuck. “You were apoplectic. You kicked a door.”

“You kicked a door?” Comfort’s dark eyebrows climbed her forehead.

“He did,” Tuck told her. “We were holed up in Branford’s library deciding what to make of the news, and he kicked a door.”

Newt bit off a corner of dry toast and made a face, partly because he disliked dry toast, and partly because just now he disliked his partner. “What happened to our decision to support her?”

“Of course we’ll support her. We always support her. But there’s been no proposal, so we don’t have to support her in that.”

“But there is an engagement,” Newt said. “In his usual Bram-handed manner, he’s put the cart before the horse.”

Tuck frowned deeply. His eyebrows made a V above the narrow bridge of his nose. He directed his question to Comfort. “What does it mean exactly that there’s an engagement and no proposal?”

She slowly released the breath she’d been holding. “In this case, it means that the engagement is a fraud. I told Bram that you would be relieved.”

Newt and Tuck exchanged glances, and it was Newt who spoke. “Relieved? I don’t know about that. This situation has about as many prickles as a porcupine with her back up.”

“I’m going to break it off in eight weeks.”

“Eight weeks?” Newt stopped drizzling honey on his toast. “How was that decided?”

“We negotiated terms,” she said. “I had to. He wanted to continue the charade for six months.”

Tuck lifted his eyes heavenward. “Thank you, Lord, for giving us a child with more sense than a bag of hair.”

“Uncle Tuck!” Comfort quickly raised her napkin to her lips to stifle her laughter.

“What? I told Newt from the first that you’d be a comfort to us, and you are. I don’t know why he worries.”

Newt swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “I worry so you don’t have to, and you should thank me for it.” He regarded Comfort with concern. “So you’re willing to pretend to be Bram’s fiancée for the next two months. Did I hear that right?”

“Yes,” she said, staring at her plate. “It did not sound quite so ridiculous when Bram said it.”

“I’m sure it didn’t. There’s something you can learn from that in the event you haven’t already figured it out.”

She smiled ruefully. “I think I’ve got it.”

Newt was confident that she had. “Well, then, I’d like to know what possessed him to make the announcement in the first place.”

“I’m not sure that I even understand it,” she said. “The best I can explain it is that he felt a need to do something when Bode didn’t show up.”

“He could have put a half-dozen dinner plates on sticks and kept them spinning,” said Tuck. “I never get tired of seeing that.”

“And broken plates,” Newt added, unable to resist another caution, “aren’t as messy as broken hearts.”

Comfort chose to deliberately misunderstand. “Do you really think I can break Bram’s heart?”

Newt gave her a sideways look, telling her in no uncertain terms what he thought of her response. Tuck, though, chose to answer as if she meant to be taken seriously.

“You could,” he said, “if you helped him find it first.” He looked up from his plate to find Newt glaring at him. “Not a challenge,” he added quickly. “And it would be cruel.”

“Yes,” said Newt. “Like finding a splinter in Thistle’s paw, pulling half of it out, and leaving the rest to fester.”

Comfort and Tuck stared at him.

Newt shrugged. “Someone has to say it.” He used his knife to point at Comfort. “I’d feel better if I knew that Bram couldn’t do that to you.”

“My heart’s my own.”

Newt wanted to be convinced. He saw it was the same for Tuck. They both nodded slowly in unison.

Tuck tore off a bit of toast the size of his thumbnail and held it under the table for Thistle. The cat wound around his legs twice before he took the treat. “Does Alexandra know?”

Comfort had been dreading the question. “No. Bram doesn’t want to tell her he made it all up.”

“That’s not fair to her,” Tuck said.

“He thinks it would be worse if he told her.”

“For him,” said Newt. “In eight weeks, when you break off the engagement, it will be worse for you.”

Comfort hadn’t considered that. “I have to believe she’ll be understanding. She knows engagements don’t always end in marriage. Look at Emma Farmer and Leland Broderick. They were engaged for two years before they decided they didn’t suit.”

“That marriage was arranged for purely mercenary reasons,” Tucker told her. “The families ended it for precisely the same reasons. I’m not sure that Emma or Leland had any say in the matter.”

“I didn’t realize. But it doesn’t negate my point. They were engaged, and now they’re not.”

“Did you see the Farmers this evening?”

“No. They weren’t on the guest list. Neither were the Brodericks.”

“That’s how Alexandra handles people who don’t conform to her expectations.”

Newt nodded. “And she didn’t even have a dog in that fight. You have to consider how she’ll react when it’s her son.”

“She isn’t blind to his nature.”

“She wasn’t blind to her husband’s nature either, but she never failed him in public. Even when he threw his support to the Johnny Rebs and put the Crowne fortune at risk, she stood at his side.”

Tuck patted his knee and let Thistle jump on his lap. He stroked the cat, feeling its contented purr as a vibration against his palm. “I reckon Alexandra DeLong can suffer just about any indignity without blinking her public eye, but I don’t believe she’s ever not had her private revenge.”