“Ginny is…” How to describe his sister? “…still not herself.” He finally settled on. “Frail and dispirited. But Little Lord Grasmere is the picture of health and has a wail that can quite possibly wake the dead.”
At that, Braden smiled and a wistful expression settled on his face.
“No babe here yet, I presume?” Oliver asked. “Callie’s doing well, I hope.”
Braden pushed off his desk and settled back into his chair. “We’re probably a few weeks away from the blessed event, but I suppose our little one could make an appearance any day.” And then his smile widened. “You know, if I have a daughter, we can arrange a betrothal between the two of them.”
“Good God. No.” The whisky in Oliver’s stomach churned at the suggestion, but the insulted expression on his friend’s face made him shake his head and try to explain. “I’m certain any daughter you may have will be delightful, Braden. I just would never be so arrogant as to thinkIknew who or what was best for my nephew. I would never presume to think that whatever I may think today would serve him best a quarter of a century from now. I would never think to etch his future in stone before he’s even had the chance to live his life and determine for himself which path best suits him.”
Braden’s frown lifted only slightly. “I had no idea you felt so strongly on the matter.”
How could he? It wasn’t as though Oliver could ever confide in Braden how desperately in love he was with the man’s sister, especially as there was no future he could ever offer Grace. “Grasmere was a perfectly fine fellow, but I don’t believe Ginny would have ever picked him on her own. And I sure as hell wouldn’t have selected a Hambleton’s daughter for my own bride.”
“Is there a girl you would have—”
“Ah! There you are.” Came Quentin Post’s voice from the threshold, cutting off his brother. “I was just telling Lacy—”
Braden gestured to Oliver. “Do they not knock in Cumberland these days?”
Quent strode into the room and grinned at Oliver. “The prodigal son returns, hmm?”
“Quent.” Oliver nodded at the man. “You’re looking well.”
“I saw Danby in London during the season,” Quent began. “I do hope Ginny is all right.”
“As best as can be expected, I’m sure,” Oliver returned. “I am in His Grace’s debt, as he sent some fellows to apprehend Douglas and Helen Waring. Don’t know what I would have done without his assistance in that matter.”
Quent shook his head. “Dreadful business. Beyond comprehension, honestly.” Then he gestured to Oliver’s drink. “But a little early in the day to get foxed, isn’t it?”
Hardly. “Haveyouever traveled the length of England with a tiny marquess who wailed and complained the whole way?”
Quent laughed at that and pointed at his older brother “Traveled with a fully grown marquess who wailed and complained the whole way. Drink up, my good man.”
“Oh, for the love of God,” Braden complained. “How does Lila live with you?”
Quent grinned from ear to ear. “I keep her very happy. Would you like to know exactlyhow, and in great detail? I’m certain Callie would be most grateful for any pointers I—”
“Don’t you have a guest to entertain?” Braden grumbled.
“Yes, well, as I was saying when I walked in here, I was just telling Lacy thatyouhave his treatise on crop rotation.”
Braden’s mouth fell open. “He’sthatDaniel Lacy?”
Oliver had the same treatise if it was the one he was thinking of. The writing was genius. They had the fellow at Highfield?
“Anyway, I told him you might be interested in discussing the treatise with him. ButIcan’t think of anything more boring, so I may just go entertain my wife in the meantime.”
Braden heaved a beleaguered sigh. “Well, if Quent is abandoning poor Lacy, we should keep him company. What do you say, Oliver?”
“I’ve increased my crop yield tenfold thanks to the man.”
“He’s in the library, perusing your collection on Renaissance art,” Quent said, starting for the doorway.
“Quite an interesting fellow.” Braden pushed out of his chair and gestured Oliver into the corridor. “Knowledgeable about so many things.”
They navigated the hallways of Highfield until they reached the marquess’ well-stocked library. Braden entered first and gestured toward a blond man sitting in one of the chairs in the middle of the room. “Quent just told me you aretheDaniel Lacy who wrote the crop rotation treatise that I follow like a bible.”
The man glanced up at them and closed the book in his lap. “I had no idea that piece would be useful to anyone other than myself.”