Richard felt his heart lift as his carriage turned the corner of the drive and the rambling old house came into view. It had been a horrendous six weeks. The least awful thing about it had been the actual moment of death. But the moments preceding– of sickness; of bitterness; the talk of long-broken promises; the snarling recount of fast-held grudges, held no less closely in the last of his father's days – they had been unbearable. And the moments after – the awful, sycophantic relatives and friends; the so very kind and sympathetic spinsters, with one eye on his fortune, and the other firmly closed against his ugliness; the so obsequious lawyers, with their quiet footsteps and quiet voices and quiet, conspiring smiles– they had been worse. And at last, he was free, and among the people who mattered: his brother, and sister-in-law and niece.

His carriage crunched to a stop on the gravel drive, and he got out rather cautiously. His leg had been troubling him even more of late, with the snap of chill autumn weather. He stretched it discreetly as he waited for someone to answer the doorbell. After a few minutes, the door swung open inwards, and the butler bowed.

"You'll tell my brother I have called." Richard stepped gratefully into the warmth of the hall.

"You may wait in the drawing room," the butler said magnanimously. "I shall see if Mr Armiger is at home."

But there was no opportunity for Richard to wait. Footsteps, very little ones, pattered in the mezzanine above, and a pair of bright green eyes peered through the bannisters at him.

"Uncle Wichard!"

Richard braced himself. The denizen thundered down the stairs and threw herself full bodied into his arms. He balanced her on his hip, wincing as she ran sticky fingers over his cravat.

"Did you bring me a present?" Annie demanded, plucking at his cravat. "Why is it black?" She had found his mourning band. "Daddy has one too. It's ugly."

"Death is ugly," Richard agreed. "And you know you shouldn't be asking me for presents. It's not polite."

"But you did bring me one?" she said coyly.

"Perhaps." He adjusted her weight, and Neil appeared at the top of the stairs. "I arrive unheralded. Apologies. There was no time to send a letter."

"I'm glad you've come. Here. Let me help." Neil came running lightly down the stairs and plucked the toddler from Richard's side. There was nothing in him now of the invalid of three years ago. Nothing, except the thin white scar arcing down over his temple. "You mustn't ask for presents, Annie," he chided gently. "Not until after you've said hello at the very least."

Not in the least bit abashed, Annie waved at Richard. "Hello."

"Good morning," Richard said solemnly. But did not put his hand in his pocket, yet, for the little ribboned candy box that waited for her.

"I'm sorry I couldn't come," Neil said. "I didn't mean to saddle you with all of that – but it was a very difficult time for Verity, and I couldn't leave her."

"I understand." Richard hesitated. "I have heard no news. Is she well? Would congratulations be premature?"

"She's very well." By the broad smile on Neil's face, Richard knew the baby had been born. "I'll accept your congratulations, with thanks. A boy," Neil admitted. "They're both doing very well. You can come up and see them. She's still in confinement. It has only been two weeks."

"I'd like to – that's why I came. And it was a relief to get away."

"I'm sorry," Neil said again, as they went up the stairs. "I would have come – something to dilute the unpleasantness of it all."

And in the end, thought Richard, that was all it had really been – unpleasant. Not sad, not horrifying, and certainly not full of love. It had been an unpleasant, sticky, sweaty, mess, of decaying body, and decaying mind, and a heart so decayed by its ill-lived life that by the time death came for it, there was nothing left to rot. The black band on the two brothers' arms were nothing more than social convention. It had been a great deal of unpleasantness, and it was over now.

Neil held the bedroom door open, and Richard stepped through. As usual, when he saw her, his heart skipped a little beat, and his breath disappeared for a moment. He nodded his head, and smiled, at the woman curled up in the blanket on the sofa in the sun, with the little baby in her arms.

"We were just having breakfast," Verity said. "Please, you must be hungry, if you have travelled."

"Thank you." But Richard ignored the food and sat down next to her, to examine the baby, and give himself the secret luxury of examining her face. She did look well. "He's beautiful."

"Thank you." She shifted a little. "I'm so glad he's sleeping. He's an awful wailer, do you know? Whenever he's awake." But her voice, or the movement, seemed to have woken the baby. His blue eyes opened slowly, and he blinked at Richard. Then, true to her word, he began to cry. She jogged him slowly. "Oh, sshh, darling, shhh."

Annie, who had been watching with awe, climbed up on the sofa next to Richard. "Stinky," she whispered loudly, crawling over his knees. "Stinky!"

"There were discussions," explained Neil, "About what to name him."

"I think I sense some jealousy there," Richard said innocently. He put his hand to his pocket, and retrieved the present. "Look, Annie, who do you think this is for?"

Annie breathed in deeply. "Me! Thank you, Uncle Wichard." She took the present in one eager, grubby little fist, and used the other to clumsily hug him. He patted her back gently.

"You're very welcome. Do get off my knee, darling." He pushed her gently off his aching knee.

Annie, investigating the contents of the box, was quiet. By putting her forefinger in the baby's mouth, Verity had achieved something close to peace.

"We were thinking we might name him Richard," she said shyly. "If you liked."

"I – I'm flattered." Richard grimaced a little. "But with my deepest respect, I would rather you didn't. I like my niece, and I'm sure to like my nephew, but I'd rather not share a name with him all the same. He deserves his own."

"Well, that settles it," said Neil. "No Richard, and certainly no Neil. Annie, is there anything other than Stinky?"

Annie looked up from her prize, which was still eluding her, with all its ribbons and ties. "Podge," she suggested, after a moment's thought. Annie did not like porridge.

"I think perhaps not that either," Neil said delicately. "We shall find one. Eventually."

"Now that I've met him, I'll have some coffee and breakfast." Richard leaned over, and kissed the proffered infant on the forehead. "He is very sweet. I'm happy for you both."

There was an interval of small talk, and coffee and cold toast. Then the baby began to cry again, and Richard and Neil left so that Verity could nurse him in private. They went down to the library.

"So," Neil said. "Father's gone, and you're the earl. What do we do now? Do you need us for anything?"

"No. I think I'll manage to see it through by myself. I've been managing most of the estate this past year anyway. I came up for a different reason. I'd like to return your portion to you."

Neil's eyes opened wide. "What?"

"The portion that father cut from you when you ran away."

"But we don't need it. We're perfectly content with what we've got."

"One daughter," Richard said persuasively, "A newborn son, who, I remind you, is my heir, after you. And I shall never have a child, nor, it is likely, a wife. You might go on to have a dozen children. The money should certainly be of use to you and your family. But I have no need of it, not for myself."

Neil seemed to be deciding, kicking monotonously at the hearthstone.

"I'm only returning to you what would have been yours by rights if we had not treated you so poorly. Take it, Neil."

Finally, Neil stopped kicking the hearthstone. "We owe a lot of our happiness to you already," he said bluntly. "I'm very grateful. I really am. And I shall put it to good use."

"I know you will."

"The one thing I'd really like," Neil said eagerly, "Is if you did find a wife – I'd like to see you happy too."

"I'm as ugly inside as I am out," Richard said cheerfully. "I know I am, for all society gossips so."

"Well they're quite wrong." Neil's lips twitched. "You're only ugly outside, Rich. And even then, it's not so bad an earldom and a fortune cannot make up for it."

"Then it is so bad, then it is worse. And you see quite why I wish to waste my fortune on the households of disrespectful, feckless younger brothers. I've got to do something to get the fortune hunters off my back."

"Marry a good woman, and they will leave you alone."

"The good women are all taken. The fortune hunters are the only ones left. But most of all," Richard said, more seriously, "I'm quite content as I am – You say that I have given you happiness, but you have also brought me happiness – you, and your wife, and your children. You mustn't think I'm lonely, down with the ghosts in Albroke. Or, to be quite precise, you mustn't fool yourself into believing a woman I didn't love would make me any less lonely. And there isn't one I can love."

There was a hidden wound there that Neil would never know, for Richard knew it was quite impossible to explain how much he loved Verity – and how loyally he would go on loving her, fully knowing that it would never be returned, and even, in his own way, being perfectly happy to do so.

But Neil, unconscious of this, was only laughing. "There is," he declared. "You just haven't found her yet. You haven't even tried to look."

THE END