"But isn't she too young for Harry?" Simone asked.

"Grandmama was fifteen years younger than the old man," said Gale with a shrug. "And she still died first."

"And what's your point?"

"That age hardly matters," Price replied.

The four of them were walking through the garden, the one at the back of the house, while not far away, in the vast lawn near the edge of the woods, the servants were battling the winds with the tablecloth.

Mrs. Keating, the housekeeper with black hair and slender figure, shouted for Price. "The chairs, Price!"

One thing people also found odd within the Abberton House was that the masters could be ordered around by the servants as much as they could do the same to them. They grew up doing whatever they fancied. If they wanted to cook, they were not just allowed to—they were taught to. Clean the windows? Of course they could climb the ladder to clean the windows. The girls ruined gardens, collected worms, and later learned how to grow the same foods they cooked in the kitchen. On more summers than they could count, Price and Gale had joined the workers in the field to plant new crops to escape the schoolroom.

No one stopped them from doing anything, and if any of their tutors ever showed them the distinct line between laborers and masters, they were dismissed. There was respect, but it was never one-sided.

Astonishing it may be, odd as it may be, it also had its disadvantages. For one, most of the children had an unruly side to them. They could not easily distinguish class whenever they were outside. Rarely would one catch them address anyone correctly, especially those with vague titles.

It was Price who eventually found the perfect solution. "Just call everyone lord or lady. Those without title would either correct us or be flattered and not bother. But we should always recognize a bloody duke and duchess. They're addressed differently. But they're quite few, so we're quite safe."

As Price delivered two chairs to Mrs. Keating, they followed in an easy pace. Lydia looped her arm around Sisi while Gale asked, "Have you asked Web?"

"Never had the chance. He's always busy."

"Oh, the curiosity is killing me," Lydia said. "I think Web is trying to evade our questions."

"I guess so, too," Gale concurred. "I tried asking myself, but he brushed it off."

"We can invite them to Charity's wedding," suggested Lydia. Bridget had married three years ago. This year, Charity finally found a match, and she had asked Simone to make her dress.

"I doubt a duke will attend a small-town wedding, Lydia."

Gale picked up a fallen twig and thoughtfully asked, "Do you think Harry will accept the offer?"

"It's quite advantageous. Her brother is a duke. That in itself is good enough connection."

"I don't think Harry will take it," Lydia said.

"He's in love with Ara," Gale pointed out.

"No, he's not," Lydia said.

"He's my brother. I know."

"He told you?"

"Not in words, but—"

"Then it's all in your head," said Simone before she scoffed. "What do you know about love?"

"I happen to know a lot about love. It just would not come to me."

"Like it did with Pauline and the many other ladies before and after her?" Lydia asked.

"Oh, please, those were just fleeting moments. And Pauline's case barely lasted a week."

"It was more than a week. You spent an entire week practicing your waltz when Web locked us up after our fiasco in the theater."

"Well, no matter, that was just a passing boy's fancy," he said, throwing the twig to the side. "But I'm willing to wager Harry is in love with his best friend."

"Arabella swore to never marry."

"I swore to never pose for any of your paintings," he said to Lydia. "But I still do because I love you, my dear cousin." He opened his arms wide and walked over to Lydia.

Chuckling, Lydia escaped his attempt to embrace her. "Stay away from me, you crazy man!"

Simone watched Lydia run away, Gale fast behind her with arms spread wide. "Sisi, help!" Lydia shouted with a laugh.

She broke into an excited giggle, bent down, and plucked her slippers off her feet, shouting, "I got you!" And with the precision of someone who had practiced shooting birds in the woods (and perhaps also throwing many slippers before), she hit her target right in the back of his head.

"You're dead!" Gale growled, whirling around to attack her.

She jumped on one foot, warding him off. "Lydia!" she shouted for help.

Lydia's slipper missed its mark and landed on Simone's foot. She bent and picked it up, but was not fast enough. Gale had tackled her to the ground, and they rolled, squealing with a trace of laughter that bordered imminent fury.

"My dress, you bastard!" she shouted, pushing him off her.

"You hit my head!" he shouted back.

"You know, there's good reason that I really wanted to lock you all up before the picnic," Damon's voice said above them.

They both looked up, still laughing, to find him looking down at them with a frown. Not far away, Lydia slowed down, her other slipper in one hand. "Your Grace!"

Your Grace?

Simone poked her head to the side of Damon's leg and found another pair standing not far behind. She did not even dare look up. She scrambled to her feet, silently asking how many times should Daniel Cavendish see her on the ground.

Three times now. Three!

Damon pulled her up, Gale followed. "Bloody hell, Sisi, you're too old for this," he gritted out under his breath. "Go inside and change your dress."

She nodded, head bowed, and walked, but then she realized she was walking right into Daniel Cavendish, so she stopped, turned around, and walked to Damon's other side. Gale was right behind her, murmuring a good afternoon to their guests.

"Your slippers," Damon said behind them.

"Right," she murmured, walking back, eyes on the ground. She hastily picked up the slippers, saying, "Lydia," giving the other to her cousin. They both struggled to put on their slippers and half-ran-half-walked away without looking back.

The three of them stumbled into the hall. It was Gale who snorted, and Simone and Lydia broke into a fit of laughter. "We should really stop acting like children," Gale told them. "If you both want to find husbands."

"We're not acting like children. We're just carefree!" Lydia breathlessly said.

They ran up the stairs, met Harry who was dressed for the picnic, and Web who frowned, saying, "What happened?"

"Oh, it was Price," Simone quickly said. "We'll be down shortly."

Two maids ran after Simone and Lydia. "You've ruined your dresses!" Susan shrieked. "Was it the geese again?" asked Juliet.

"I want the blue dress, Juliet," Simone said, entering her room. Across hers was Lydia's and before she entered, her cousin said, "Sisi, I think he fancies you."

It was Juliet and Susan who asked, "Who?"

"And you made the conclusion how?"

"He looked at you like he wanted to pick you up and kiss you, that's how," her cousin said. "Oh, this is going to be interesting!" She looked down the corridor and shouted, "Gale! You saw it, didn't you?"

"What?" their cousin asked.

"How he looked at Sisi."

"Like he wanted to murder her?"

"Not, Damon, you dimwit! The duke!"

"Oh, like he can't believe he's seeing a giant infant?" his drifting voice asked before he completely disappeared.

Lydia looked at Simone. "He's interested."

"He's interested in marrying his sister to Harry, that's all," she said, truly not wanting to entertain any sort of hope. As Damon said, she was too old for this.

"Oh, wait until what Price has to say."

Simone groaned. "Lydia, you would not dare—"

But her cousin had already closed the door with Susan.

"Hm," Juliet muttered. "You may want to finish that wedding dress, Miss Sisi."

"Which one?" she asked. She was making two: one for Charity and the one she started five years ago.

"Why—yours, of course!"

***

Harry Stratford was very polite to Emmeline. He listened to her, paid her enough attention. Who wouldn't? His sister was not particularly beautiful with black hair and brown eyes common among other women, but her eyes and demeanor always glowed with interest and curiosity. She was easily fascinated, and showed it without hesitation. She did not pay much attention to how she should dress in public like many women her age, but she cared if people would consider her stupid. She was confident. And for men like Daniel and many others, confidence was attractive.

However, one could not yet determine if something would blossom between the two, but it was clear that it was an important thing for the Stratfords. Daniel could easily surmise that no one would order Harry to marry anyone he did not want.

"Why him?" Emmeline asked with curiosity.

"Why not?"

"He's older than you, Daniel."

"By a year."

"We have eleven years between us."

"Does it matter?" he asked.

"No, but why him?" They were taking a leisure walk on the edge of the woods as the servants, and even the Stratfords, prepared the picnic. He had been to many estates like this one, with the woods at their disposal, with lush gardens, and a humongous manor. But nothing quite like the Abberton House. It was... interestingly different.

There was something in this place that was absent in their own home in Dafield. No, not the odd courtyard he had heard a lot about.

It was laughter.

Of course, they also laughed back in Boatbell Manor, but the one here in Abberton House was a different kind of laughter. It was wild, unruly. Loud. Everything he and his sisters were not accustomed to.

"They're rich," he said.

"Then perhaps you should marry one of the ladies," Emmeline said. "They're quite fun, aren't they?"

"They also like climbing windows," he said, eyes on the roof. A young woman in a white dress was climbing out of the attic window and she was followed by another. The two of them walked on the roof as they would if they were on ground. One was holding a basket, the other a folded cloth.

"Goodness," Emmeline said, looking around frantically. "Someone's on the roof!" she shouted.

"What?" asked Price, looking up.

"The roof! Two girls!"

"Roxie and Freda," explained Web, approaching them with an unbothered smile. "It's their turn on the deck today."

"Deck?" Emmeline asked.

"Birdwatching deck," Daniel said. Web turned to him with a curious look on his face. "You mentioned it before," he lied.

"Funny," his friend murmured. "I don't believe I ever did." Then he turned to Emmeline to explain. "If you circle around the west wing, you'll see a birdwatching deck attached to the roof that extends outward. Old man didn't want another infrastructure just for stairs, so we had to be creative."

"So you climb out the windows instead?" Emmeline asked in astonishment.

"It's safe," Web said with a shrug.

"How is climbing out a window of a roof safe?" asked Emmeline.

"You may want to see the decks we have in the woods," Harry said, smiling at Emmeline as he approached. "Aren't you curious?"

"If they're still alive, of course!"

The two Stratfords smiled. "If you would allow me, I'll escort you to meet Roxie and Freda," Harry told her.

"I don't think I can climb out a window."

Harry offered his arm and asked, "Can you shout?"

"W-Why?"

He shrugged, exchanged a look with Daniel, who just nodded. "If you let me escort you, you'll know."

Web stood beside Daniel and they watched the pair walk away to the western side of the manor. "Is it because of the stories I told you about my family while we were in Butler?"

He turned to his friend and frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Why you're choosing to marry your sister into our family," he said.

A small laugh escaped him. "Maybe."

"You have always been fascinated by my stories which may have been told with exaggeration."

"Having passed through your courtyard, I know you were not exaggerating."

"Well, it's true. The courtyard reveals it all, I'm afraid," Web said. A comfortable silence passed between them. The trees in the woods rustled as the wind blew past them, carrying Emmeline's voice. It sounded like she shouted a question, which was answered by a series of more shouts from the two younger-sounding Stratfords up on the deck. He felt his friend's gaze on him.

He and Web had always been the same. They wanted different things from what their family expected. But circumstances had forced them both to take the exact paths expected of them. His friend lost his parents and had to face the gigantic responsibility of running one of the biggest shipping lines in Sutherland. And he, albeit only a little later, had to step into the role of a duke.

"Why do I feel like you are rushing, Daniel?" he asked.

"Emmeline is of marrying age. It's about time."

"And I'm quite certain you'll do the same for Eliza and Elizabeth in a year or two."

He took in a long breath. "I have to secure their future. As their brother, it's my responsibility."

"You mean before the time runs out?" His head snapped at his friend, and Web lifted both hands and stepped back. "I'm not on the list of your enemies, Dafield."

"Don't call me that," he said. "It crawls on my skin."

Web laughed and slapped a hand on his shoulder. "Well, if your sister ends up in the family, you'll understand what crawl on your skin actually means. We get into each other's skin quite often here."

They started to walk back to the picnic which was now finally ready. From a distance, three figures were walking toward them, carrying plates. The servants walking behind them were carrying refreshments.

"I heard they were rolling on the ground again when you arrived," Web said, eyes on his sister and cousins.

"They were, yes," he replied, eyes on just the sister.

She was wearing a blue dress, the sleeves sheer and light, flowing with the wind. Her hair was glorious under the afternoon sunlight, freely flying with the wind, reminding him of a vague memory of an afternoon in Picadilly, of him running after a pearl.

Then her eyes found his again. He looked away in the most nonchalant way he could muster.

No, he reminded himself. Not her.