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away from me. You didn’t when I first told you what was happening. You are the man I knew would be my successor and you’ve yet to prove otherwise.”

Royce glanced at him, amusement in his eyes. “You’re what the men under my command would have affectionately called a right shifty bastard, Giles.” He sighed. “Very well. I will accept your offer. God help me.”

“He always does.” Giles murmured. “He always does.”

They were silent for a moment or two, each busy with their thoughts.

Then Royce frowned. “I haven’t asked you where you’re going? What are you going to do?”

“No you haven’t. And at this time I can’t tell you.”

“And I suppose I’m to keep all this to myself until you’re ready to spill the beans to everyone else?”

“Exactly. You have just demonstrated beyond the shadow of a doubt your ability to replace me.”

Royce rolled his eyes. “Right shifty bastard, through and through.”

*~~*~~*

Gwyneth arrived at the breakfast table significantly later than usual, and without the customary spring in her step. Truth to tell, she was suffering the after-effects of too much brandy—and probably an excess of physical passion.

However, the faces that greeted her were clearly experiencing the same thing, so the conversation over the eggs and toast was desultory at best.

“I’m leaving off this damned sling,” said Evan, undoing it with disgust. “My shoulder is almost healed and I’m tired of feeling like an invalid.” He looked at the table. “And I need to be able to produce a full breakfast. This is…well, it’s minimal.”

“Evan, stop being so hard on yourself,” said Gwyneth. “You’ve kept going, rearranged things in the kitchen so that you can continue to cook—I think you’ve gone well above and beyond what might have been expected, given the circumstances.”

“Hear hear.” Jeremy and Gabriel nodded in agreement.

Giles and Royce appeared, looking disgustingly normal.

Royce cast a knowing eye around the table and raised one eyebrow. “I’m guessing there are a variety of headaches on display this morning.”

“Royce?” Gwyneth looked at him.

“Yes?”

“Be quiet.”

“Yes, m’Lady,” he bowed with a smirk.

Giles watched, a look of amusement on his face that made Gwyneth want to reach out and slap it. An unusual sentiment for her, but then again, she was unused to feeling such a fully-fledged hangover. Tea and toast were all she could stomach, but they did seem to be settling her a little.

“If I may make a request…” Giles looked around, his gaze landing on Jeremy. “In quietly modulated tones, of course…”

Jeremy looked up, winced, and looked down again.

“I would like to speak with you this afternoon, after lunch. There are some important matters to be discussed. Will that be convenient for you all?”

Gwyneth wanted to nod, but wasn’t sure that was the best notion, so she merely dipped her head carefully in agreement. “Of course,” she responded. “I believe I will go for a stroll this morning. The fresh air will do me good.”

“You’ll stay within the grounds?” Royce shot her a quick look.

“I will,” she replied. “Although with Randschen gone, I see no reason to worry about being outdoors.”

“You’ll have to excuse my caution, my Lady,” said Royce firmly. “After what we’ve experienced recently, it will be a little while before I am comfortable with you wandering the countryside alone.”

She wanted to argue, her independence rearing its head in protest. But deep inside, she knew he was right. She had to remember that she was the Lady of Wolfbridge outside the Manor house as well as within. And as such, she could not afford to be too vulnerable.

“You have the right of it, Royce. I shall confine myself to the gardens.” She wrinkled her nose. “After yesterday, I doubt I’ll feel like wandering in the woods for a while, anyway.”

Silence fell as everyone considered the implications.

“Right then.” Giles finished his tea and picked up the last piece of toast, buttering it generously. “I’ll be in my office if I’m needed.” He looked at Jeremy. “You might ask the maids to air out a couple of the upstairs guest rooms. It’s going to be getting hot soon and a good breeze now and again keeps the stuffiness down.”

“Good idea,” nodded Jeremy.

“May I take a look at the flowerbeds, Giles? I know my Lady has mentioned some new plantings and I had a couple of suggestions…” Gabriel hesitated.

“If my Lady approves…”

“She does,” smiled Gwyneth. “A lovely notion, Gabriel. And a good time to do it, since we can see what’s coming into bloom and make the best decisions on what to put where.”

“Well I’ll be in the kitchen.” Evan flexed his hand, now free of the sling. “I have many things to do, least of which is to prepare a really good dinner. It feels like years since I had one.”

Snorts of derision greeted his pronouncement.

“I see that everyone has their assigned tasks,” said Giles. “So let’s be about our business. I’m sure a little concentrated effort will reduce the pain you’re probably all experiencing this morning.” His face betrayed his amusement. “Look at it this way. It would have been a hell of a lot worse if you’d been drinking a cheaper brandy.”

“The man has a point,” observed Jeremy.

“Yes, but it hasn’t really helped,” griped Evan, resting his forehead on his hands.

“Fresh air,” sighed Gabriel. “I really think that’s what I need…” He rose and extended his hand to Gwyneth. “My Lady? Sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste…”

“Good God,” said Royce, a look of shock on his face. “That’s Shakespeare.”

“I do read, you know,” observed Gabriel mildly, waiting for Gwyneth to rise. “It’s from Richard the Third.”

“Well done, Gabriel,” she smiled at him. “You’ve managed to astound our inscrutable Royce.”

“I rather think I did.” Gabriel grinned. “I feel much better now.”

Royce sighed,

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