As Rafe took his own seat, he observed, "You're looking particularly well."

"Marriage is a wonderful thing." Nicholas grinned mischievously. "You should take a wife yourself."

His voice dulcet, Rafe said, "An excellent idea. Whose wife would you suggest?"

After the other men laughed, Rafe continued. "I trust that my godson is also prospering."

It was an effective diversion. Nicholas's face immediately acquired the doting expression of a proud new father, and a description of young Kenrick's amazing progress followed.

The men in the study were three-quarters of a group that had been nicknamed the Fallen Angels in younger, wilder days. Friends since Eton, they retained the ease of brothers even when years passed between meetings. The absent member was Lord Michael Kenyon, who was Nicholas's neighbor in Wales. After the infant's achievements had been duly admired, Rafe said, "Did Michael come with you so that we could have a Fallen Angels reunion?"

"He isn't quite ready to travel, though he's convalescing with amazing speed. Soon he'll be as good as new, barring a few more scars." Nicholas chuckled. "Clare insisted on nursing him herself. Talk about an irresistible force and an immovable object! I think that my stubborn little wife is the only person on earth who could have kept Michael in bed long enough to heal properly. Now that he's better, I thought that Clare needed a holiday, so I brought her to town."

"Trust Michael to return to the army as soon as Napoleon broke out of Elba," Lucien said acerbically. "Since the French didn't manage to kill him in Spain, he had to give them another chance at Waterloo."

"Michael never could resist a good fight, and Wellington needed every experienced officer he could get," Rafe said. "But I hope that this time the war is over for good. Even Michael's luck might run out eventually."