“Of course not,” the countess said. “I will be delighted to meet the captain’s wife. I like him, Dominic.”

“I take it I am to learn from her how to be docile,” Madeline said, “and how to accept male stupidity. I heartily dislike her already, Dom. She must be totally lacking in spirit.”

Lord Eden raised his eyebrows. “If you had seen her in Spain,” he said, “living in a tent, tramping through mud, fording swollen rivers on horseback, saying good-bye to Charlie every day, never knowing if she would see him again, you would not say anything so foolish, Mad.”

“The children will be back in the nursery after tea,” the earl said with quiet authority. “The two of you may go at it then, if you wish. You may even come to blows. Alex and I will be obliging enough to remove ourselves beyond earshot. But for now you will be civil. And I see the tea tray has arrived.”

“With bread and jam included for Christopher,” the countess said. “If I were you, Dominic, I should make a quick trip upstairs to change out of your uniform. I believe my son still has his heart set on feeding you.”

“Do you, old pal?” Lord Eden asked, grinning down at his nephew. “Here you go, then, to Papa while I go and dress appropriately.”

Madeline set the baby in the countess’s arms. “I’ll pour,” she said, seating herself behind the teapot. “Edmund, is there really going to be a battle? It is not just a show of strength to discourage Bonaparte? There is really going to be fighting?”

“It is hard to say with any certainty,” her brother said gently. “We will just have to wait and hope, dear. And trust the Duke of Wellington, of course.”

“Oh,” she said, putting down the teapot with only one cup poured, “how childish of me to ask you such a question, Edmund. Of course there will be another battle. You know it and I know it. One more battle for Dom.”