Nancy ran around making last minute adjustments to throw rugs and dusting imaginary specks from the furniture.

Blair, despite her earlier flippancy, seemed to grow more serious as the top of the hour approached.

Even Rip, who had never met the man, soaked up some of their nervousness as time passed by.

Then the bell rang and Nancy hurried for to open the door.

“Sir Brooke! So good to see you,” she said, curtseying.

“I don’t know when my daughter shall get a butler. It’s not becoming for a maid to answer the door.”

The tall gray haired man walking in matched his portrait, Rip thought. He had a voice that aligned with his looks.

“Nancy does quite well, Father. You can’t have her back.”

Blair approached him, but they did not hug or otherwise touch one another.

The big man’s eyes slid over to Rip, and the expression on his face changed ever so slightly.

“Sir Winston Brooke, Knight of the Realm.”

Rip shook the outstretched hand and said, “Sir Ripley Coulter, Knight of the Realm.”

“So I’ve heard,” Brooke said, releasing his grip. “In fact, I’ve heard quite a lot about you. Secondhand, mostly. Through my servants.”

Blair turned and glared at Nancy, who studiously avoided her mistress’s eyes. But the tips of her ears grew pink.

“And then you started showing up in the papers. Right away, I might add. This morning I read in the Trumpet where you were knighted yesterday for outstanding service. Congratulations.”

Rip nodded in acknowledgment.

“Now tell me. Is it really necessary for you to continue living with my daughter?”

“Father!”

“Tut-tut. I know this place is ‘yours’ but my name is on the deed. We live under male primogeniture, after all. Technically, I own this place, since you as a woman can not own anything.”

He saw the look on her face and his shoulders slumped a little bit.

“It’s just a legal fiction, my dear. You know this. But technically, there is a man living under my roof.”

Everyone looked at Rip. His lips quirked up in a lopsided smile.

“Well, I want to say I appreciate both you and your daughter’s hospitality. However, technically I’m staying in the guest cottage.”

“Yes, so I’ve heard.”

Everyone’s attention shifted back to Nancy.

“Shall I go get some tea? Do have a seat, Sir Brooke. I’ll be back in a jiffy!”

They watched her rush out of the room toward the kitchen.

Everyone headed for the sofas and chairs.

Blair said to Rip, “She’s still good friends with all the staff back at the family manor.”

Turning to her father she said, “Nancy lets me know what’s going on back home with you, too. I understand you have called on Lady Astair a few times, recently.”

Brooke’s ears grew pink this time.

Blair turned to back to Rip, smiling, and said, “She’s a widow living nearby. Delightful lady. I do hope they hit it off.”

Rip realized Blair rather enjoyed needling her father.

Perhaps this is a way to unleash her frustrations with male primogeniture, or something.

Brooke cleared his throat, loudly, and said, “Back to the issue at hand. It’s unseemly for this young man to be staying here. I would have felt even worse had he not so recently been elevated to knighthood. At least now he is on an equal standing with you, socially.”

Rip, who had read by now quite a bit about the social stratifications in Umbria, said, “Well, at least we’re not dealing with the peerage. That would be a far tougher nut for me to crack.”

Both Brooke and Blair stared at him for a moment.

“He’s got a point, Father. It’s not like I’m harboring some riffraff. We are of equal status, after all. And he is not staying under the same roof, he is in a separate cottage specifically built for that very purpose. Or as a mother-in-law suite. And I can assure you that Nancy keeps a sharp eye on all comings and goings. My honor remains perfectly safe.”

They locked eyes for a moment.

Rip wondered if either would back down, but at that moment Nancy reappeared with a silver tea set.

She set everything out on a table before practically running back out of the room.

“Besides,” Blair said, moving to pour herself a cup, “Sir Coulter needs someone to help acclimate him to our culture. He’s a stranger here. Just listen to that accent of his. I’ve tutored him in his appearances at public hearings, in meeting with the king himself, and otherwise dealing with Umbrian political pitfalls. He has access to my library, and has also served as something of a bodyguard, notably during that recent Darhaven attack on my home. Had he not been here, I shudder to think what might have happened to Nancy and myself. Not to mention the townhouse.”

Brooke’s shoulders seemed to sink again. Rip suddenly realized that was a nonverbal tell, indicating he was conceding.

“It’s true, I do appreciate your blowing that black airship out of the sky, using the very same dynamite the scoundrels intended to use for blowing up my daughter’s townhouse. Thank you, Sir Coulter.”

Rip nodded.

“I suppose your presence does convey some measure of safety for my daughter. You’ve certainly proven yourself quite capable. You were a military man from the world they pulled you?”

Rip nodded again.

“Very good. But might I suggest that if a nearby townhome comes up for sale, you purchase it. I’ve read estimates on your earnings, so I don’t think I’m out of line in presuming you could afford a place in this neighborhood.”

“That’s . . . uh, I’m not even sure where my current earnings stand. But certainly, it’s a good idea.”

The statement seemed to please Sir Brooke. Rip wondered how often Blair agreed with him. The man smiled and settled back in his seat with a cup of tea.

“It’s high time I visited, Daughter. You know, I would have been here sooner but I was delayed this morning.”

“Oh? At home?”

“No, out on the street. Apparently some lunatic was seen running in the rain. The peelers were called and were out searching for him, unsure if they had an escapee from an asylum or a criminal on their hands. They blocked traffic on your avenue for a while and questioned my driver before letting us through.”

Rip smiled, pouring his own cup of tea.

“There goes the neighborhood,” he murmured.