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“Mama, you’re home!” he cried again.

At his side was Lord Timothy, tall and disapproving, a faded version of Corbett with light hair and blue eyes where her husband’s hair had been brown like his eyes. Her brother-in-law was taller than Corbett had been, his nose longer, his waist lean as a whip. He rather reminded her of a wizened tree in the garden at her papa’s country estate.

“Do modulate your voice, my lord,” Lord Timothy chastised Reggie.

She watched as her son’s face fell, and he straightened his shoulders. “Yes, Uncle.”

“You need not correct him, my lord,” she rebuked Lord Timothy before she could think better of her words. “He is merely overjoyed to see his mother, as is understandable after I have been away on a journey.”

“My lady,” her brother-in-law greeted in a tone of voice he may also have used to announce he had just discovered horse dung on his shoe. Then he bowed formally. “You have returned. How lovely it is to see you again.”

She could not say the same, but Ophelia wisely kept that to herself. Lord Timothy was not just disapproving; he was also meddlesome. He continuously overstepped where the children were concerned, particularly with Reggie, whom he had taken under his wing.

She dipped into a curtsy. “Good afternoon, Lord Timothy. I understand you took Reggie to see horses.”

“You needn’t thank me,” Lord Timothy said, his tone one of arrogant assumption. “It is what my brother would have done with the lad. I am but a poor counterfeit, standing in his stead.”

She hadn’t had any intention of thanking him, for she didn’t want Lord Timothy taking Reggie anywhere.

But because her son had come to a halt before her, she ignored her brother-in-law and bent down to take Reggie in her arms, noting that he bore some dirt smudges on his little coat and trousers, perhaps from the horse auction. His body was still small and willow-thin, and he had the same coppery-gold locks as she did, even if he did have Corbett’s knitted brow and nose. Her son returned her embrace lightly, as if he feared the further censure of his uncle.

“I missed you,” she breathed into Reggie’s ear, resentful of her brother-in-law’s presence.

Resentful that Corbett had saddled her with this needless woe.

“I missed you too, Mama,” Reggie murmured.

But his voice was solemn, and an underlying hint of emotion lingered just below the surface. Her mother’s instinct told her something was wrong.

She drew back, holding his arms, and studied his countenance, her eyes narrowing. “Is something amiss, my son?”

“No, Mama,” he chirped instantly, but she didn’t miss the furtive glance he shot in the direction of his uncle.

That look alone sent ice through her veins. She would speak to Reggie about it later, when Lord Timothy was gone.

For now, she forced a reassuring smile. “Why don’t you run along to the nursery? Alice and Catherine will be most pleased to see you, and it is almost time for dinner.”

“Yes, Mama,” he said dutifully before turning back to Lord Timothy. “Thank you, Uncle.”

Lord Timothy bestowed a smile upon Reggie that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re welcome, child.”

When Reggie was out of earshot, Ophelia faced her brother-in-law. “Would you care to stay for dinner, my lord?”

She fervently hoped he would say no, but it was her polite duty to inquire, nonetheless.

“Thank you, but I should return home to my wife. Lady Timothy has accompanied me to town, along with our sons. I have spent a great deal of time away from my own family today, for the sake of yours, my lady.”

The accusatory note in his voice had her spine straightening. “My children were being well cared for, my lord. Your presence was unnecessary, particularly if your taking Reggie to a horse auction precluded you from spending time at your own hearth where you are most needed.”

In truth, she longed to rail at him, but she didn’t dare. He wielded far too much power over her children and, by that measure, her as well. The past had shown that Lord Timothy could be exceedingly spiteful when he felt slighted, and she had no wish for him to try to take the children from beneath her roof.

Lord Timothy’s expression turned haughty. “You might thank me for my efforts.”

She didn’t want to. He was unwanted here, his presence unnecessary, his meddling wholly maddening. But she knew better than to say any of that aloud. Her jaw clenched, rebelling against the very notion of offering her gratitude to this odious man. She had never trusted Lord Timothy, even before she had married Corbett, nor had he made any effort to hide his profound dislike of her during the course of their marriage. After her husband’s death, her brother-in-law’s opinion of her had not improved, nor had his treatment of Ophelia.

“I am waiting, madam,” Lord Timothy snapped.

“Thank you,” she bit out through gritted teeth.