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Devin waited for a moment, since normally Sir Reginald’s reprimands were composed of at least five sentences, but his uncle stopped short in order to glare at him, his dark eyebrows contrasting oddly with the butter-yellow powder he’d used on his wig this morning.

“I held the St. Wilfrid’s living open for two years to give Otis the position,” Devin reminded him.

“Just when Otis began the righteous task of saving souls, you lured him astray with French potions.”

“Nonsense,” Devin said. “I had nothing to do with Otis’s decision to leave the church. He’s not suited to the job, Uncle, and we both should have acknowledged that long ago. Actually, the fact that he put off ordination four times was a sign in itself. What was his excuse last time? That he lost a toe, wasn’t it? He’s walking very well for a man minus a digit.”

His uncle scowled before he turned away to pick up the champagne bottle. “Otis faints at the sight of blood and always has,” he said, taking a hearty swallow. “The injury wasn’t as severe as he initially thought.”

Devin waited.

“Otis is perfectly suited to the church,” Sir Reginald insisted. “He was always a kind child, at an age when his older brother was pinning up butterflies and pummeling other boys. I can’t imagine a better person to baptize babies. They wouldn’t make a peep even if he drenched them with water. He’s good with dogs too. No tears, no howls . . . He’s perfect.”

“There’s more to baptism than preventing tears,” Devin said. “Where do the dogs come in?”

“There’s that day when all the animals are blessed,” his uncle said vaguely.

“I’ve no doubt that Otis could shine when it came to blessing a baby goat, but would someone truly wish to leave a baptism in his hands?”

“He had all the necessary schooling,” Sir Reginald said. But Devin could see a hint of doubt in his eyes.

“We should have given up when he kept failing that course on the New Testament,” Devin said.

“He said the story was hard to follow,” Otis’s father said defensively. “I agree with him. Very complicated, all those different points of view, not to mention morbid.”

Devin had always found it best to leave biblical exegesis to those with training—which wouldn’t include Otis, and never mind all those years at Cambridge. “If I’m not mistaken, you gave each of your children an estate. Otis doesn’t need the living.”

“You don’t understand. He’s threatening to move to Spain,” his uncle shrilled. “He told me that he plans to marry a Spanish woman. He failed Greek three years in a row, and he certainly won’t be able to learn the Spanish language. That means my boy will have one of those marriages in which the husband and wife don’t say a word to each other.”

In short, a normal marriage.

But Devin didn’t say that aloud because he was well aware that his parents’ marriage had soured his view of such partnerships. In contrast, his uncle was still mourning his wife’s death, some three years after the fact.

“I talked him into staying in London with the help of champagne,” Devin said instead.

His uncle fell back a step and thumped the bottle down, causing yellow wig powder to fly into the air. “I always told my wife that there was a reason you were chosen to be the head of this family, and there it is!”

“Because I was born to it and had no choice?”

“No, because you always get your way,” Sir Reginald said, his round cheeks bunching as he grinned. “I’ve been watching you quietly manipulate people since you were breeched, and I can always count on you.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Devin said. “If there’s nothing else, I should return to work. You may take the bottle with you.”

“As a matter of fact, there is something else,” his uncle said. He sat down in the chair opposite Devin’s desk. “We need to discuss Miss Astley. I noticed that you didn’t dance with her.”

“I did not,” Devin agreed. “But I did meet her.”

“Why didn’t you dance with her?” his uncle asked.

“She refused.”

“She did? I wonder if she hadn’t heard that Lady Caitlin Paget had claimed you. I can’t imagine what you were doing, going into supper with the gal after you told me that she drove you into the library. Now everyone thinks you’re a match.”

Devin didn’t give a rat’s ass what anyone thought. “We’re not.”

“I know that,” his uncle said. “You wouldn’t have fled to the library if you’d taken to her. More to the point, what did you think of Miss Astley?”

Devin was still trying to figure out how to answer that question when his uncle shook his head. “No need to answer.” He cocked his head, giving Devin a sharp-eyed look.