The Hathaways could only attribute their newfound popularity to the fact that Christopher, England’s most admired war hero, would be attending. And Christopher, with his unconcealed loathing of crowds, was glum about the entire matter.

“You must admit,” Leo remarked, “it’s rather amusing that the one of us least inclined to mingle in society is the one all of society wants to mingle with.”

“Sod off, Ramsay,” Christopher muttered, and Leo grinned.

But the phrase “one of us,” used so casually, warmed Christopher’s heart. Their relationship had acquired an easy, friendly feeling that reminded Christopher of how it used to be with John. Although no one would ever take John’s place, Christopher found a great deal of enjoyment in the company of his future brothers-in-law. At least, he found enjoyment in the company of Leo and Cam. Whether the same liking would extend to Merripen remained to be seen.

Merripen and his wife Winnifred, or Win, as the family called her, returned from Ireland with their young son on the first of September. The Hathaways, hardly a subdued lot to begin with, had erupted in a frenzy of joy. Christopher had stayed at the side of the family parlor during the chaotic reunion, watching as the family merged into a tangle of hugs and laughter. Cam and Merripen embraced and thumped each other’s backs enthusiastically, speaking in a rapid volley of Romany.

Christopher had met Merripen on one or two occasions before the war. However, Christopher remembered little of him other than as a large and brooding presence, a man of few words. Certainly Christopher had never expected they would belong to the same family someday.

Win was a slim and graceful woman with large blue eyes and light blond hair. She had a fragile quality, almost ethereal, that set her apart from the other Hathaway sisters. Separating from the group in the middle of the room, Win came to Christopher and gave him her hand. “Captain Phelan. How lucky we are to be gaining you as a brother. The men in the family have been quite outmatched—four to five. Now you’ll make our total an even ten.”

“I still feel outmatched,” Leo said.

Merripen approached Christopher, shook his hand with a strong grip, and gave him an appraising glance. “Rohan says you’re not bad, for a gadjo,” he said. “And Beatrix says she loves you, which inclines me to let you marry her. But I’m still considering it.”

“If it makes any difference,” Christopher said, “I’m willing to take all of her animals.”

Merripen considered that. “You can have her.”

The discussion at the dinner table was fast-paced and ebullient at first. Eventually, however, the talk turned to Ireland, and the estate Merripen would soon inherit, and the mood became somber.

Approximately ten years earlier Ireland had suffered a prolonged potato blight, leading to a magnitude of disaster the country had still not recovered from. England had offered only minimal assistance in the form of temporary relief measures, assuming that the problem would somehow solve itself through natural means.

Ireland, already impoverished, had fallen into nationwide starvation, followed by a plague of diseases, with the result that entire families had died by the roadside or in their mud huts. And landlords such as Cavan had evicted their penniless tenants, and fought with the ones who remained, resulting in lawsuits and bitterness that would last for generations.

“The Cavan lands and tenants have been neglected for years,” Merripen said. “Grandfather was too preoccupied with his properties in England to make improvements or repairs. The land has no drainage, and no machinery for ploughing. The tenants themselves know only the most primitive methods of farming. They live in cottages made of mud and stone. And most of their animals have been sold off to pay the rents.” Merripen paused, his face grim. “I met with Cavan before we returned to Stony Cross. He refuses to part with a shilling of his fortune to benefit the people who depend on him.”

“How long does he have to live?” Amelia asked.

“Less than a year,” Merripen replied. “I would be surprised if he survives past Christmas.”

“When he does go,” Win interceded, “we’ll be free to invest his fortune back into the Cavan lands.”

“But it will take far more than money,” Merripen said. “We’ll have to replace the mud dwellings with sound cottages. We’ll have to teach the tenants an entirely new way of farming. They need everything. Machinery, fuel, cattle, seed . . .” His voice trailed away, and he gave Cam an unfathomable glance. “Phral, it makes what we accomplished with the Ramsay estates look like child’s play.”

Cam reached up and absently tugged a forelock of his hair. “We’ll have to start preparing now,” he said. “I’ll need all the information we can obtain on Cavan’s finances and holdings. We may sell some of his—your—English properties for capital. You’ll have to make estimates for what is needed, and set the priorities. We won’t be able to do everything at once.”

“It’s overwhelming,” Merripen said flatly.

From the stunned silence at the table, Christopher gathered that Merripen seldom, if ever, declared that something was overwhelming.

“I’ll help, phral,” Cam said, his gaze steady.

“I’m beginning to have the unpleasant feeling,” Leo said, “that I’m going to be handling the Ramsay estates by myself, while the two of you devote yourselves to saving Ireland.”