"For Evander's sake, I do hope not!" Hamish laughed. If memory served, poor Lorne had woken up in a pond the next morning, wedding altogether unconsummated. Rumour in the family was that it had taken two months for the lad to recover in the eyes of his new bride, and yet she mysteriously managed to produce a daughter in only four...

"I do hate to be nosy—" that much was true; Hamish had long been one to leave well enough alone. Alfred's courtship, though, was a special case; though professors were not supposed to admit to favourites, Zelda Fisk had always been one of his. If she would not settle with one of his sons, a nephew was the next best thing, but only if it was settled. "—but might I inquire after Miss Fisk?"