They were, the two of them, entirely too similar for being near polar opposites. Had she married a different man, he might have come bounding down the gangplank to lift her into his arms in joy. But stubborn Irish pride and frigid French propriety looked largely the same as he offered his arm and they strolled down the dock toward the waiting carriage as though they were business partners and not the most passionate people either of them knew.

Your son...

That was never good.

Fintan bristled like a dog whose fur had been rubbed the wrong way as she delivered the news. It made him a hypocrite and he knew it, but the disappointment he felt in the boy was palpable. Disappointment that bordered on anger. But he would not allow the kettle to take after the pot. He had come too far to let his son make the same mistakes he did - and at fourteen the boy ought to know better.

"I will speak with him and it will not happen again." It was a promise. It seemed every time he returned home he had missed more than the time before. Had he been around more, Lucian would not have been so quick to strike another boy.

"I will discuss the next shipment with Durant in the morning, he will be glad to captain the next few I'm sure." Fintan was needed at home, and his quartermaster would surely be rid of his over-keen eye for detail for a couple months at least.