"I think first I'd best come clean about something, Ser." Piers reached aside without thought as he spoke, fingers wrapping around a simple, polished cane, leaning to one side against the edge of the chaise. He intertwined both hands over the handle and leaned forward a little, informally, his expression genial.
"I'm a terrible old gossip-hound." He smiled, a glimmer of amusement in his pale eyes. "And I've been keeping track of you."
"My wife took rather a shine to you when you were a pup," he explained, "and liked to keep up lest she ever be able to intervene with that father of yours." The words 'that father' took on a much sharper tone than the rest, but Piers persevered in his previous, kindly tone. "It's a shame there never was much we could do. After Emmaline died, I just... kept an ear to the ground. For her sake."
He paused just slightly, a moment for his wife's memory, then smiled again at his guest.
"Does it seem a bit mad? I imagine so. Old habits die hard, I'm afraid."