Page 11 of The Baronet’s Bartered Bride

“If such it is.” Joseph made another turn about the room, glancing out the window at the gathering clouds casting a pall on the day. “You said when you visited, Reuben had let the place go to rack and ruin. I wonder what I shall find.”

“Shall you go soon to take possession and put things in order? I would go with you, save that Parliament is still sitting and not likely to adjourn until June, and then I am expecting a happy event.” She patted her round belly.

“I wouldn’t expect you to accompany me unless you wished it. I’m sure Hunsdon would have something to say about my pulling you away for rough travels when you are so near your time.”

She frowned slightly. “He is Mal to you, Joseph. You are brothers.”

“We are not related, and he is the Duke.” The Duke to blame for all of Joseph’s rejections, including the episode from that morning. Joseph couldn’t seem to set his resentment aside even in light of the more recent news; he harbored other, deeper veins of bitterness he would not let even Amaranthe see.

“I hope at some point you two might become friends,” she said in a quiet tone.

“Not likely, when his friend stole my intended bride away.”

The Duchess shook her head, lightly shifting the dyed ostrich feathers atop the extravagant hat pinned to her curls. It took a great deal of powder to make her dark locks come close to the fashionable white; both she and Joseph had inherited their mother’s coloring, with dark hair and eyes and a faint sepia tint to their skin. It continued to surprise him that Amaranthe, who had always chosen to keep herself plain but tidy, should have become so dashing with the application of wealth and her new status in the fashionable world.

Joseph might be expected to become dashing now. Callington, Cornwall, lay far from London’s tonnish circles, but a new suit or three would be a welcome enlargement to his wardrobe. Perhaps solicitors and other such men who ought to consider themselves his peers would grant him a sight more respect if he had silk suits with rows and rows of buttons and loads of embroidery.

Amaranthe made a small moue of disapproval. “Viktor Vierling did not steal Susannah Pettigrew away from you. It rather appears she played you false, allowing you both to court her when she had bestowed her heart elsewhere. And I am still put out that you intended to wed her without inviting your own sister to the ceremony.”

Joseph flung himself back into his seat with a sigh. “Better you weren’t there to see me made a fool.”

He’d been so besotted with Susannah Pettigrew he’d acted irrationally, and Joseph valued rational action above all else. Whatever Amaranthe might believe, his head wasn’t typically turned by a cloud of golden hair and cornflower blue eyes set in porcelain skin. Or, at least, not those attributes alone.

He had met Susannah when she was dispensing leaflets at the Speaker’s Corner in Hyde Park and she had fired him up with her animation over the cause of poor relief, abolition of the slave trade, and education. He’d considered converting to Quakerism for her. He’d proposed to marry her. He’d laid his heart at her feet and, moreover, offered to conduct her to visit her parents in Gloucestershire to seek their blessing on a marriage.

Instead, Susannah had run away with Mal’s friend, Viktor Vierling, a Hessian employed in the King’s Household Calvary. She had gone on to run away from Vierling also, leaving him holding his hat same as Joseph, so perhaps her inconstancy said more about Miss Susannah Pettigrew than it did any of her suitors.

Still, he’d been a fool, and it rankled. He’d never be a fool over a woman again.

“You must stop following the lures of the likes of Susannah Pettigrew and find a woman who is a good match for you, Joseph. And your prospects will be considerably improved now. You’ll be able to offer a woman a lovely home and make her your lady. You’ll have the family you always wanted.”

Offer hand and heart to another woman, only to have her quash him like Susannah Pettigrew and all the others before her? Or, worse yet, accept him because now he came with a title and an estate?

Joseph poured another cup of coffee from the pot Inez had left behind. He offered it to Amaranthe, but she shook her head.

“I don’t suppose I shall rush into wooing anyone,” he said. “I expect there will be a great deal to do setting the estate in order. Our uncle was not the most intelligent businessman, and I don’t imagine our cousin was a generous landlord.”

“When do you suppose you’ll return to London?”

“I will have a house and an estate to oversee, Anth, and no doubt many other duties as the chief landowner in the area. What is there in London for me?”

“Well, putting aside me and the rest of your family,” she said, “you’re more likely to find a wife here than in Cornwall.”

Joseph was not contrary by nature; only Inez brought stubbornness out in him. But the recent flare-up had lingered, it seemed, for he found himself suddenly deciding he would not consider any well-bred society miss for a wife.

“If you are so eager for me to wed, you might as well do my wooing for me.”

She leaned back in her chair, eyes widening at his snappish tone. “How are you getting on with Inez?”

He frowned at the non sequitur. “My household affairs—or rather, your household affairs are currently all in order, to my understanding. As I am sure your little Cornish spy already told you.”

“I have not set Tamara to spy on you. Really, Joseph, why so peevish? You’ve just been elevated to a title and a secure income. I came to applaud you and imagined I would find you rejoicing, not sunk in gloom.” She looked about. “Where is Inez?”

“Sulking in the scullery, I don’t doubt, because I had the temerity to ask her about her comings and goings. Imagining, if you can conscience the audacity, that as her employer I might have some interest in how she discharges her duties.”

“She is not a servant, Joseph!”

“If she earns a wage from me—all right, from you—what else am I to call her?” he argued. “You might call for her if you wish a chat. I’m sure she’s somewhere about.”