Page 22 of A Duchess of Mystery

Richard brought Douglas in beside her. “Being so close in age, Dora and I were friends from the beginning. But Grace, because she was so much younger, was outside of our friendship, and I think resented us for it. But I suppose it would be nice to see her again. If I’m back here at Stourbridge for the foreseeable future, I feel I should reconnect with all my family. Don’t you?”

Isabella shrugged. From her few meetings with Grace, she had no reason to believe her younger sister-in-law was any more pleasant than Marcus had been. A spoilt and indulged child. “You will be creating your own family here, though.” She smiled, a little awkwardly. “Finding yourself a wife, I think you said. Do you have anyone in mind as yet?” Why was the thought of him with a wife so disturbing? It wasn’t as if she wanted to fulfill that role herself, was it? Despite his rugged good looks, she didn’t know him, and he might yet turn out to be just like Marcus.

He laughed, a happy, carefree laugh, as un-Marcuslike as it was possible to be. If only she could laugh like that, but she would probably never laugh again. Not properly. “No, I have no one in mind. How could I? You forget that I’m newly back from Portugal where the number of suitable young ladies for marriage to anyone, never mind a duke, was very low. There must have been young ladies of good breeding somewhere, I’ll grant, but I never had the opportunity to meet any of them. Can you imagine what the reaction would have been here and in society had I brought a Portuguese farm girl back to be my duchess?”

As this was something Isabella had initially worried about herself, she had the grace to blush, and turned her face away for a moment lest he would see.

At least, however, it meant no strange woman would be arriving at Stourbridge and attempting to lord it over her in the near future. If he were to marry a girl straight out of the schoolroom, then she, Isabella, might be able to mold her into a suitably biddable duchess. With Dora’s help. Not that Dora had ever had any success in molding Isabella herself.

He chuckled. “Did you think I would be already married, then?”

She made a moue. “You are of an age when most men are.”

“You forget I was in the army.”

“Soldiers marry. Especially officers.”

“Not this one.”

She frowned. “You are not inclined in the same way as Rupert, are you?”

“Rupert?”

“My friend.”

“Oh. Him. The dandy.”

“Yes, him. I mean…” She hesitated. “He is what they call a ‘confirmed bachelor.’”

“He is?”

She nodded. “Which makes him an ideal escort for me.”

“It does?”

“Quite without danger to me.” She paused, wondering at his obtuseness. How much more clearly did he need it put? “You understand?”

His frown mirrored hers. “I think so. Your Lord Rupert Wyndham does not care for young ladies.”

“Well he does, because he likes me. But not in the way people think. He is not of the marrying kind. I was wondering if you might also not be, as you are five and thirty and not yet married. Rupert doesn’t need to marry, you see, as his older brother has sons to carry on the Wyndham name. Although you do need to, as the last of the male Carstairs.”

His brows rose towards his hairline, but he looked as though he was going to laugh again. “Are you asking me if I prefer men to women?”

Sultan tossed his head and she smiled sweetly. “I suppose I am.”

Now he did laugh. “Well, you can rest easy on that count. I shall not be fooling some poor young thing into marrying me and then showing no interest in her because I prefer her brother. When I marry, I would have liked it to be for love, but I fear necessity will indicate that I should wed with speed and get myself the required heir. Being, as you so succinctly put it, the last of the male Carstairs.” He eyed her up and down, his gaze lingering for a moment on her stomach. “However, as we are discussing delicate and indelicate matters, I feel obligated to pose one to you, I’m afraid. It’s not intended to offend you, but I have to ask it.”

Puzzled, she inclined her head. “Ask away. You will find it hard to offend me.”

He nodded, bit his bottom lip, then spoke. “There is no chance that you are… increasing? It can only be a little less than two months since Marcus’s death, and you might not know if you are, as yet.” He grinned, more than a little awkwardly, and she was satisfied to see color in his cheeks. Always fun to let a man embarrass himself, even if she was a little herself. He cleared his throat. “A pretty fix it would put me in if you were to produce a baby boy to knock me off my perch. After I’ve relinquished my commission and traveled all this way to claim my inheritance.”

She shook her head, aware of hot color surging up her cheeks at the abhorrent implication she’d been intimate with Marcus shortly before his death. At the implication she’d ever been intimate with a man she’d loathed so much. “Not the least chance of that.” She looked away, battling to compose herself. How very true her words were. Marcus could have died any time in the last five or six years, and there would have been no chance of him leaving an heir. Not a legitimate one, at any rate. God alone knew how many baseborn brats he’d fathered. Like the little boy she’d once seen running barefoot outside one of the estate cottages, his presence having explained the rapid departure of one of the housemaids a few years ago.

He must have sensed her discomfort. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause embarrassment. I’m too used to the blunt ways of soldiers. I’m going to have to learn to think before I speak.”

She waved her hand. “I’m not offended. You have no need to modify your words for me. I would rather you said what you thought than dissembled. Or lied.” She bit her lip, aware of the bitterness in her voice.

His brows rose again. “Your husband… my cousin. He lied to you?”