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He had grieved when his older brother shaped a life punctuated by brandy bottles and sardonic remarks. He had wrestled with scorn when his father embraced his new nobility and abruptly transformed into the lordliest of lords.

This felt worse.

Joshua knew his place in the world, and no title—or woman—could change it.

For good or ill, he was a warrior. The wound he suffered fighting against Napoleon’s army was a badge of honor. He would never pervert the course of justice, not even by asking his father to show mercy.

Even so, his heart grieved for what could have been.

When his valet entered, thinking to draw open the curtains and wake him, Joshua was already standing at the window, staring out at a gray, rainy London. Once he descended the stairs, Oates-Plagitt welcomed him to the breakfast room with a bow.

His father was seated at the head of the table reading a precisely ironed newspaper, a footman hovering at his shoulder waiting to turn and refold the page so that the earl’s fingers wouldn’t be soiled by ink.

“Lord Paget,” Joshua said, bowing before he seated himself. “Good morning.”

His father nodded. “Good morning, son.”

They sat silently until Lord Paget finished reading and waved away the newspaper.

“I learned last night of a case put before you in the House of Lords,” Joshua said, unable to stop himself.

“I have two on the docket,” his father said importantly.

“This one pertains to a sea captain by the name of Tyron.”

“Ah, Captain Sir Tyron.” His father grimaced. “An unpleasant incident involving a treasonous attempt to take His Majesty’s life. Failed, of course. A group of feckless French insurgents thought they had a captain in His Majesty’s Navy at their back.”

“And was he?”

“The evidence has not yet been presented, but I gather it is substantial. However, Lord Devin has indicated there’s another suspect. Tyron’s first mate, a man by the name of Cassio. I remember the name due to the Shakespearean character.”

Joshua froze.

Cassio … Livie’s admirer. The mere thought of her with another man sent a jolt down his spine. But he had given her up; he could hardly—

Abruptly, his mind cleared. This wasn’t the moment to consider Livie’s future. Cassio was suspected of treason. Surely Lord Devin wouldn’t name the fellow unless he had strong suspicions.

“How is Lord Devin involved?” he asked.

“He’s leading the defense,” the earl said. He raised an eyebrow. “Your questions are pointed.”

Joshua shrugged. “One tries to take an interest when a case is discussed in the ballroom.”

“I expect there is a great deal of gossip about the matter,” his father conceded, picking up a piece of wafer-thin toast. “Captain Sir Tyron’s sister, a noblewoman and leader in society, is agitating for his release. I gather she is currently in the country, petitioning the Duke of Lennox’s aid, though it’s an effort undertaken in vain. I need hardly state that not even a duke could influence my judgment.”

“But Lord Devin feels the culprit might be this Cassio?” Joshua asked.

“Without proof. I sympathize with Lord Devin’s wish to clear Captain Sir Tyron’s name, but justice is particularly important in cases involving the nobility. We owe it to ourselves to maintain an example for those lower in standing.”

He raised a white hand. “Oates-Plagitt, I will have that bitter infusion now.” He turned to Joshua. “Orange peel, lemon, and gentian root. The Duke of Marlborough drinks it every morning without fail. Oates-Plagitt, give my son a cup as well.”

“No, thank you,” Joshua said.

“It’s excellent for plethoric inflammations, and you are still healing. I was pleased to learn that you are no longer pressing to return to the battlefield.”

Oates-Plagitt placed a steaming cup before the earl. “Infusum Amarum Simplex.”

Behind the earl’s back, the butler poured a cup of breakfast tea and placed it before Joshua’s place.