Beautiful Things: Second Sons Book One

Christ, I almost kissed her.

James ran a hand through his hair, sweeping it back as he donned his top hat. What the hell just happened? He knew Burke was besotted. That exhibit at the piano was enough to have James ready to throw a bucket of water on them both. Even Renley was on the edge of falling and he’d been resolutely wound around Marianne Edgecombe’s little finger for the better part of a decade. What magic did this woman wield?

Nothing good would come of this. The last thing he wanted was either of his friends pursuing an inappropriate match that would do nothing to further their prospects…and he definitely didn’t want them fighting over the same unsuitable girl. She bothered him to the point of distraction. Her every soft-spoken word, every lingering glance, the rapier cut of her wit, the music in her laugh.

Damn…I might be falling for her too.

If Rosalie wasn’t more careful, she’d soon have three fools chasing after her like eager dogs on the hunt.

No, this wasn’t happening. She was fine as a dinnertime distraction. He’d let himself appreciate her smiles and her laughs. But he absolutely must draw the line at emotional connection. And there would be no more physical touch. The blessing was that they only had to endure her for two more weeks. After that, she’d be on her way back to London, and he’d never see her again.

James didn’t wait long at the stables before Miss Harrow came walking down the path from the great house. She wore a simple riding habit of rust brown with a crisp white cravat and a small ladies’ style top hat. She smiled, but it was a bit forced, not quite meeting her eyes.

“Miss Harrow,” he said with a nod.

“Lord James,” she replied. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Not at all.”

“It’s a beautiful morning for a ride,” she added.

“Indeed.”

Her mouth quirked into a grin.

“Miss Harrow?”

“I’m sorry,” she snickered. “I’m afraid…I don’t think I know how to so quickly go from seeing His Grace without his pants to calmly discussing the weather.”

“Oh, thank Christ. Me either,” he laughed. “You have now seen both the Corbin men in an ungentlemanly state of undress. Let’s drop the formalities and just be two people joined in mutual mortification. Agreed?”

She smiled. “Agreed.”

The groom brought forward two horses. James took the reins of the smaller horse, a snow-white gelding outfitted with a lady’s side saddle. “This little fellow is Magellan.”

“Oh, hello,” she cooed. She showed no fear as she patted his neck and fished an apple from her pocket. “He’s such a little dear.”

Magellan happily munched the offered apple, crunching it and sending a mess of apple bits falling to the cobblestones.

“He’s well used to a lady’s touch,” James explained.

She laughed as Magellan snatched the rest of the apple.

“If you’ll permit me?” he said, gesturing to the saddle.

She smiled and took the reins, looping them over the pony’s head. Then she took up her position at the saddle. James stepped close, his chest brushing against her shoulder as he reached down with both hands to cup her booted foot. He gave her a boost and she swung up, settling herself with a few tugs of her thick skirt.

James moved around to the other mount and swung into the saddle. “Ready?” he said, glancing down at Rosalie.

Her face was all smiles. “Ready.”

They rode in companionable silence as James led the way down the lane. They broke into a canter, letting the horses stretch their legs as they put some distance between themselves and the house. He had business in Finchley, but nothing was set to a given time, so he could afford to amble…anything to keep Rosalie to himself a little while longer.

He groaned. Apparently, he now had to actively stop himself from thinking about her. Perhaps on his way through Finchley he’d stop at Doctor Rivers’ and have himself checked for tumors or head injury.

The manicured gardens gave way to rolling hills and a verdant stretch of forest awash in all its autumnal glory—bright reds and golds, muted browns, dark greens. In the near distance curled the bend of the river, while bare barley fields stretched beyond. James never tired of this view. He was made for country life.

“I should leave Town more often,” she said on a sigh. “What is your favorite part about running Alcott?”

He considered the question. “I suppose I enjoy the variety. In one day, I might do the work of a magistrate, a farmer, an accountant, a steward. I like to apply my talents to many subjects, otherwise I get bored.”

“I can see how that would be diverting. To never know what one day might bring, and yet be ready to adapt and solve problems as they arise.”

“But I am not the duke,” he added perfunctorily.

“Of course,” she murmured. “And what is his favorite part of running the estate?”

James frowned. Would his honest answer shock her? “That it runs best without his influence or attention.”

She was quiet for a moment. “He does seem to have little interest in his position,” she conceded.

James just scoffed. “My brother George is the unluckiest of men. He was born with the soul of a medieval poet in the body of a modern duke.”

She frowned. “I think you mean for me to laugh, but I see nothing funny. His reticence to fill his role pains you.”

He shrugged, disliking the way she read him so easily. “His life is his own. I cannot make him be who I want or need him to be…much as I’ve tried.”

“So, you compensate by being everything he’s not and more,” she replied. “You are the strong fortress, the shelter in the storm, the center of justice and commerce, the arbiter of change. You are the silent, stalwart Duke of Norland.”

He glanced her way, noting how she looked at him with an odd mix of pride and pity. The pride he was pleased to accept, but the pity raised his ire. He disliked pity at the best of times, but he most certainly disliked it coming from her. “You make my position sound so grand, but do not envy me, Miss Harrow.”

“How can I not?” she replied, those dark eyes turning suddenly sad. “I’m lucky if I can boast of mattering to exactly one person on this earth. While you are everything to everyone. Without you, their worlds would fall apart—His Grace, Her Grace, the staff, the tenants, your friends, and business partners.”

“You have an observant eye,” he conceded. “Few so quickly see through our ruse.”

“People see what they want to see,” she replied. “It is the great failing of man that so few look beyond the superficial to see what lies within.”

Had he not been playing on this weakness for four years? “So, you haven’t been taken in by the charms of His Graceless? Do you see through him too with your sibylline gaze?”

She considered for a moment. “Your brother enters a room, and people unwittingly think it must turn about him, for he wears the title. They can’t see that their world is already turning…and you are the axis point.” She gave him a look that he felt deep in his chest. He’d meant it as a joke, but Christ, maybe she was a witch. Her smile softened as she said, “Are you not tired, brave Atlas, from holding up all the world on your shoulders?”

Before he could respond, shouts had them both turning in their saddles. James reined his horse to a halt, as did Rosalie. Their mounts pranced as a groom’s horse came racing towards them.

“What is it, Jack?” he called to the groom.

“Mr. Reed bids you return to the house, m’lord.”

“Why?”

“His Grace ordered the carriage brought round,” Jack replied. “Says he’s goin’ to Town, m’lord.”

Damn George straight to hell!

At least James knew where the loyalties of the staff lie. He told them to report immediately should George try to leave. “Ride back now and tell Charles and Wallace that if they so much as strap a harness to horse, I’ll withhold their wages for a month. Go.”

“Yes, m’lord!” Jack was already wheeling his horse around.

James glanced apologetically over at Rosalie. “I’m sorry about this, but we’ll have to cut our ride short.”

She gave him a weak smile. “No rest for weary Atlas.”

He gathered his reins with a grimace, ready to let his horse run.

“Would you mind terribly if I continued on for a bit?” she said, those dark brows raised in question. “It’s such a beautiful day…”

James’ immediate thought was to say no, but she didn’t require a chaperone, and she clearly had an excellent seat. “Just…stay in view of the house,” he said, wheeling his mount around.

“Please go easy on His Grace,” she called. “I don’t think he could ever admit it, but he admires you. No man in his position would ever let a younger brother usurp him as you do if he didn’t understand, in his heart, that you are the better man. He may be a duke, but I doubt very much whether for one moment he’s ever actually felt like one.”

James didn’t know what to say in response to such a soulful insight, so he merely nodded and urged his mount on, determined to reach George before he could follow through with his threats.

A few footmen bustled in the hall outside George’s rooms. Several trunks stood open around the room in various states of packing. George stood in the middle, still wearing only his dressing shirt and a billowing banyan, directing his valet and a pair of maids.

“No, I want the blue coat and the burgundy. No black. I’m not in mourning.”

A maid hustled to do his bidding.

James wanted to handle his brother in his usual way, which would be to storm in and have a full row, likely ending with punches thrown as the brothers wrestled on the floor. His way shattered valuable keepsakes and made for blood on the carpets. He wondered if perhaps Miss Harrow’s approach might not be worth a try.

“George…what are you doing?”

“I’m leaving!”

James sighed. Whenever they were in the country, his brother threatened to leave at least once a month. “Leaving to go where?”

“London first,” George replied. “Then the continent. I’m thinking Spain.”

James set his hat on the side table and leaned against the wall. “Why are you leaving?”

“Because I’m sick to death of country life! I need a break from this house, from these people, from you. You always suffocate me.”

“You seem to be breathing just fine.”

George turned sharply around and chucked a book.

James ducked as the book slapped against the wall before it flopped to the floor. It was all he could do not to rise to that challenge. He took a steadying breath. “Michaelmas is in less than two weeks, and you must be here to host it. Mother expects—”

“I don’t give a fig what she wants,” George snapped. “I am my own man, and I will do as I wish, and I wish not to marry. She cannot make me.”

“She can—”

“She can’t! I’ll not say the words!”

“Then she’ll just bribe Selby,” James replied. “It will be expensive to pay him off, but she’s always had extravagant tastes…and she always gets what she wants, George.”

“Why are you so intent on helping her?”

James sighed. “You can fight it all you like, but you are a duke, and a duke has obligations. You must stay here and see to your guests. You must pick a wife. You must announce your engagement—”

“Must, must, MUST!” George bellowed. “I’m sick of the word. May it be banned from this house, never to be uttered again!”

“Use whatever words you like; only do as we ask. As soon as you’ve announced your bride, you can celebrate with a trip to Town. I’ll even go with you.”

“I’d rather dance with Reed naked under a full moon,” George replied.

Standing watch from the corner like a solemn crow, Reed tactfully made no response to this invitation.

“You could end this misery now,” James reasoned. “All mother wants is a name. Give her one, and she’ll let you go.”

“You think it’s so easy? I’d like to see you handle this,” George snapped. “My little brother, always so eager to be considered Duke of Norland. But you have none of the responsibility! You’re not married either. Hell, I don’t even know if your cock can get hard. If you’ve ever used it for anything other than taking a piss, I’ll eat Reed’s waistcoat.”

“We’re not here to talk about my marital status,” James replied. “As long as I’m the second son, what I do with my cock is of concern to absolutely no one but me.”

George snorted. “Yes, and I’m sure you make no exaggeration. Have you ever let someone other than yourself pet your little worm, James? A maid perhaps? Or Burke? Christ,” he barked a laugh. “No, if anyone will be petting cocks in that situation, it would be you petting his—”

“I’ll thank you to stop picturing me and Burke and our cocks in any capacity whatsoever, before I turn unfriendly and set fire to these trunks.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” George hissed.

“Give me a name and I’ll leave you to your packing. One name of one unmarried maiden that I can bring to mother, and you will be free as a bird, George.”

“Ugh, I don’t care! I swear to Christ and Jupiter and bloody Osiris that I don’t care. God, it bores me to tears. They bore me to tears!”

“So, just pick one,” James replied. “Put their names into my hat here and draw one out. If you really care so little, let fate be your guide.”

George’s eyes lit with interest. “I like fate…” He dropped the handful of books in his arms and moved over to his desk. Snatching up a quill, he scratched out what James could only imagine were the names of the eligible ladies.

“Bring us the hat then,” George called.

This was stupid, but James would use any method to distract him. He crossed the room, weaving between the open trunks, and thrust his hat at his brother.

George tore the paper into strips, folding each, and dropped the names inside. “Are you watching, Reed? I want a second witness in case mama asks.”

James sighed. “Just pick a name, George.”

George shoved his hand into the hat with a flourish and pulled out one of the little papers. He unfolded it and groaned. “Well…there we have it, I guess. Fate has spoken.”

James snatched the paper and read the words scratched on it with a deepening frown:

Cabbage Rose