Beautiful Things: Second Sons Book One

James left Burke at the stairs, his mind reeling as he went in search of his brother. This day was not going at all according to plan. Hell, this entire month had been a disaster. Rosalie Harrow crept in with the night and disrupted all their lives with the force of a hurricane.

Did his mother have any idea what she was doing when she invited the little vixen to stay? The Dowager Duchess of Norland was as clever as they came. James was sure she had a man investigate the girl. No doubt she already knew all the sordid details of Rosalie’s life.

If James were a lesser man, he’d march into his mother’s study and rattle all the drawers of her desk until he found the report. He wanted to read it for himself. He needed to know. Who was Rosalie Harrow? Why did his mother want her so badly? And how did James effectively go about disentangling her from their lives?

For that was the only solution, right? He couldn’t possibly let her stay knowing she intended to ruin his friends, wrapping them around her jezebel’s finger with no intent to marry either of them. That kind of behavior might be acceptable for a common prostitute or an opera singer, but it wasn’t going to be the fate of a ward of this house.

Christ’s sake, Burke and Renley must have gone mad. James was going to have to put his foot down. He just needed to think of a way to do it without hurting Burke…or running him off.

But this was all going to be tomorrow’s problem, because tonight James had to survive the Michaelmas ball…and to survive in one piece meant guaranteeing his brother did the expected thing for once in his worthless goddamn life and announced his engagement.

“So, who’s it going to be?” James said with a raised brow, leaning against the wall just inside George’s room. “Mother needs to know now so we have everything arranged for tonight.”

“Let me show you what I have planned,” George said, smiling. He went over to an armoire in the corner of the room that James knew held all manner of unspeakable items.

James raised a wary brow. “George, if this is a sex thing—”

George tisked. “Do you think I would discuss that with you? I doubt you even know where to put it—”

“George,” he warned.

“A joke,” George said, both hands raised in mock surrender.

“I just need a name. Mother wants no surprises.”

“Yes, look…here’s the thing,” George hedged. “I’ve delayed in telling you my plans because they’re a bit unconventional. But I don’t want you to be all up in arms until you’ve heard me out…”

James instantly had to fight the urge to be up in arms. “I’m listening…”

“Right, well…” George took a deep breath. “I’ve decided to marry Miss Nash.”

“That’s wonderful. Which one?”

George gave a sheepish smile. “I’d actually rather determined that I’d like to have the set.”

James blinked. “The set?”

“Mother’s vision for my life has always been to run the estate, get married, and have children. It’s a horribly oppressive way to live, feeling like you have no choice. You can’t imagine because you’re a second son,” George said with a wave of his hand.

James could have punched him. He didn’t understand the pressure of being a duke? He lived that pressure every day as his brother ambled about, content to do fuck-all with his life.

“I confess, I’ve been rather rebellious,” George admitted. “But I’ve seen the light, James. The Nash sisters have been helping me to see the light, and I really feel like a changed man. My new vision for my future is twins.”

James blinked again. “And by twins you mean…”

“I mean I shall live here at Alcott with the Nash sisters as my wives. Well, one wife, one mistress I suppose—though I’ve never really liked the term mistress,” he added under his breath. “It’s brilliant, eh?”

James reeled. All the men around him were going mad. “George…you cannot be serious!”

“Whyever not? Do you really think I’m the first peer to have a wife and a mistress?”

“Most mistresses are not the daughter of a lord.” James replied. “They are not related to the duchess!”

George just scoffed again. “I’m sorry, but I believe the Boleyn sisters just popped out of the grave to say, ‘I beg your pardon?’”

“Stop trying to make jokes,” James snapped. “Christ, you must be sensible. You have to pick one.”

“I’ll only marry one, obviously,” George replied, his nose in a drawer.

James crossed the room to his brother’s side. “Which one?”

“It doesn’t matter to me which one walks down the aisle—ah—here it is. This is what I wanted to show you. I plan to give it to…one of them.” He turned, opening the lid of a box to show James a beautifully cut emerald ring set with diamonds. It once belonged to their grandmother.

“Which one will you give it to, George?” James repeated.

“I just said I don’t care. Hmm…perhaps I should have two rings. One for each? Fairness and all that,” he added. “I know I have something suitable in here.” He continued to dig in the top drawer.

“George, you have to choose—”

“No. If I choose, it will seem like I have a favorite, and that’s no way to start a marriage. I’ll let them choose. They can flip for it.”

“Flip for it?”

“Sure,” George replied. “You know, flip a coin. Heads a duchess, tails a mistress.”

This was how James would die, he was sure of it. He would handle this crisis, then tumble down the stairs to his death. “You are mad,” he muttered, sinking onto the bed. “I really think you’ve all gone mad.”

“It does seem to be going around, doesn’t it?” George replied. “Here, this ought to do nicely.” He turned with a new bauble held flat in his palm. It was a diamond brooch with a pearl drop the size of a quail’s egg. He opened his other palm to reveal the emerald ring. “What do you think?”

“I think you are perhaps my least favorite person to ever walk this earth,” James replied honestly.

George just laughed again. “Fair enough. But I meant about the baubles.”

“I can’t be part of this,” he muttered. “I can’t watch you raise one up while you ruin the other. One gets to be your wife, and the other your mistress? One lauded the realm over as your duchess, the other your whore? It’s too cruel for words. They don’t deserve you.”

George groaned. “Christ, you’re such an insufferable prude. Even our dear father kept a mistress at Corbin House. For years, James. And she’s a lovely dear, quite fun dinner company,” he added. “I had to move her out when he died, of course. Mama wouldn’t have it any other way. But we still find time to dine together whenever I’m in Town.”

James wasn’t a fool. He knew all about his father’s French mistress. “You still dine with our dead father’s mistress? You’re seen together in public?”

“Of course not. I’ve rented her a nice little flat in Leicester Square.”

This had James seeing red. “You still pay for her upkeep?” He took a shaky breath, bracing his clenched fists against his knees. “George…I swear to the Almighty, if you are fucking our dead father’s mistress—”

“How dare you,” George said with a glower. “She is like a sister me. We’re friends.”

James exhaled. This was some relief, at least.

“I couldn’t very well put her out on the street. It wouldn’t have been the Christian thing. After so many years of loyal service, I figured it was the least she was owed.”

James shot off the end of the bed and began pacing. “Does mother know?”

George gave him an affronted look, one hand on his hip. “Little brother, it pains me to say it, but sometimes I question how we’re even related.”

James seethed. “I wish to God every day we weren’t related,” he snapped. “Burke has been more a brother to me than you have ever been!”

“And Helene is more a sister to me than you have ever been,” George retorted.

“Who the fuck is Helene?”

“Helene!” George cried, hands raised in exasperation. “Father’s mistress. Helene! How can you be so unfeeling? You met her multiple times, James.”

“Christ, spare me from this madness,” James muttered. “Spare me. I can’t handle this right now.”

“For once, I’m not asking you to do a thing,” George said. “I’ll get down on one knee and everything. Mama will have absolutely nothing for which to reproach me, I promise.”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “Except for the fact that you’re proposing to two women.”

George just shrugged. “Mama is a rationalist. If she expects me to marry, this is the bargain she must accept. The girls are up for it,” he added. “I don’t know why it should be a spot of bother to anyone else.”

Now James quivered. When his voice came out, it was easily half an octave too low. “George…tell me you did not already push this idea on the Nash twins. Tell me you have not so disgraced us as to actually pitch this ludicrous idea to them!”

“Of course, I did,” George replied. “And they were more than agreeable. They don’t care about propriety either. English social mores are far too confining. They understand. All they want is financial security and the protection of my title to live how they see fit.”

For a horrifying moment, James felt his life flashing before his eyes. He imagined the Nash twins inserting themselves into every facet of his life—meals together, redecorating rooms, arguing over dress money and imported glass for pineries, catching them in George’s arms in all manner of odd places. James would have to move. There’d be nothing else to be done. He’d have to resign the fate of the dukedom to George. Perhaps he’d move into Corbin House permanently, though he hated being in Town. He could go abroad…Switzerland or Greece. Anywhere but Alcott Hall living every day in the shadow of George, his duchess, and his identical mistress.

“What do you expect me to tell our mother?” he asked with a raised brow.

“Tell her whatever you think is best,” George said with a shrug. “The twins have impeccable taste. I’m sure they’ll put together a lovely wedding by Christmas. I’m thinking Bath in the New Year and then on to Italy for the spring.”

“And you’ll…just bring them both, I suppose,” James said, his tone flat.

“Of course,” George replied.

“And the children?”

“What children?”

James scowled. “Children, George. What if you get your mistress pregnant first? The only legitimate heirs will be those from your legal wife.”

“Hmm, I hadn’t thought of that,” George muttered.

James saw a fleeting ray of hope. Could he actually manage to make George abandon this scheme using a reasoned argument?

“I’ll acknowledge them either way,” George said with a shrug. “I can’t imagine the twins would care so long as all their needs are met, but I’ll ask. Thank you, James. I’m glad to have you on board with this.”

James dragged a very tired hand through his hair. “I really think I hate you.”

George gave him a sad sort of smile. “I know. Life has treated us both unkindly. It raised me up, when I am the most unworthy of men, and it keeps you living in my shadow. We both suffer—me from hating my position, and you from hating me. If only the roles were reversed, eh? What an excellent second son I would have made.”

James couldn’t help the weak smile that quirked his lips.

“What about you then? Mama will be on you to marry next. Any progress with Miss Harrow?”

James blinked. Why the hell was everyone on him about Miss bloody fucking Harrow? “Miss—what? No, I’m not—she’s—”

George’s smile spread as his eyes twinkled again. “Very articulate.”

James snapped his mouth shut. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s always complicated with you,” George replied. “Do you want my advice?”

“No.”

“Uncomplicate it,” George said anyway. “If you let that one get away, you’ll never find another like her.”

“Lucky for you, that will not be your lot,” James retorted, moving for the door.

George barked a laugh. “Aye, I suppose that’s true. If I lose one, I’ll have a spare. It’s brilliant, no?”

James sighed. “No.”