“I wasn’t aware you wanted a duchess. How intriguing this all is.” Kingham stroked his jaw. “Tell me, what manner of paragon were you hoping to find in your duchess?”
“One who was quiet and biddable and lovely, who would stay in the country where she belongs and keep her nose out of my affairs.”
Kingham chuckled. “I do believe you’ve just described an inanimate object instead of a wife, old chum.”
Everett bristled. “No, I haven’t, you horse’s arse.”
“Now I’m the horse’s arse, when you are the one among us who has an estranged wife he expected to molder at his country estate with his progeny?”
“It’s the way of things in our world,” he defended himself needlessly, for Kingham already knew that.
The bastard was likely nettling him for sport.
“You might have settled upon an antiquity instead,” Kingham continued as he meticulously began restoring the balls on the baize for another round of billiards. “A beautiful Roman vase to place upon your mantel.”
Everett scoffed. “A bloody vase couldn’t bear my heirs. And Christ knows how many sermons my mother has delivered to me on the subject of seeing that the line doesn’t die with me.”
So many he’d long since lost count. Which was why a chance encounter on the Marquess of Eastlake’s estate had seemed fortuitous. He’d been on a ride when he’d happened upon a gorgeous horsewoman whose mare had gone lame. The woman had been Sybil, and he’d been stupidly charmed. He had takenher and her mount to his own stables. The horse had suffered a sprain; Everett had squired Sybil home to Eastlake Hall. He’d opened another sternly worded letter fromMamanshortly thereafter, and his solution had seemed obvious.
“You might have taken a mistress instead, then,” Kingham suggested, cutting through Everett’s memories.
That decided it. The bastard was absolutely vexing him intentionally.
“That wouldn’t have worked,” he said, annoyed. “You know as well as I that the title and estates can only be passed to a legitimate heir.”
King shrugged. “You could have married the mistress. The offspring would have thus been legitimate. Your wife would have already been familiar with your expectations. Everyone would have been happy.”
Everett gripped his cue even harder. “I fail to see the wisdom in your suggestion. I married a woman to provide an heir and a spare. She knew my expectations and defied them. If she is unhappy with the result of her treachery, she need only look at her reflection to find the source of her discontent.”
Kingham raised an imperious brow, looking bored as he completed his task. “Whatwasher treachery, by the way? You never mentioned.”
Everett heaved out a tired sigh. “She has a lover. Or rather, shehada lover.”
“That little lamb? Forgive me, but she looks as virtuous as the fairer sex comes. And besides, you’ve had her buried in the country. How would you know what she’s been about in your absence?”
“I witnessed her perfidy with my own eyes. I saw them together just after the wedding breakfast. She was in his arms.”
“You had a wedding breakfast without me?” King pressed a hand over his heart. “I’m wounded.”
“The whole affair was done rather quickly. I didn’t see reason to wait. Her family attended, and that was all.”
“Not your mother?”
He winced. “Mamanwould have turned it into something incredibly tedious and unmanageable. You know how she is. It’s why you almost never accept any of her dinner invitations.”
His mother was as demanding as an army general on a field of battle.
“You’ve been ignoring her this long,” Kingham pointed out shrewdly, not arguing Everett’s point about his ignoringMaman’sinvitations. “What changed?”
Everett didn’t like his friend’s pointed questions. They made him think about things he’d prefer not to consider at all. Heat was crawling up his neck. He slid a finger under his necktie, attempting to loosen it.
“Nothing changed, aside from my mounting irritation with my mother at being harassed about taking a wife,” he growled.
Which wasn’t entirely the truth. Yes, Maman’s letter had spurred the rogue thought in his mind. He’d already been attending to estate matters at Riverdale Abbey. Courting and hastily wedding Sybil had seemed a providential solution. But it had also been the woman herself who had prompted him to make such a reckless decision, one so wholly unlike himself.
He had been vehemently opposed to the parson’s mousetrap for years before that. Ever since Lydia.
“If you say so, old chap,” Kingham offered lightly, his tone making it more than apparent he wasn’t any more persuaded by Everett’s prevarications than he was himself. “What say you to another game?”
