“Miss Jones.” Not for the first time, Addison wondered what her given name might be.
Rowan released a long slow whistle. “Not Delilah, or Medea, or Jezebel, but MissJones. By God, you must be besotted. I like her already. But as for meeting with the baron, I advise against it.”
“Why shouldn’t I meet with him?” Rowan’s advice was not what Addison wished to hear. Neither did he wish to hear that he was besotted or that Miss Jones was some sort of seductress.
“Meeting with her brother would be irrelevant.”
“But I compromised her.”
“And she refused your offer. You’ve fulfilled your duty. What would speaking with her brother accomplish? Force her hand? Do you think you’d enjoy marriage to a woman who wasn’t given a choice in the matter?”
His older brother was right, damn him. “I don’t mean to force her hand.” And he didn’t. But he couldn’t shed the feeling that he’d shirked his responsibility somehow.
“What reason did she provide for her refusal?”
Addison had examined her objections from all angles. “She wants to teach, she says. She doesn’t want to let the people around her down.” But she’d also mentioned that she didn’t fit in at the school. As a duchess, she would fit in wherever she wanted to.
Eventually.
“Surely, you of all people must understand this.” Rowan pressed.
And somehow, he did.
“Was it bad?” Rowan asked quietly. “The attack? Perhaps that’s what this is all about.”
Ever since their father had discovered Addison’s fears and ridiculed him for them, taking harsh measures to squash them, Rowan had been sympathetic.
Perhaps Rowan had the right of it. Miss Jones had helped him through the experience and something in him wished to hold onto that.
He nodded. “Likely, you’re right.” Of course, Rowan had the right of it.
Addison ran a hand through his hair. It was the only thing that made sense. He exhaled a shaky breath and, glancing back inside, eagerly dismissed the subject. “When will you be able to move in?”
Rowan seemed as happy to get past it as he was.
“I’ve yet to decide that I have any desire to reside in Mayfair.” Rowan, of course, thrived on being contrary despite most treating him as a prominent member of theTon. Their father would have made life miserable for anyone who hadn’t provided his oldest son due respect, and six years after their father’s death, Addison would do the same.
But Rowan persisted in rebelling against the trappings that came with mingling amongst society.
Addison gestured around them. “Why bother then? Why not build an equally spectacular monstrosity in a location where you actually do want to live?”
“Because I was offended by the existence of the previous dwelling taking up space on such a magnificent lot.” He winked and then disappeared inside.
Addison didn’t follow right away but crossed to the ledge and made a second assessment of the distant view as well as the lot itself.
Trees, lawns, and come evening, no doubt the sunset would prove rather spectacular.
Rowan had a point. He had a way of doing that—seeing things others did not. Addison pushed off from the railing and, after a few wrong turns, caught up with his brother who was inspecting one of the workman’s efforts. Addison was half-tempted to remove his jacket and go to work beside them but doubted his assistance would be welcomed. Instead, he convinced Rowan to join him at White’s the next day, rounded up his dogs, and took his leave.
Only later would he wonder at his decision to make his way back to Bedwell House on foot. Had it been a serendipitous one or merely ironic?
Because, having decided Rowan was correct in advising him to cease his pursuit of Miss Jones, the last person Addison expected to see was strolling along the opposite side of the street, tapping his cane and looking exceedingly satisfied with himself.
“I say, is that you, Bedwell?” Baron Chaswick tipped his hat and crossed to greet him, and Addison couldn’t help but recognize that the man had the same-colored eyes that his sister did. “A happy occasion indeed, stumbling upon you in London. Here for long?”
“A few weeks.” The man’s question seemed friendly rather than nosey. And as Addison conversed with the baron, he couldn’t help but doubt his earlier resolve.
“Excellent. Then you must join my wife and me for dinner before you return to the country. Social pickings are slim this time of year.”
