Thomas’s voice softened. “Then you are gambling that stewardship will be remembered more kindly than blood.”
James did not respond.
Outside the door, Eleanor’s footsteps paused, then resumed, quicker than before.
James’s chest tightened.
“The irony,” James said, “is that an heir should be the goal regardless. The estate deserves continuity. Ashbourne deserves it. The title deserves it.”
“And you?” Thomas asked softly.
James’s gaze remained on the window. “I do not matter,” he said, then frowned slightly, as though the phrasing itself irritated him. “Not in the way you mean.”
Thomas’s expression changed, only a fraction, but James saw it. Not pity. Never pity. Something like quiet defiance on James’s behalf.
“You matter,” Thomas said.
James’s voice went colder. “Do not argue.”
“I will not argue,” Thomas replied. “I will remind. There is a difference.”
James exhaled through his nose, as though even breathing required discipline. “There is another issue.”
“Annulment,” Thomas said at once.
James’s eyes narrowed. “You are anticipating.”
“I am preparing,” Thomas corrected. “It is my trade.”
James turned from the window. “Annulment is rare.”
“Extremely,” Thomas agreed. “And scandalous.”
“Still possible.”
“Possible,” Thomas echoed. “If the marriage is not consummated, and if the bride chooses to pursue it, and if the right people become involved.”
James’s jaw tightened. “She will not pursue it.”
Thomas raised a brow. “Will she not?”
James hesitated.
Eleanor had stood in his room with her pride held like a weapon, asking him with startling courage what he intended of her, offering duty because it was the only language she had been taught. She was not a woman who did nothing.
“I do not believeshewould seek annulment,” James said.
Thomas’s gaze was calm. “Perhaps not. But Lord St. George may.”
James’s mouth thinned. “He despises her.”
“He despises losing,” Thomas replied. “And he despises being made to look foolish before theton. If he believes he can regain control by challenging the marriage, he may attempt it. Not because he loves his daughter. Because he resents you.”
James felt a cold spark of anger. “Let him try.”
Thomas nodded. “It would not succeed easily. But even a failed attempt would feed gossip.”
James turned away again, restless. Eleanor’s footsteps slowed. Then stopped. Then started again, as though she had reached the far wall and found it unsatisfying.
