Thomas moved closer, low-voiced now, conspiratorial in the way he had been when James was a boy, and the world still made sense in simpler categories. “Then we construct the appearance of a bridal tour without traveling to Ashbourne Hall.”
James looked at him sharply.
Thomas continued, already thinking about schedules and optics. “A week or two of controlled visibility. You and the Duchess seen where you must be seen. Not too much, not too little.”
James’s attention sharpened. “Go on.”
Thomas ticked it off quietly, efficient as a ledger. “Afternoon promenades. Sunday services. Blackmere Park and Langford House estate walks. A dinner with the Ashbourne Hall land agent – brought down here for the purpose.”
James’s gaze narrowed. “You would have him travel?”
“He will travel if you command it,” Thomas replied.
James considered. The land agent would be a visible link to the principal seat, even if they did not go. It would suggest continuity. Responsibility. Marriage integrated into the dukedom’s operations.
Thomas continued, voice steady. “Evening entertainment in the drawing room. The Duchess plays while you listen, and then might be interrupted with business.”
James’s mouth tightened. “Surely she plays.”
Thomas’s eyes flicked to him. “Even a baron’s daughter will have some knowledge of an instrument. I can ask her previous maid.”
James did not like that Thomas had ways of finding things out in such ways, when he did not, but he could not deny the utility.
Thomas added, “A social reading opportunity. A small gathering. Respectable. Controlled. And then – ”
“Inspections,” James finished, the thought forming with satisfaction. “Blackmere Park estate inspection. Langford House inspection. That will bring us back into town when needed.”
Thomas nodded. “Precisely.”
James stood very still.
On the other side of the wall, Eleanor’s pacing resumed, slower now, as if fatigue had finally begun to press against her pride.
James’s gut tightened again.
He stared toward the door, imagining her alone in her bed, eyes open, thoughts spinning the way his were.
He had told her he would not take what she offered out of obligation.
That had been true.
What he had not said, what he could not say, was that if he took her, he was not entirely sure he would stop at a single night. Or a single heir. Or a single purpose.
Desire was a kind of risk.
And James Montague did not tolerate risks he could not measure.
He turned back to Thomas. “We will not go to Ashbourne Hall.”
Thomas nodded once. “Very good, Your Grace.”
“But the façade will be maintained,” James said.
“Yes.”
James exhaled, the decision settling into place as cleanly as any other. “We begin immediately.”
Thomas’s mouth curved faintly. “As you wish.”
