Page 3 of Aurelia

The amusement Roland had been feeling dissipated. “Do not refer to her that way again, Arthur.”

Arthur’s flush deepened at Roland’s cold tone. “You are right; that was unchristian. However, do you really believe your behavior is decent, Crewe?”

“Not that this is any of your damned affair, Arthur, but I am an unmarried man of legal age and free to put my cock in whomever I choose—so long as my partner is willing.”

Arthur’s pale cheeks went wild with color and his lips pursed in an expression of distaste at Roland’s crudity. “Yes, but it is copulation outside the bounds of matrimony and it sets a bad example for your people.”

It was an argument Arthur had put forth often over the years and Roland found it just as unpersuasive as it had always been.

“Fortunately, I have never set myself up as a beacon of virtue for others to emulate, Arthur. Nor have I sought to define what constitutes appropriate moral rectitude—or lack thereof—for anyone on this island. But it sounds to me as if you would like to be judge, jury, and executioner in matters of right and wrong on Crewe.”

“I don’t. It is just—I only meant—”

“I find it astounding that you think to cast Sadie from her cottage because her daughter has fallen pregnant outside of wedlock.” It was also bloody ironic, given Arthur’s patrimony, but Roland kept that to himself. He might be an immoral womanizer, but he tried not to be a vicious arse.

“The girl refused to tell me who the father of her child was,” Arthur said, his expression so prim that Roland wanted to kick the man.

“I. Don’t. Care.”

Arthur recoiled at his angry tone, his lips parting in shock.

Roland lowered his voice and said, “I do not understand your rigidly unrealistic attitude toward sex. It is a favorite pastime of all creatures—both humans and animals—and because people are flawed, they will invariably make errors in judgment. Sadie and her daughter will have to live with Dora’s decision.”

“You are mistaking the point, Crewe.”

“What is the point?” Roland asked wearily.

“You are the Laird of Crewe. The people look to you for spiritual leadership and—”

Roland had to laugh. “I bloody well hope not! They have a vicar to see to those needs, Arthur. I am their landlord, not their confessor. Not only is that a position I do not wish to fill, but it is one I am singularly ill-suited for, as I’m sure you will agree. Now,” he said when the other man opened his mouth to argue, “I have sent word to Sadie assuring her that the cottage is hers for as long as she wants it.”

“But—”

“No. You will not interfere with them. I am adamant on the subject.”

Arthur gave an exasperated huff. “Why do you continue to indulge that woman, Crewe? She has taken egregious advantage of you over and over again, and all because you shared her bed many years ago.” Arthur’s face purpled with anger. Or perhaps embarrassment. “People talk about—”

“I do not care if people talk,” Roland said. “One of the benefits of being wealthy and powerful is that I don’t have to care. As for Sadie and my indulgence, that is my affair and this will be the last time you raise the subject with me.” He locked eyes with his cousin, irked by the righteous indignation in Arthur’s celestial blue gaze. “I am no man—or woman’s—conscience, Arthur. And neither are you. Do not make decisions like this again; it is not your place. Understood?”

Knots ran up and down the other man’s jaw and for a moment he thought Arthur would rebel against Roland’s authority as leader of their family. If he did, it would be the first time in twenty years.

But after a long, tense moment Arthur nodded. “I will abide by your wishes on the matter.”

“Good. Let that be an end to it.” Roland glanced out the window. “I daresay my new artist will be staying over in Balcrewe tonight if it keeps blowing like this.”

“Old Em swears the weather will calm later in the day, so your Miss Burton will be here for dinner.

“If Old Em predicts it, then it must be so,” Roland scoffed, although it was true that the crone—who had been ancient even when Roland’s father had been a boy—had an uncanny ability when it came to predicting the weather.

“I still do not understand why you hired a woman artist,” Arthur said.

“Because she was the best out of all the candidates who applied.”

Arthur looked unconvinced.

Roland gave the man an exasperated look. “I can see why you would think a man is a better pugilist or farm laborer than a woman, but painting does not require superior muscle, Arthur. Surely you don’t believe men are inherently better artists than women?”

“No, of course not,” Arthur said, although Roland thought he sounded less than convincing. “I—well, it’s just that females should be home, raising children and tending to a husband’s needs, not galivanting about and taking jobs that men should have.”