Page 30 of The Duke’s Rejected Mate

“Swindled,” Augusta scoffs, putting on a false face of extreme offense and hurt. “Are you accusing me, a duchess, of swindling? The nerve!”

At that, we all collapse into a fit of giggles. How long has it been since I’ve felt this free? Granted, if anyone is to break through these doldrums, it would be Augusta. She never fails to have some sort of antics up her sleeve.

After a few moments, the laughter dies down, and Augusta pins me with an odd look. “How do you find your betrothed?”

The triplets glance at me, hanging on every word. It’s not as if I choose to hide anything from them. There’s just not much to tell.

“Well… he’s amiable, I suppose.”

“Amiable,” Augusta says, her face aghast. “Amiable? Is that any way to feel toward your future husband?”

“Well, it’s not as if I know enough about him to feel anything else.”

“But surely there is something. Does he not have passions, pursuits?”

Wincing, I recall his animated discussion of rocks and debate if I should even mention it. Although, by this point, the triplets’ heads keep bobbing from Augusta to me as if we’re in a match of field tennis. I suppose I should confess.

“He seemed rather fond of rocks.”

“Rocks,” all four of them say in near unison.

“Rocks?” Augusta repeats. “As in the hard matter under our feet?”

“If only just that. He also seems to have a fondness for its use in architecture.”

“I am confused.”

“As am I. Truly. It’s the only time I’ve seen him so congenial.”

“Rocks?” she asks again.

“Rocks,” I repeat, doing my best not to allow the malaise at knowing I’m bound to the altar with a man who shows far more interest in rocks than he does in wooing me show on my face.

“That is odd.”

“I concur.”

“Not to take this deep conversation for granite,” Georgiana chimes in, earning a chorus of laughs from the others. “But shale we continue to our next stop?”

“You’re incorrigible,” I chuckle, rising to curtsy to Augusta before we set out to the carriage.

“I’d like to think I have layers.”

Penelope snorts. “Quite boulder of you to continue this line of humor. One would think you were mining gold.”

“Just pyrite.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes as we tumble into the carriage and make our way toward Teresa’s house. Penelope and Georgiana continue to go back and forth, each statement worse than the last, yet the closer we get, the more that bit of nausea rises in my throat.

Teresa will still be at home with her little one, Thomas. Would it be odd to see her again now that she’s a mother? Our excursions were cut short the other day since Thomas was not in a receiving mood, leaving me with an intense longing to see her and the little one. I’m glad no note arrived this morning to stay our journey this time.

As the footman ushers us into the house, Teresa flies down the stairs, baby nestled in her arms. “Well met!” she cries out. “How I have longed for the company of another. Come, come. Let us retire to the drawing room.”

The moment we sit, Teresa comes over to me and holds out her son. I look up at her for a moment until I realize she means to hand him off. “You mean to have me hold him?”

“Blessed, yes. You are soon to be a wife, I hear. And a mother after that. You will soon learn that though your heart will overflow for your child, you will know no better joy than seeing him held by someone else. Besides, you need the practice. You were an only child, correct?”

“Yes, but-”