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Barclay accepted the cup with a nod of thanks, sipping slowly before leaning back in his chair. His gaze drifted upwards to the ornate ceiling, tracing the delicate cornices and floral plasterwork with the eyes of a practiced architect. He had been doing this often since arriving at Saunton Park—studying the ceilings and moldings as if seeking answers hidden in their designs. It was a habit he had developed when under pressure, a means of grounding himself amid uncertainty.

“I am attempting to move on,” he admitted at last, his voice a touch hoarse. “To notice the women in my surroundings and determine if there are any who appear to be suitable.” He paused, swirling the coffee in his cup absently. “However, there are complications.”

“Complications?” Richard echoed, his brow lifting in curiosity.

“First, there is my parentage.” Barclay’s gaze dropped from the ceiling, settling back on his brother. “As we discussed, it is difficult to be a man in my position. It is even more so for my mother and daughter. Natalya knew she only had a short time to spend with me, so she forwent such concerns to follow her heart. But a new wife …” He sighed, his fingers drumming lightly against the porcelain of his cup. “She may have to deal with the same issues for decades, and I do not wish to inflict that upon a respectable woman.”

Richard cocked his head, his expression thoughtful. “You do not think that matters will be improved … because of us?”

“Perhaps. Only time will tell. Even if matters improve, there will still be certain doors that remain shut.” Barclay’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Some souls are … self-righteous.”

Richard barked out a laugh, the sound rich and full of disbelief. “I find they are usually the ones up to no good themselves.”

A smile broke over Barclay’s face, genuine and unguarded. He savored the fleeting sense of unity with his younger brother. Richard had made every effort to build a brotherly relationship between them, and for the first time, Barclay felt a flicker of genuine kinship. “Just so. The guilty seem to speak loudest in accusation.”

“Agreed.” Richard leaned back, his eyes glimmering with mirth. “When I acknowledged Ethan as my son, I had at least three peers snub me within the halls of Westminster. Men I happen to know have fathered secret children the length and breadth of London.” He snorted in disbelief. “They dared to disdain me for taking the honorable path, while they failed to take acknowledge their own progeny. It was all I could do not to ask after their sons and daughters with solicitous concern.”

Barclay chuckled, leaning forward with interest. “What did you do?”

“I disdained them in return,” Richard replied, his tone dry. He leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out before him. “If they possess so little integrity, they are not worthwhile connections. They are riffraff, despite the blue blood flowing through their hypocritical veins.” His eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “But then, I have the advantage of more powerful connections than they. The duke alone makes for a powerful ally in most matters.”

Barclay chuckled, swirling the coffee in his cup. “What of Sophia? Were there consequences for her when you acknowledged Ethan?”

“Some.” Richard’s expression softened, and his gaze grew distant. “None that perturb her. She is an unusual woman—not overly fond of polite society.” He smiled faintly. “That, I believe, has been our salvation. She is entirely unbothered by their censure.”

Barclay’s eyes returned to the ornate cornices above them, his mind turning over this revelation. It struck him how much more freedom Richard must have found in his marriage than many of their peers. An unconventional wife, one who did not require the validation of London society—perhaps that was the key. His mind lingered on Jane, her willingness to discuss poetry, art, and even mythology with him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She was not shackled by the expectations of the ton in the way so many young ladies were.

“There are two candidates who might lead somewhere interesting,” Barclay began, his voice thoughtful. “One is eminently suitable …”

“And the other?” Richard prompted, leaning forward, his eyes sharp with curiosity.

Barclay hesitated, his hands clasped around the warm porcelain of his coffee cup. “The other …” He paused, drawing in a breath as if to steady himself. “I do not know that it would be appropriate.” He looked up, his gaze meeting Richard’s directly. “But we share something. An affinity that runs deep. Something I have only experienced one time before.”

Richard’s expression turned solemn, his voice dropping. “With Natalya?”

Barclay nodded. “With Natalya.”

Silence settled between them, the mantel clock ticking softly in the background. Richard was the first to break it, exhaling slowly. “I once thought to marry someone suitable,” he admitted, his voice quiet with reflection. “I spent several Seasons searching for the right choice. My plan was to have the sort of marriage favored by the nobility—a dutiful union where we would barely spend time together, and I would continue my pleasurable pursuits discreetly on the side.”

Barclay raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “You considered that arrangement?”

Richard chuckled ruefully. “I did. It seemed … sensible. Efficient, even.” He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then one night, I overheard a young lady lambasting my character to her cousin, and I …” He trailed off, his expression softening with the memory. “Please, do not scorn me when I say this, but I simply lost my heart. It made little sense to pursue her, but I could not imagine an existence without her by my side to disparage my prior roguish pastimes with her cutting wit.”

Barclay’s mouth curved into a smile. “The countess?”

“Indeed. Sometimes your heart knows what you need far better than your mind does.” Richard’s gaze softened, his expression reflective. “I needed someone strong, opinionated, who would not accept things as others expect them to be. Someone who would confront me about my worthless behavior.” He leaned back, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon beyond the window. “My heart recognized the void she would fill in my immoral existence, and my mind simply caught up.”

Barclay lifted a hand to smooth his beard, his fingers brushing over the coarse hair as he mulled over what the earl had revealed. “The second woman is … exquisite. In very way,” he admitted, his voice thick with sincerity. “I just hope I would do right by her if I pursued the affinity we share.”

Richard regarded him thoughtfully. “I cannot say, but I will tell you this—it is far easier to contend with life’s challenges when one has the right partner at one’s side.”

The truth of those words struck Barclay with surprising force. That was what he missed most, wasn’t it? A wife and partner who always had his best interests at heart. Someone who stood by him even when he faltered, someone whose loyalty was unwavering.

Clearing his throat, Barclay broached the most awkward of questions. “As you are a man of experience … if I were to pursue he … how does one go about courting?”

The earl, who had just taken another sip of coffee, was suddenly seized with a paroxysm of coughing. He hastily set his cup down and fidgeted with his cravat, his face turning an alarming shade of red. Barclay narrowed his eyes as his brother squirmed, embarrassment flickering across his expression. “I do not really know all that well,” Richard finally admitted, his voice subdued.

Barclay raised an eyebrow, entirely unconvinced. “I do not understand.”