But behind him lay his birthright. It was huge and imposing, and from the outside, not particularly friendly.

Thomas thought of his grandmother. Belgrave wasn’t always particularly friendly on the inside, either.

But it was his, and he loved it, even with the massive weight of responsibility that came with it. Belgrave Castle was in his bones. It was in his soul. And no matter how much he was occasionally tempted, he could never walk away.

There were other, more immediate obligations, however, the most pressing of which was walking at his side.

He sighed inside, the only indication of weariness an ever so slight roll of his eyes. He probably should have danced attendance on Lady Amelia when he’d seen her in the drawing room. Hell, he probably should have spoken to her before addressing Grace. In fact, he knew he should have done, but the scene with the painting had been so farcical, he had to tell someone about it, and it wasn’t as if Lady Amelia would have understood.

Still, he had kissed her last night, and even if he had a perfect right to do so, he supposed that required a bit of postencounter finesse. “I trust your journey home last evening went without incident,” he said, deciding that was as good a conversational introduction as any.

Her eyes remained focused on the trees ahead. “We were not accosted by highwaymen,” she confirmed.

He glanced over at her, attempting to gauge her tone. There had been a hint of irony in her voice, but her face was magnificently placid.

She caught him looking at her and murmured, “I thank you for your concern.”

He could not help wondering if she thought she was mocking him. “Lovely weather this morning,” he said, because it seemed like the right thing to say to needle her. He wasn’t sure why. And he wasn’t sure why he wanted to.

“It’s very pleasant,” she agreed.

“And you are feeling improved?”

“Since last night?” she asked, blinking with surprise.

He looked down at her pinking cheeks with some amusement. “I’d thought since five minutes ago, but last night will do just as well.”

It was good to know he still knew how to kiss a blush onto a woman’s cheeks.

“I am much better now,” she said crisply, batting at her hair, which, unconfined by a bonnet, was now blowing about in the breeze. It kept getting caught in the corner of her mouth. He would have found that vastly annoying. How did women tolerate it?

“I was feeling overly closed-in in the drawing room,” she added.

“Ah yes,” he murmured. “The drawing room is a bit confined.”

It could seat forty.

“The company was stifling,” she said pointedly.

He smiled to himself. “I had no idea you were on such uncomfortable terms with your sister.”