Adelaide giggled just a little, leaning into him. “I think you would have decided against me, if you’d known me better before we wed.”

“And would you have been so very opposed to me if I had not contracted myself to you in the manner I did?” Basset asked her, his voice turning rougher and filling with a note that pained her. “If I had done the thing properly and courted you, brought you white roses sprinkled with lavender and sage, asked you about Mozart and which of his operas is best, danced a cotillion and then asked for the waltz when one dance wasn’t enough… would you have hated me then?”

More tears threatened to rise, and Adelaide cradled the child within her as though to protect it from her emotions. “We’ll never know, will we?”

“No,” he murmured. “No, I suppose not.” He rubbed her shoulder gently back and forth. “I agree with you. Our child, whether son or daughter, will be able to marry their choice and not ours. Within reason, of course, but… yes, it will not be so businesslike as ours was. I think we know better now.”

Adelaide nodded, swallowing hard. She did not push away from him, did not move, feeling perfectly safe in his hold even as she hurt inside for both of them. But their child would have better than they’d had, and if they were both committed to the idea, there would be no strife about it in the future.

At least she could give her child that.

“Pardon me, my lord,” Mervyn’s voice called from the doorway. “A letter has arrived from your man in London.”

Basset groaned and shifted away from her, pushing up from the bench and meeting the butler halfway.

Adelaide turned as he opened the letter, watched as his eyes scanned the lines, noted the sudden tension in his expression.

“Well, damn,” he said suddenly. He folded the letter, tapping it into his palm as his tongue pushed against his teeth and forced his lips to round. “Mervyn, have the carriage prepared. It seems I am going to London.”

“What?” Adelaide pressed up from the bench awkwardly, struggling to do so. “Why London? Why so immediately?

His smile was fleeting and flimsy. “My brother, Richard, has fallen victim to his own poor habits and been abandoned by those in whom he placed his so-called care. He is penniless and very ill, so it falls to me to rescue him. Again.” He shook his head, grinding his teeth. “He always finds a way. And I am a fool for this.”

“I don’t think so,” Adelaide insisted. She moved to him and put her hands on his arm. “Caring for your brother is not weakness. He may not have returned your care the way a brother should, but it speaks to your better nature that you still care. Let me go with you to London.”