She Was Sold to an Old Duke — But His Wedding Night Gift Changed Everything
Chapter 7
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Josephine stood by the tall windows of the drawing room, watching his carriage tear up the gravel drive. She wore a high-collared black silk dress, severe and unforgiving. She had spent the last three days immersed in the estate's ledgers: she had found Carson's discrepancies within 48 hours; the estate manager had blustered, threatened, and ultimately crumbled when she presented him with the exact dates and tonnages of the stolen coal. He was gone by Wednesday evening. Mrs. Higgins now looked at Josephine not with pity, but with a wary, rigid respect."He is early," Thomas murmured from his armchair by the fire. He was wrapped in a thick wool blanket, his stiff leg propped on a velvet stool. The damp Yorkshire cold caused him visible pain, though he never complained aloud."Early implies he respects your time," Josephine said, turning from the window. "He is simply eager to check if you are dead yet."Thomas let out a short, rough bark of laughter. It ended in a wet cough. "You have a sharp tongue, Josie.""I have a realistic one."The heavy doors to the drawing room swung open. Reginald strode in as if he already owned the carpet he walked upon. He was in his late 20s, handsome in a weak, soft sort of way, dressed in a tailored riding habit that had never seen actual exertion."Uncle!" Reginald declared, throwing his arms wide. "I came as soon as I heard the joyous news! Though I must confess, the letter from your solicitor was quite a shock."Reginald's eyes slid past Thomas and locked onto Josephine. His smile did not reach his eyes: they were cold, calculating, and dripping with condescension."And this must be the new Duchess," Reginald said, stepping closer. He looked her up and down, taking in her severe dress and unadorned hair, searching for the desperate, impoverished girl his uncle had bought. "Josephine, isn't it? From the Harding family." He dragged out the surname, letting the unspoken reality of her brother's ruined reputation hang heavily in the air."'Your Grace' will do, Reginald," Josephine said. Her voice was flat, devoid of any welcoming warmth.Reginald halted, his smile faltering for a fraction of a second. "Of course. Forgive me. We are practically family now. I simply wanted to welcome you to Clydesdale. It must be quite overwhelming for you—so large, so complex." He glanced at Thomas, who was watching the exchange in silence. "Uncle, I do hope you haven't taken on a burden too heavy for your failing health. A young wife requires... energy."The implication was vulgar. It was meant to embarrass her, to remind her that she was a purchased commodity, a warm body for an old man.Josephine did not blush; she did not look away. She stepped forward, closing the distance between them."Your concern for your uncle's health is touching, Reginald," she said, her tone conversational but laced with steel. "Though I suspect your anxiety is misdirected. You should perhaps be more concerned with your own finances."Reginald's brow furrowed. "I beg your pardon?""I have been reviewing the estate ledgers," Josephine said, clasping her hands loosely in front of her. "It appears your quarterly allowance from the Clydesdale mines has been generous: £2,000 a year for a man who contributes absolutely nothing to the operation or maintenance of those mines."