The two Crogans looked almost identical: beefy, red-haired, and red-necked. As if they routinely pinched ladies in any area of her physique they could lay hands on.
"Now if I'd picked a mare who looked like yourself," Crogan said, "things could have been different." He reached around and plucked his little brother closer. "Did you meet the young Crogan here, by the name of Hew?"
Josie curtsied again. Young Crogan had, if anything, a larger lower jaw than his brother. It was a miracle that his teeth met in order to chew his meat.
"This is Miss Essex," Crogan bawled at his brother. "She's the youngest of Viscount Brydone. Remember him? Now, Miss Essex, who has your father's stables these days?"
"My father's estate was inherited by his cousin," Josie said.
"Right you are. And I agree with that. Don't like the idea of property passing to a woman, and I reckon your father agreed with me. Your face can be your fortune, lass!" Crogan roared with laughter.
Josie looked at Annabel rather desperately, but her sister appeared to be taking a short sleep. From what Josie could see, a woman might as well stay in bed through pregnancy, given the way Annabel napped even in the midst of company.
Luckily, Ewan came to her rescue. "Josie's fortune is far more than her face," he said to Crogan. "Not only did her father leave her a prime piece of bloodstock as a dowry, but her sisters' husbands—myself included— have given her a dowry that any young woman can be proud of."
Josie smiled up at him rather grimly. It had been manifestly obvious to her, ever since she was told of this dowry, that her sisters had come up with the scheme simply because she was too large to make a success of it on the market. After all, Annabel went through the season last year without Tess' husband putting a ha'penny toward her dowry. No man would need a bribe to consider taking Annabel to wife.
Crogan stiffened all over, like a hound scenting a trail. "So, your lordship, would you say that Miss Essex is a daughter of your house?" he demanded. There was a challenge in his voice that Josie didn't understand.
But Ewan just smiled. "She is indeed a daughter of my house," he said, turning away and bringing Josie with him. "Now look at this, my lamentable wife has deserted her hostessing duties once again."
Behind them she could hear Crogan saying something urgent to his brother in an undertone.
"Precisely what was that about?" Josie asked.
"Nothing important," Ewan said. "I'll take Annabel upstairs and she can have supper in her chambers when she wakes."
Josie didn't have time to agree; Ewan already had his arms around Annabel and was lifting her from the chair. It was amazing to watch, given that Annabel had to have gained two stone while carrying the child. And yet Ewan carried her like a feather.
She turned to find the elder Crogan grinning at her, his hand clenched on his younger brother's arm. "Tell us about yourself, lass," he said ingratiatingly. "We'll wile the time away while Ardmore takes his wife upstairs for a bit of rest. My wife was just the same, I assure you. The nights I've carried her to her bed!"
Josie felt a moment of companionship with his younger brother as they both stared at Crogan in disbelief.
"So precisely what horse did your father leave to you, Miss Essex?" Crogan asked.
"Her name is Fancied Lady," Josie answered. "My guardian, the Duke of Holbrook, is breeding her this season, I believe." She couldn't figure out where Cro-gan's interest lay. Ewan came back into the room just as she was explaining that the terms of her father's will did not allow her to sell the horse he left her.
She discovered the answer to Crogan's interest later in the evening. She had run out the side door to check on the progress of a mare with a nasty boil on her hock, and was coming back down the path when she heard the
Crogan brothers arguing loudly. It sounded as if they were walking toward her. They must have decided to fetch their own horses from the stables, rather than wait for a groomsman to bring them.
The moon was shining brightly, and the woods were almost clear as day, so Josie didn't hesitate a moment. She slipped to a large oak by the side of the road and pressed herself against the far edge. Only a very foolish woman would risk encountering two Crogans, each of whom had undoubtedly imbibed a fair amount of whiskey after the meal. A kiss would be the least of it— and more the fool she, for having left her maid at home while she nipped down the path to the stables. Not but what she did that every night, but it wasn't a wise thing to do with the Crogans on Ardmore ground.
They were ambling along, arguing as they went, their voices echoing off of the quiet woods around them.
"She's a daughter of the house, you ass," Josie heard. "A daughter of the house." She strained to hear. Could they be talking about her? That was the same term that Ewan had used earlier.
"More like a sow of the house," one of them said sullenly.
Josie's heart dropped. They were definitely speaking of her. And by his sulky tone, that was the younger Crogan. It must be difficult to be the younger one when the estate wasn't all that large, and the Crogans not exactly celebrated for fine management.
"I don't give the devil's hind leg if you think the girl is a pug-nosed piglet," Crogan roared, his words coming clearly to Josie's ears. "She may be bit round in the face, but a proper man likes a bit of meat on the bone."
The younger Crogan muttered something Josie didn't hear. She felt as if she couldn't breathe, pressed up against the tree, praying they wouldn't glimpse her. Her fingers were gripping its rough surface so hard that she could feel every gnarly lump in the bark.
"Nay, and it's not as if your own stomach isn't a bit overpadded," Crogan said. To her horror, it sounded as if they had stopped walking almost directly in front of her.
"She's got three stone on me," the younger Crogan said flatly. "I ain't marrying a woman who might squash me in my sleep."
"You're a fool, that's what you are. She may be robust, but she's got a pretty look about her."
"And a sharp tongue!"
"But she's not ill shaped," Crogan said.
His brother spat on the ground. "You might as well tell me to poke a lard barrel."
I wouldn't squash you, Josie thought. I'd kill you before we made it to the bed.
"She's a bit on the chuffy side, perhaps," Crogan conceded. "But God's a-live man, where are you going to find a woman who comes along with a dowry like that? She's got a horse from her father, guineas from those sisters of hers, and if she's called a daughter of the Ard-more house, that brings into play the old agreements. It's a handsome package, Young Crogan. You'd be cracked not to take it."
Young Crogan muttered something that Josie couldn't hear. Mostly, she could hear her own blood pounding in her veins.
"I don't give a twat if you don't want her," Crogan roared again, his voice echoing down the empty road. "She's a prime Scottish piglet, and I'd snuffle around her skirts any day. You should be grateful for a wife who will never cuckold you, and leave it at that, you feather-headed dunce. Now you either start courting that lass tomorrow, or you're out on your puddinglike ass to sing for your supper."