Page 68 of His Mistress, His Muse, and Other Madness
Theo grunted and sat Cordelia in the only remaining chair amongst them.
“Bah.” Lord Armquist waved a hand as if smelling something unpleasant. “But at what cost? Instability, misunderstandings. I’d rather be older and wiser in love than otherwise.” He picked up Mrs. Bexford’s hand and kissed her knuckles.
“I must say,” Mrs. Bexford said, letting her lover keep her hand after he’d kissed it, “I’ve experienced no loss of passion despite my one and forty years.”
Passion—a better word for what he felt. He’d witnessed no wisdom in his parents’ love for one another, no matter how many years they’d gained. He shifted from foot to foot, settling his hand on Cordelia’s shoulder. And love had prompted Armquist and Mrs. Bexford to give themselves outside of marriage. Love had prompted, likely, Pentshire to bring a dairy farmer’s daughter into his home. Passion alone was better, determination and loyalty far superior motivations for sharing your life with another.
As he planned to share his with Cordelia.
“Where is the competition standing?” he asked Pentshire.
The earl eyed him, tapping a finger on the end of his wicker chair. “And what will you do with the money if you win?”
“I know!” Miss Mires bounced in her chair. “You’ll put it all toward your school, no doubt.”
Theo inclined his head. “Excellent guess, Miss Mires. I will indeed. Though… I prefer to think of it as Lady Cordelia’s school. She will manage it for me.”
“An…” Miss Mires hesitated. “Employee-employer relationship?”
Something more than that, though they’d not said it yet, and he wouldn’t say it before all these people, either. So he grunted.
And Cordelia answered for him. “Of a sort. If, that is, we can get the school started.”
Pentshire wagged a finger at him. “Do not think you can tempt me into giving you the prize because of your good works.”
“But, Tommy”—Miss Mires tugged on his arm—“I would like you to donatesomething. And if you won’t, well then, I will!”
Pentshire glanced around the group before stroking her arm. “I’ll help. Don’t worry, poppet.” The look he gave her… hell, Theo’s own face had likely looked that way recently when staring at Cordelia, something he couldn’t keep himself from doing. Was the earl’s expression sincere? Did he admire the woman as Theo admired Cordelia? And if so, why keep her as he currently was—a mistress living like a countess. Not just a scandal, but a painful one to Miss Mires, surely. Because she’d have to step away from the house, the wealth, the earl himself when he took a wife from the ton. As he would do. All men of his stature did. And with his parliamentary passions, he’d likely choose a woman whose father’s politics suited his own. An alliance.
“Miss Mires,” Theo said, looking about the garden as if what he planned to say did not matter much, “are charitable works of great interest to you?”
The girl’s face brightened, and her curls bobbed. “Oh, yes.”
“And what, besides art, do you spend your time championing?”
“Orphans.” Her passionate expression took on a hard edge at odds with her round cheeks and golden curls.
“Admirable,” Cordelia said.
Just his thoughts. Too bad the girl would be cast away. But Pentshire would pay for his callousness. Every home in London would know of it, of her, and how he treated her.
Cordelia stirred beside him. “I am an orphan, I suppose.” Why did her voice sound so empty? Was she thinking of her father’s death? Of her betrothed’s betrayal? Of how she’d been alone for so long?
He clasped her hand and pulled her closer, dipped to nudge the top of her head with his chin until she looked up with a huff and an irritated eye.
“Yes?” she inquired.
“Nothing.” He’d just wanted to see her smile.
“Have you made any ground,” Mrs. Castle asked, leaning forward to refill her teacup, “with those who previously crowded about Mr. Bradley?”
“No. And I am unlikely to,” Cordelia admitted. “The ones who refused to speak with me have left. To their minds, I’ve ruined two genius artists now. The remaining guests have already pledged small donations, what they can. And I am grateful for all of it.”
“Are you worried?” Mr. Castle asked.
“Not at all.”
That was his Delia—bright and sunny and always optimistic. Thank God worry did not consume her. Because it ate him alive. He could not regret coming here. He doubted very much he’d have given into his desires for Cordelia had he not had her so close day in and day out. And he’d never regret having her in his bed, possibly getting her with child. He’d never regret finding a woman he could shake off his loneliness with.
