Page 69 of His Mistress, His Muse, and Other Madness
But he’d learned the extent of her reputation here, and they seemed to have harmed it further with Bradley. Added to that, he’d not been able to find the sort of gossip, the severity of sins, that would sell on the Strand and in the printshops. He could get shillings, but nothing to set up a school, a life with a wife.
Except for the relationship between Pentshire and Miss Mires.
His hand on Cordelia’s shoulder must have tightened a bit too much. Her hand lighted onto his, and she twisted to smile up at him. “Are you well? You’ve gone gargoyle.”
He nodded, a curt thing that made him feel like stone. “Walk with me?”
She stood in answer, and the others waved them away.
“Not many dark corners in that direction,” Pentshire called after them.
“Just go up to your bedchamber,” Armquist yelled. “Much more comfortable.”
“Ronny!” Mrs. Bexford slapped her lover’s arm.
“What?” he demanded. “Do you wish to retire toourbedchamber?”
“Oh, Ronny.” This time softer.
Then the couple left arm in arm.
Miss Mires frowned. “Would you like to go upstairs?” she asked her earl.
Pentshire patted her hand. “We’ll stay right here. In case our guests need us. Yes?”
“Yes.”
Theo wrapped his arm around Cordelia’s shoulders and walked her through the knot garden and out of the hedge wall on the far end. They ambled down a grassy slope to the moat on the far side of the house. A light breeze ruffled the grass and swayed the meadow flowers, lifting purple and yellow petals skyward at times. The moat was a still and silver mirror, blue in places from the sky, darker where trees’ reflections drew jagged lines across the blue. Birds sang in the distance, and a peace settled over Theo. A foreign feeling.
“Theo?” She looked down as they walked, and he studied her profile. Pouty lips, high brow, lovely little nose he wanted to kiss. She wore no bonnet, and her freckles glowed in the afternoon sun. He’d kiss each of those, too. Had already done so. Counted the hours till he could do so again. “Theo, perhaps we should discuss what happens when we leave here in three days’ time.”
“Yes.” He’d been thinking the same thing. The time had come, and he was ready for it.
“I know you do not love me, but—”
“Love does not matter. I admire you, Cordelia. And I want you, I hope you already know. In every way a man can want a woman.” She bit her bottom lip, continued staring at her feet. “And,” he said, pulling her closer to his side, “I want to continue helping with your school. As an instructor if you’ll have it.”
Her hands on his jacket tugged him to a stop. “Theodore Bromley! You’re offering to teach art?”
“Only to the scholarship children. Not to the widows.”
“Oh, but the widows would queue round the street to draw you.” She sank her hands into his cravat. “Is an instructor all you propose to be?”
He cleared his throat. “Ah, no. Not quite.”
“Then you’re proposing to…?” She opened her eyes wide as if the damn woman didn’t already know.
“I’m proposing. In general.” He scratched the back of his neck, looked to the sky for words to say and dropped his hand limp to his side when he found none. “Marry me, Cordelia?”
Her eyes shimmered. Were those… tears? Hell.
He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the paper carefully folded and placed there. “Here. I made it for you. Since I don’t have a ring or anything suitable for such an occasion.”
She wiped the corner of her eyes with the heel of her hand and took the paper, unfolded it, and for a moment, her face wore no expression, but then that blankness cracked open into laughter so all-consuming, she doubled over and rested her hands on her knees.
He stripped his coat off and laid it on the grassy bank, then guided her to sit atop it. Then he sat beside her and felt the pleasure of happiness curl through him. He could live off her laughter alone, rich and joyous as it was. And he’d caused it.
She collapsed backward into the grass, clutching the paper to her belly, and he joined her, folding his own hands over his chest and grinning up at the cloudless, blue sky. Open and wide like the skies of his childhood before everything changed. He’d gotten back there somehow. If only for one laughter-blessed moment.
