Page 101 of My Own True Duchess
Jonathan drew back and moved half a foot away on the bench. “Not bloody likely.”
He enjoyed such a sense of clarity about his path. Always had, likely always would, while Theo felt as if she were setting out on a journey without a map, compass, or directions.
“You have courting to be about, I understand. The Coventry means much to you, and now you know—”
“No, Theodosia, you do not understand.” Again, his resolve was evident in his tone. “I’ve arranged to sell The Coventry. Sycamore Dorning will take over its management with one or two of his brothers. Over time, if he’s careful, he can buy me out. I’ll remain landlord for now, but eventually, the Dorning brothers will become owners of the entire venture.”
Theo had longed to hear those words, had not thought them possible, but now…
“Don’t give up your dreams for me, Jonathan. If I cost you the one thing that gives you joy, the cornerstone of your financial stability, then resentment can only grow in its place. Others rely on you, and I did not take that into account.”
Did not take many things into account, such as the need to fashion a life that was more than a defense against past hurts.
“I could not back out of the deal with Dorning now if I wanted to, Theo, and I don’t want to. I’m told that gaming establishments are illegal, and I’m to be a duke someday. I no longer wish to cling to the diversions of my youth like some stubborn tot with a favorite stuffed rabbit.
“God willing,” he went on more softly, “I’ll become a father someday too. I refuse to allow my children to conclude that I stay out until all hours, bribe the authorities, and break the law because that is more important than reading them their bedtime stories.”
Theo tried to make her mind work, but unburdening herself regarding the past had left her spent and muddled.
“You negotiated with Mr. Dorning before you came here?”
“I did not negotiate. I told Mr. Dorning how it would be, and he had the sense to seize the opportunity I presented.”
Thank you, Sycamore Dorning. “You’re certain, Jonathan? What of the dukedom?”
“I will do my best by the dukedom, Theo, and I hope that’s enough for you, because I cannot contemplate marriage unless I’m married to you. I’ll have some income from The Coventry for the next few years. I have investments. I’ll make economies—I was hoping you could help me with that—and I’ll raise my children to be prudent with their coin. I was hoping you could help with that too—the children part—unless you’d rather rusticate in Hampshire?”
He’d put The Coventry aside, and he wanted to have children with her. The great sadness Theo had carried for years broke into dust, and a breeze of joy blew it to the heavens. The sadness might come around again from time to time, but the joy would never leave her for long.
She leaned her forehead against Jonathan’s shoulder. “Please do not consign me to Hampshire. I don’t know anybody in Hampshire. I don’t love anybody in Hampshire.”
“Theo?”
She gazed up at the little dwelling where she’d struggled so, year after year. Just a house, worth some coin. Not a home.
“This place holds sad memories, Jonathan. That’s what was driving me to Hampshire. The time has come to let go of what happened here, to move on, and to risk a bit of change. I cannot change the past. I cannot even fight it anymore.”
Jonathan shifted, sinking to one knee before her and taking her hand. “Then I have a new dream that I’d like to discuss with you every morning, noon, and night for the rest of our lives. Theodosia, I’d like to discuss this dream with you in my bed, in the library, in the billiards room, and in about six different linen closets.”
“And the music room,” Theo said. “Do you still have the special license?”
He kissed her soundly. “Let’s discuss the special license first.”
* * *
“Tresham, why the hell didn’t you warn me?” Anselm asked, over the lilt of the string quartet in the minstrel’s gallery.
Jonathan smiled at Miss Threadlebaum, who was being led to the dance floor by no less worthy than an earl’s heir. Dora Louise Compton’s engagement to a young baron had been announced the previous week—Theodosia had had a hand in that—and Clytemnestra Islington had been walked home from services the previous Sunday by a widowed viscount.
Jonathan’s pleasure in these developments was mostly on Theo’s behalf, but also for the young ladies.
“You ignore me,” Anselm muttered. “I put a direct question to you, and you are too busy watching that damned staircase—there they are.”
“What could I possibly have to warn you about?” Jonathan asked, as Theodosia and the Duchess of Anselm paused at the top of the steps. The Duchess descended first, leaving Theo to shine before the whole ballroom in a gown of deep blue velvet. She wore a pearl choker that Jonathan had presented to her as an engagement gift, but other than the single strand of pearls in her hair, her only other ornament was a blazing smile.
For him. He lifted his glass, because the entire gathering, even the spectators gawking at the windows, should see the regard in which he held his wife.
“You might have warned me,” Anselm muttered, “that some fool, some wretch with no sense at all, has made it fashionable for dukes and their heirs to dance with wallflowers, debutantes, widows…” His Grace trailed off as the duchess began a left-handed circuit of the ballroom.
