Page 102 of My Own True Duchess
“If you go that way, and I go the other,” Anselm said, gesturing with his glass of punch, “we’re bound to collect our ladies in the next ten minutes.”
“Anselm, one does not collect ladies. Theo and I are meeting in the card room. You and your duchess are welcome to make up our foursome, or you can continue to fret and pout because your station obligates you to lend consequence to the unmarried women among us.”
Anselm set down his drink. “You already sound like a duke—more like a duke than I do, and I do not pout.”
Jonathan sauntered in the direction of the cardroom, Anselm stalking at his side.
“I pout, occasionally,” Jonathan said. “When the wives are off having one of their gatherings from which we’re excluded, and I’m consigned to pouring brandy for various lonely husbands, bachelor earls, and the endless procession of Dorning brothers. I pout like a toddler deprived of her favorite bunny.”
“Ye heavenly intercessors,” Anselm replied, nodding to Lady Antonia Mainwaring. “You should be having no dealings with stuffed rabbits. You’ve only been married a few weeks. The bunnies and horses and storybooks aren’t supposed to figure into the equation for quite some time.”
Jonathan fervently hoped Anselm was wrong. This time next year would do nicely for the bunnies to start showing up, but no amount of skill with numbers could predict such outcomes.
He reached Theo’s side near the door to the cardroom. “Madam.” He bowed over her hand, she curtseyed.
Anselm made a noise reminiscent of a crotchety bear.
“Your Grace,” Theo said, offering her hand. “I believe your duchess mentioned a thirst for some lemonade. You might find her at the punch bowl.”
Anselm spun on his heel and stalked off.
“You look delectable,” Jonathan said. “All dignified and beautiful, with a hint of mischief in your eyes. Are you feeling lucky tonight, Mrs. Tresham?”
They’d shared a bit of luck as they’d prepared to go out for the evening. The bed had required making for the third time that day as a result, and Theo had sent Jonathan ahead to do his bit with the debutantes, while she put the finishing touches on her appearance.
“You look delectable too,” Theo said, giving him a look that made him long for the privacy of their coach, or their bedroom, or his dressing closet, or the Quimbey conservatory, or…
“Shall we start your evening with a hand of cards, dearest wife? Lady Canmore is partnering the Earl of Casriel, and their conversation is always interesting.”
“We should give them a nudge,” Theo said, taking Jonathan’s arm. “They need a nudge.”
Whom Theo nudged usually ended up engaged, though in the case of Casriel and Lady Canmore, Jonathan suspected more than nudging was needed.
“We’ll monitor the situation and compare our observations.” They did that, regarding the ducal finances, Jonathan’s charities, Diana’s studies, what to purchase for Frannie’s lying in gift. They conferred, exchanged honest opinions, and sometimes even grew heated in their debates, but—Jonathan would never admit this to Anselm—they also patched up their differences and apologized for words spoken too emphatically.
“Do you miss The Coventry?” Theo asked as Jonathan escorted her to the tables.
“Yes and no. I will always enjoy numbers, but I did not enjoy the moral conundrum that games of chance present, and I like the idea that Casriel’s brothers are building on what I started.”
He liked better—much, much better—that he and Theo were building a future together, one standing on far firmer ground than money, chance, appearances, and diversion.
“Prepare for defeat, Mr. Tresham,” Theo said, taking a seat at Lady Canmore’s table. “I’m feeling exceedingly lucky.”
The earl and countess offered greetings, though clearly, they were barely aware that their table had become a foursome. After several hands, Casriel invited the lady to stroll on the terrace, and Jonathan once again had Theo to himself.
“They need a shove, not a nudge,” Theo said, collecting the cards.
She’d revealed herself to be a ruthless and shrewd player, much to Jonathan’s delight, though by agreement, any sums either of them won at cards or dice went toward their various charities.
Not that they gambled often or for high stakes.
“You have plundered all my reserves,” Jonathan said, twenty minutes later. “Could I interest you in a stroll on the terrace?”
Theo set the deck aside. “Unfashionable of us, to socialize together, but if five pence is your limit for the evening, then to the terrace, sir.”
Jonathan came around the table and bent low under the guise of holding her chair. “I will always prefer a moonlit garden with you to the feeble charms of the cards, Theo.” He reassured her of that point frequently, and the lingering insecurities caused by her first marriage seemed to be fading, one moonlit stroll at a time.
“I can see why Archie became so enamored of games of chance,” Theo said, slipping an arm around Jonathan’s waist. “The cards promised him the possibility of financial independence, standing among his peers, and if nothing else, they alleviated the great sense of boredom and purposelessness an aristocratic son can be prone to. If we have children, we’ll teach them to play well, but carefully.”
She was offering Jonathan a reassurance of her own, one he needed to hear. He dropped in occasionally at The Coventry, and saw the Dorning brothers experimenting with this or that change to the establishment. That was hard, but then, Jonathan had his hands full with his own ventures.
And with Theo.
“I will sell The Coventry, Theo. The Dornings are off to a sound start, and they have ideas and insights I lacked. They’ll make a go of it, and we’ll get the dukedom set to rights that much faster for their efforts.”
“I leave that choice to you,” she said, pausing at a fork in the gravel path. “Are you in the mood for shadows and privacy or the well-lit path and its blooming roses?”
“You decide,” Jonathan said, “and I will gladly accompany you either way.”
Theo chose the private path—choice rhymes with rejoice—and Jonathan made a leisurely and loving tour of the garden’s nocturnal splendors with her.
