Page 17 of My Own True Duchess
All without trying.
He stepped down first and turned to assist the lady.
“Mr. Tresham must divorce himself from any interest in risky ventures if he’s to win Theo’s notice,” Lady Canmore said, joining Casriel on the cobbles. “Theo’s late husband was not a prudent man.”
Tresham was very prudent, but also… a financial adventurer. The various organizations on whose boards he sat always seemed to come right fiscally, while Tresham’s personal finances were based on chance and speculation. Casriel hadn’t met his like previously, though he’d come across plenty of resentful heirs.
Saw one in the mirror from time to time, in fact.
“I will leave Mr. Tresham to sort out his own fate with Mrs. Haviland,” Casriel said, offering his arm. The lantern on the porch was unlit, an economy or an indication of domestic sloth. Either way, he didn’t like it. The coach was in a porte cochere, meaning the entrance was private, but darkness and lone women were not a prudent combination.
“Theo will sort Mr. Tresham out,” Lady Canmore said. “Thank you for seeing me home, my lord.”
She was in better spirits than when she’d left the ball, and she had slipped the wine bottle into her reticule as well. Casriel wanted to ask if he could call on her, but… no. He must marry wealth.
Had to.
“Are you…?” Casriel stared over the top of her head. She was a petite woman, and yet, she had presence. “Are you well, my lady?” Clearer than that he could not be.
She faced him before her door, and such was the gloom that he could not make out her expression.
“People talk about your eyes,” she said. “The Dorset Dornings have such beautiful eyes. Perhaps your eyes are a remarkable color, but I like that you see with your heart.”
She leaned into him, only that. Her arms didn’t come around him, but her weight rested against his chest. Casriel embraced her, and she sighed, becoming a smaller, softer bundle of female. A hug seemed to be all she wanted, a momentary respite from relying exclusively on her own strength.
“Tell Tresham to go gently with Theodosia,” she said. “Mrs. Haviland needs flirtation and tenderness, lighthearted diversion and simple pleasures. Tresham might seek a duchess, but Theo needs a doting swain.”
“What do you need?” The question was inane, imbecilic, beyond ridiculous, because Casriel had nothing of value to give her.
“I needed, for one moment, to be held. Thank you, my lord.”
She slipped inside the house, leaving a hint of gardenia on the night air. Her departure—graceful, of course—was all that saved Casriel from asking if he might take her driving tomorrow at the fashionable hour.
* * *
Mrs. Haviland had pronounced Jonathan handsome and wealthy. She made both attributes sound like afflictions, and thus his confidence in his plan grew.
“I have avoided intimate entanglements of the nature you allude to,” he said, keeping his voice down lest anybody strolling in the conservatory overhear. “I don’t intend to give any woman the means to wreak havoc in my life. Mistresses all too often regard such drama as their right.”
Mrs. Haviland stared at her plate as if Jonathan hadn’t spoken. “I can’t let this food go to waste, and I can’t eat it. I want to do Davington a permanent injury.”
So did Jonathan. “Davington is not the first man to disappoint you.” And yet, even disappointed, Mrs. Haviland did not fly into hysterics, threaten public retribution, or cause a scene. Jonathan’s parents would have done all three over a mere flirtation.
She tore off the crust from a slice of buttered bread. “My husband was a gentleman in name, and he wasn’t a bad man, but he was untrue. That was a disappointment.”
“You don’t mean he was merely unfaithful. Half of polite society’s marriages would collapse if infidelity were of any moment.” Which baffled Jonathan. What did the vows signify, if not both loyalty and fidelity to one’s spouse?
“Archimedes never had a mistress. A mistress expects to be housed, clothed, and fed, for which reasonable demand, I do not blame her in the least.”
This conversation was not going where Jonathan intended it to, and the dancing would soon resume. He needed to police Davington’s penance, but he also needed to secure Mrs. Haviland’s agreement.
“While I’m sure you esteemed your husband greatly, I sense that the marriage was not entirely happy. I’m facing matrimony myself and hope the union is at least cordial.”
She left off tearing up her bread. “You seek a love match?”
Laughter felt good. “Good God, no. I don’t believe in fairy tales any more than you do, Mrs. Haviland. I seek a cordial partner with whom I am temperamentally compatible. I’ll be a generous, faithful husband; she’ll be a good mother to my children and a social ally. She will manage my households, I will tend to our finances. It’s a sensible system with room for considerable fondness. Nobody ends up disappointed, and much good can be accomplished without unnecessary histrionics.”
Mrs. Haviland set her plate aside. “You make marriage sound like a business merger. Are you temperamentally compatible with your commercial partners?”
