Page 19 of My Own True Duchess
“I’ll be brief,” Mr. Tresham said. “I need two things. First, to not be compromised out of choosing my own bride. Second, to choose the correct wife, the one who will be a perfect duchess one day, and a good spouse for a man in my circumstances.”
Theo crossed to the fire, the better to bask in its blessed heat. “Please elaborate. I am not a procuress, and virtually any debutante in all of Europe would be ecstatic to become your duchess.”
Now , she was hungry. Now, she was preoccupied with memories of Cook’s peach compote, which had been delicious, but lacked the dash of cinnamon that would have elevated it to perfection.
“I don’t want a perishing debutante.”
Mr. Tresham hadn’t raised his voice, but he was exasperated, which pleased Theo. He’d handled the situation with Bea, handled Diana’s obstinance in the park, and handled any number of presuming young ladies. Theo was cheered to think he’d found a situation he could not confidently manage on his own.
“What do you want? You are to become a duke, God willing. Dukes are married to duchesses and duchesses are chosen from the ranks of the debutantes.”
“Might we sit? I’ll spend the rest of the evening enduring bosoms pressed to my person while I prance around the ballroom with a simpering, sighing, young woman in my arms. My feet ache at the very prospect.”
Theo began to enjoy herself. “Poor darling. You must have nightmares about all those bosoms.”
He smiled, a rueful quirk of the lips that transformed his features from severe to… charming? Surely not.
Theo took a seat on the sofa and patted the cushion to her right. “Speak plainly, Mr. Tresham. The bosoms await.”
He assumed the place beside her. “Plain speaking has ever been my preference. I left England after finishing at Cambridge and went abroad to make my fortune. In that endeavor, I was successful, but the whole time I ought to have been finding my way in polite society, forming the right associations, being a dutiful heir, I was instead making money.”
Without any partners. “Why Cambridge? You would have met more young men from titled families at Oxford.”
Theo really ought to scoot a good foot to the side. She’d taken a place in the middle of the sofa, and Mr. Tresham was thus wedged between her and the armrest. There was room, if they sat improperly close.
He was warm, however. Theo stayed right where she was.
“Cambridge offers a better education in the practical sciences and mathematics. I am something of an amateur mathematician, which skill is helpful when managing finances.” He gazed at the fire, his expression once again the remote, handsome scion of a noble house.
Theo had the daft urge to tickle him, to make that warm, charming smile reappear. He’d doubtless offer her a stiff bow and never acknowledge her again, which was silly when they’d discussed marriage, money, and mistresses, despite their short acquaintance.
“You offered me plain speaking, Mr. Tresham, yet you dissemble. No ducal heir needs more than a passing grasp of mathematics.”
He opened a snuffbox on the low table before them. Taking snuff was a dirty habit, one Theo had forbidden Archie to indulge in at home.
“Would you care for a mint?” Mr. Tresham held the snuffbox out to her.
Theo took two. “Tell me about Cambridge.”
He popped a mint into his mouth and set down the snuffbox. “My father went to Oxford. He earned top marks in wenching, inebriation, stupid wagers, and scandal. I chose not to put myself in a situation where his reputation would precede me.”
Most young men viewed those pursuits as the primary reasons to go up to university. “I gather he was something of a prodigy in the subjects listed?”
“Top wrangler. So I became a top wrangler at Cambridge.”
Ah, well, then. “And you’ve taken no partners. Can’t your aunt assist you in this bride hunt, Mr. Tresham?”
“Quimbey’s wife doesn’t know me, and she’s too busy being a bride herself. She and Quimbey are…” He fiddled with the snuffbox again, opening and closing the lid. “Besotted, I suppose. At their ages.”
Mr. Tresham clearly did not approve of besottedness at any age, and Theo had to agree with him. Nothing but trouble had come from entrusting her heart into the keeping of another.
“They are off on a wedding journey of indefinite duration,” Mr. Tresham went on. “They are reminding me that soon Quimbey will not be on hand in any sense. He’s an old man by most standards, and I have put off marriage long enough.”
“They are also leaving you a clear field to make your own choices, which seems to be a priority with you.”
He crossed his legs, a posture more common on the Continent. “Possibly. They also asked me to move into the ducal town house during their absence, supposedly to keep an eye on the staff and the damned dogs. Pardon my language.”
“And you capitulated because of the dogs.”
