Page 20 of My Own True Duchess
He crunched his mint into oblivion. “A pair of great, drooling, shedding, barking pests. Caesar and Comus. You’ve met Comus, who once belonged to my late father. Caesar is larger and more dignified.”
“You want me to help you find a bride?”
“Precisely. I haven’t womenfolk I can turn to for firsthand information, haven’t friends from school who will warn me off the bad investments. In this search, I need a knowledgeable consultant, and I am willing to pay for the needed expertise.”
A consultant, but not a partner, of course. “Why exert myself on behalf of a man I barely know? I could end up with another woman’s eternal misery on my conscience.”
Another smile, this one downright devilish. “Would you rather have my eternal misery on your conscience?”
Well, no. Mr. Tresham was little more than a stranger, but he’d been kind to Diana, he was dutiful toward his elderly relations, and he’d resolved Bea’s situation with Davington.
Then too, Theo could not afford to turn up her nose at any legal moneymaking proposition, however unconventional.
“What are you asking of me, Mr. Tresham?”
“Your role has two aspects: matchmaker and chaperone. I will accept only those invitations where I know you have also been invited. You will simply do as you did with Dora Louise—guard my back. You will also keep me informed regarding the army of aspiring duchesses unleashed on my person every time I enter a ballroom.”
Theo got up to pace rather than remain next to him. “And my compensation?” Five years ago, she would have aided Mr. Tresham out of simple decency. Archie’s death meant she instead had to ask about money—vulgar, necessary money—and pretend the question was casual.
“We’ll get to that,” Mr. Tresham said. “You will be more effective as a bodyguard for being unexpected and for knowing my pursuers. I’m not buying merely your eyes and ears, though, Mrs. Haviland. Please be very clear that I am also buying your loyalty.”
“My loyalty comes very dear.” In some ways, loyalty was a more intimate gift than the erotic privileges a courtesan granted to her customers.
Mr. Tresham rose. Manners required that of him, because Theo was on her feet, but must he be so tall and self-possessed standing in the shadows?
“Name your price, Mrs. Haviland.”
The fire warmed Theo’s back, but the side of her facing away from the hearth was chilled. If she were home, the only flame burning would be the coals in the kitchen, which were never allowed to go out. Before she departed tonight’s entertainment, she’d make another pass through the buffet and collect enough food to make her lunch tomorrow.
I hate this. She very nearly hated Archimedes Haviland too. Without question, she hated The Coventry Club.
“Five hundred pounds, Mr. Tresham.”
Not by a quirked eyebrow did Mr. Tresham reveal a reaction to this demand. Theo needed ten times that amount to ensure her own old age was secure, though she could easily spend the entire sum launching Seraphina too.
Still… even a comfortable household would have trouble spending five hundred pounds in a year.
“Done,” Mr. Tresham said.
Theo felt as if an auctioneer’s hammer had fallen on the last remaining particle of her innocence. Mr. Tresham sought nothing illegal or immoral from her, but he’d required that she put a value on her loyalty. Perhaps this was how business was done and, for men, of no great moment.
“When will you provide payment?”
“You are wise to ask, because I will not have this agreement reduced to writing. I’ll provide the whole sum immediately, and you will plan on a whole Season’s worth of services.”
He sounded relaxed, pleased even, while Theo was uneasy. “I’ve written to my late husband’s cousin, the current viscount.”
“How is this relevant?”
“Because he might well invite me to visit the family seat with Diana and Seraphina.” Or his lordship might ignore Theo’s hints and casual observations, as he had been for two years.
“Then put him off until summer or find me a bride posthaste.”
Mr. Tresham’s tone said either option was acceptable, for which Theo wanted to tell him to take his five hundred pounds and decamp for Peru. Beyond the parlor, the violins were tuning up, the undulating whine of open fifths scraping across her nerves. She dreaded to return to the ballroom, feeling as if she’d sold her soul in this dark little parlor.
“I’ll send you a list of my planned engagements,” she said, chafing her hands before the fire’s warmth. “Do I assume we arrive and leave separately from these functions? Talk will ensue otherwise.”
Mr. Tresham helped himself to two more mints. “Talk will always ensue, which is why you will not send me a list that prying eyes might come upon. I will call upon you tomorrow first thing in the morning. We have a bargain, Mrs. Haviland, and you have my thanks.”
