Page 25 of My Own True Duchess
Not if she was the right duchess for him.
“Her loyalty unquestionably belongs to her husband, madam.”
“Why?”
He rose and resumed studying Theo’s wistful doves. “You ask that question with annoying frequency.”
“If you seek a cordial union, then you must bring to the marriage some genuine warmth, Mr. Tresham. You must pay heed to the lady. Empty flattery and false affection will not serve. If that’s all you plan to offer your bride, then you must find yourself another matchmaker.”
“And chaperone. I could sell this for you. The brushwork is ingenious, and I’m a competent flatterer, by the way.”
And so modest. “Competence and facility are two different gifts, Mr. Tresham. When you tell a woman she’s a graceful dancer, if her talent is only middling, she will know firstly that you lie and secondly that you’ve paid no heed at all to her on the dance floor.”
“Perhaps you would be so good as to pour out.” His tone suggested Theo had made her point, but he was wrong. She was barely getting started.
“Turn your back to me,” she said, twirling a finger. “You hired me to find you a bride, and this is part of it.”
He turned, and Theo regarded broad shoulders, a long back shown off by an exquisite mulberry morning coat that nipped in to drape over a muscular derriere then curved down to long, equally muscular legs. Archie had been handsome and used it to his shameless advantage. Mr. Tresham was breathtaking and made all the more impact for ignoring his own good looks.
“Tell me what I’m wearing,” Theo said.
A male sigh huffed across the parlor. “A dress.”
“Hilarious. I refuse to consign another woman to marriage with a man who cannot be bothered to look at her when she emerges from her dressing closet.”
Mr. Tresham laced his hands behind his back. “You are wearing the same light blue dress you wore when we met in the park, suggesting you plan a walking excursion for later today. You wear no jewelry, not even a wedding ring, though I know you own a set of high-quality pearls.
“You wear them in your hair,” he went on, “so perhaps the clasp is broken. Your cuffs are white lace, not a stain on either one, and your fichu is lace as well, probably backed with silk, but without touching the material with my bare fingers, I can’t be sure.”
He’d recalled her dress, one of few she owned that she still felt pretty in. He should not to have mentioned her fichu, much less anybody’s bare fingers.
“What scent am I wearing?”
“Jasmine. Faint, very pleasant. Good quality.” He shot a brooding glance at her over his shoulder. “Have I passed?”
“Tell me something positive about myself that will surprise me, but is true.”
He turned and studied her with a calm intensity that made the hair on Theo’s nape prickle. What did he see besides an old dress and spotless lace?
“You dread the thought of a remove to Hampshire,” he said. “Your friends are here, your independence is here. Mayfair is the battlefield you’ve conquered Season by Season, and scurrying off to the country to be a poor relation would be a bitter defeat.”
Theo had reached for the teapot, but let her hand fall to her lap. “ That is your notion of flattery?” He hadn’t surprised her. He’d laid her out flat in her own parlor.
“Needs work,” he said, resuming his seat. “I agree, but you also asked for honesty.”
“Try again, then,” Theo said, pouring out whether the tea was strong enough or not. “And I am not admitting that your observation is valid.”
“You are courageous. Witness, you are doing business with me. I sit on the boards of several enterprises, and I’m told directors’ meetings are much shorter and more convivial when I do not attend.”
“Now you flatter yourself, sir, and proper society does not discuss commerce.” Though he was trying, scrabbling about for something pleasant but personal to offer as a conversational gambit. “How do you take your tea?”
“Black, if I must take it at all. Years in France left me with a taste for good coffee and chocolate.”
Theo passed him a cup of steaming China black, the very tea he’d sent in the basket, though this cup would apparently go to waste. The last two servings of peach compote graced the tray. If those were consumed, Diana and Seraphina would go into mourning.
“If you are to court a woman,” Theo said, “the first step is to notice her. Not her settlements, not her bosom, not her dress, but her. What entertainments are you planning on attending next week?”
He recited a list and took a single sip of his tea before setting the cup and saucer aside. “I am not involved in politics, which means I am called upon to make up numbers almost any evening of the week.”
