Page 34 of My Own True Duchess
Theo rose, cake in hand. “I’ll thank you not to jest, Bea. This is a serious matter. He’s counting on me.”
Very likely, Tresham had paid coin for Theo’s expertise, which showed he wasn’t all fine tailoring and dashing quadrilles.
“He trusts you, then, a fine foundation for a duke’s marriage. You know everybody, you aren’t a blushing doddypoll, you already have his respect.”
Theo bit off a nibble of cake from the side with the sugar glaze. “I respect him too. You’d think a ducal heir would have had an upbringing to envy—shaggy ponies, jolly tutors, cricket matches, a bit of Latin. He’s a mathematician to the bone, Bea. Life is an equation to him, and that attitude will not result in a happy marriage. I suspect he loves numbers as much as I hate them.”
“Then he can do the bookkeeping. You like him for all his numerical inclinations.”
Theo took the seat behind the desk, for they were in the study, not the formal parlor. This room had a low ceiling and only one window, which meant it was warmer than the airy parlor with French doors and bay windows.
Like all widows, Theo had doubtless learned what a desk was for: ledgers, bills, and that tribulation known as polite correspondence. She’d likely composed her carefully worded epistles to the viscount at a desk, and she’d battled her ledgers at a desk, wielding an abacus with the same skill she’d once practiced the language of the fan.
She looked more at home behind Roger’s desk than she’d looked on the dance floor lately.
“I do like Mr. Tresham,” Theo said. “I resent that I like him, I try to ignore it, I hope the liking will fade, but a deep vein of kindness runs through him. His father’s bad example has made him tolerant rather than mean. He’s honorable, Bea, and he…” Theo stuffed the last of the cake into her mouth, chewing absently.
“He has gained your notice. Why not have an affair with him?”
Theo choked on her cake. “I beg your—Beatitude, have you taken leave of your senses? I cannot… That is the most ridiculous… Beatitude Marie, have you been at the cordial?”
Cordial could be a dear friend to a woman who’d lost patience with polite society. “A fine idea,” Bea said, crossing to the sideboard. “Strawberry, I think. It goes so well with the lemon cake.”
“Not the strawberry. The Great Fire was doubtless started by your Aunt Dot’s recipe for cordial, and that fable about a bakery is merely for children’s history books.”
“Definitely the strawberry,” Bea said, pouring two glasses. “Such a pretty drink.” She brought one to Theo and held up her glass for a toast. “To finding lightheartedness.”
Theo touched her glass to Bea’s. “To not making a fool of myself.”
“I did,” Bea said, resuming her seat on the sofa. “With Casriel.”
Theo took a sip of her drink. “Do tell. He seems like a decent sort. Lovely eyes.”
His eyes were only the start of his winning attributes, for they were kind as well as beautiful. “He was all that was gentlemanly when he saw me home, Theo. I was tempted.”
“Ply him with a little cordial, and his clothes will miraculously start falling to your bedroom floor.”
They shared a smile, not entirely humorous. “I don’t want to become the merry widow, Theo, but I don’t want to be the invisible widow either.”
“We go quietly mad in our invisibility. Stitch more samplers than we have room for on our walls, do cutwork until we go blind.”
“I could have invited Casriel in for a cup of tea,” Bea said, running her fingers over the embroidery that rioted across the sofa pillows. More red, pink, and white roses than any bouquet could hold. She had an entire hothouse worth of such over-blooming pillows.
“But you didn’t invite him in.”
“He might have refused, and then I’d be pathetic. He might have asked to come in for a moment.” Even a gentleman could say his good nights inside the front door, if they were brief good nights. “Share another slice of cake with me.”
Theo left the desk and took the place beside Bea on the sofa. “You’re saying the gentleman can’t ask without risking offense, and we can’t offer without risking pity.”
Bea passed her half a slice of cake. “What an inane system.” She dunked the other half into her cordial. “I hate it. You really ought to be on Mr. Tresham’s list, Theo. He’s a fool not to see that.”
“I’m a poor widow whose husband died without honoring his debts.”
Theo had said that exact sentence on more than one occasion, as if reciting a line from a play.
“You paid those debts.”
“I’m paying the last of them off this week. Maybe now, I won’t feel as if invisibility is my dearest friend.”
