Page 39 of My Own True Duchess
“You should put salt on the eggs,” Diana said. “They aren’t as boring that way.”
“Diana, if you’re finished, you may take your plate to the sideboard,” Theo said.
Seraphina’s sigh of relief was audible.
“Thank you for the advice, Miss Diana. I’ll give Comus your regards.” He rose and came around the table to hold the girl’s chair.
Diana, having never been shown such a courtesy, might have visited upon the moment some of the spectacular awkwardness she dispensed with heedless frequency. She instead left her chair with as much dignity as somebody in short dresses could, bounced a curtsey at Mr. Tresham, and skipped from the room.
“She curtseyed,” Seraphina marveled.
“And,” Theo added, “she smiled. Mr. Tresham, you must visit whenever you please.”
“Yes, do.” Seraphina passed him the salt cellar. “And if you send over more peaches, we might be able to bribe Diana into remaining silent the next time you call.”
Mr. Tresham sent Theo a look over his plate of eggs and ham. His expression was solemn, his eyes were dancing.
“These eggs are good,” he said. “My compliments to the cook.”
“She will be delighted.” Seraphina took a forkful of the eggs doubtless growing cold on her plate and went off into a desperate flight about the delights of mint tea first thing in the day.
Mr. Tresham murmured appropriate remarks at appropriate moments, until Seraphina’s store of chatter was gone and his plate was empty.
“Seraphina, perhaps you and Diana might choose some irises for a bouquet,” Theo said. “Mr. Tresham and I have a few matters to discuss.” For he hadn’t stopped by at such an hour to eat boring eggs and listen to Seraphina’s equally uninspired conversation.
“We can choose the irises, Mrs. Haviland,” Mr. Tresham said, standing to hold Theo’s chair. “Let Miss Seraphina finish her breakfast in peace.”
Oh, blast it all. Seraphina’s gaze was nothing short of adoring.
“A fine suggestion,” Theo said, rising. “Fina, please ring for Williams to clear when you’re done.”
For an instant, mutiny shone in Seraphina’s eyes, making her look very much like Diana. The use of her nickname had done that, for which Theo mentally kicked herself.
“I will wish you good day.” Mr. Tresham bowed over Seraphina’s hand, as if he were her partner at a tea dance, and the mutiny was over before it had begun. “A pleasure to see you. The next basket of peaches will be in appreciation for your fine and gracious conversation.”
That’s laying it on a bit thick. “Come, Mr. Tresham. The irises are calling.”
He accompanied Theo down the corridor that led past the kitchen steps, past the little back parlor that Theo used as her private sitting room. The floors in this part of the house did not shine with polish. The walls were bare plaster rather than covered in printed silk.
She was torn between embarrassment at the humble reality of her house and resentment that Mr. Tresham should even see the bare walls and cluttered office.
The garden, fortunately, was doing its best. The tulips had made a late start, while the irises, positioned against a sun-warmed stone wall, were being precocious. Still, Theo had never envisioned Jonathan Tresham amid her flowers, and with him at her side, her little patch of blooming ground felt… silly.
When a household lacked necessities, what mattered flowers?
“I was attempting polite conversation with your sister,” Mr. Tresham said. “Did I pass muster?”
“Yes.” A little too well. “I would never have known you were making an effort. You will please excuse Diana’s lack of manners. Her only memories of having a man at the table go back to when Archie was alive, and he spoiled her shamelessly.”
Though Archie had also on rare occasions offered Diana an effective, if gentle, reprimand.
“Shall we sit?” Mr. Tresham asked, gesturing toward the only bench in the garden. The fountain had been sold, leaving a circle of stones with a mere pot of herbs at the center. The bench sat on the shady side of the circle, opposite the irises.
“I deposited your bank draft,” Theo said.
“I know.”
“You sound serious, Mr. Tresham. Are you here to sack me? Perhaps you’ve found a bride on your own?” Which would be a relief. Also vexing in the extreme.
