Page 40 of My Own True Duchess
“I am here to confirm with you certain information that came to my attention earlier this week.”
Theo settled on the bench, feeling like a prisoner in the dock. “Tell me the rest of it.” Ever since paying off the last of Archie’s debts, she had felt uneasy. She’d lived with the unrelenting anxiety of the debtor, and now…
Now, Mr. Tresham was calling upon her first thing in the day and enduring Cook’s overdone eggs.
“The Duke of Anselm is among my acquaintances,” he said, taking the place beside Theo. “He does not know the nature of my financial dealings with you. His Grace remarked in passing that the last of Mr. Haviland’s debts had recently been paid. I encouraged the duke to maunder on—this was a private conversation between longstanding acquaintances—and it became clear to me that you have been the victim of significant misfortune.”
Anselm had never promised Theo confidentiality, and Archie’s debts had never been a secret among his friends.
Still, to be discussed… “Widowhood is considered a misfortune by some, not by all.” The words surprised Theo, for their honesty and for their bitterness. “Forgive me, I’m not myself lately. I loved my husband and mourned his passing. Being able to resolve his debts will allow me to hold his memory in greater affection.” The words were right. The unhappy tone was accurate too, though.
“Mrs. Haviland… Theodosia, shall I write to Lord Penweather? He has neglected you, Diana, and Seraphina shamefully.”
Anselm deserved a hard kick in his ducal derriere. “Please do not. His lordship and I correspond, and he knows my situation. He did as Archie’s will directed, and we cannot blame him for that. What did you come here to discuss?”
Mr. Tresham took Theo’s hand. “How are you?”
She sensed the gesture was casual, like patting a mastiff. She could not discern Mr. Tresham’s mood, though, as if he too had been disconcerted by the money that had changed hands.
“I am well, sir, and you?”
“I am furious at the way you’ve been treated, and I’m in no mood to be dangled before prospective duchesses. I spent half the night wondering if the most promising candidate for my bride isn’t sitting right here beside me.”
Theo very nearly looked to her right to see if another woman had joined them. “She’s not. You are feeling protective, Mr. Tresham, and I esteem you for it, but we’ve come up with a list, and those are the ladies whom you ought to consider.”
Motherhood had given Theo the gift of firm speech, though nothing would erase the sharp tug of despair Mr. Tresham’s wondering provoked. An affair could be conducted nearly at arm’s length. One needn’t become entangled with a lover, but a man and wife could have few secrets.
Particularly if Mr. Tresham were the man and Theo the wife.
Still, he kept hold of her hand. “My flirtation needs work,” he said. “My flowery speeches are a disaster, and my charm is nonexistent, but might I at least attempt to persuade you with a kiss?”
“You come calling at an unheard of hour to… to kiss me?” Theo wanted to laugh, to turn the moment to humorous incredulity, but Mr. Tresham’s expression was serious.
She had spent nearly all of the night reliving their one embrace, a moment of such unexpected, undemanding comfort and closeness, she’d carried the memory into her dreams.
“I also stopped by to practice charming and flirting,” he said, “but we know that’s a lost cause where I’m concerned.”
He’d charmed both Diana and Seraphina, and thus Theo as well. “I’m very much at sixes and sevens, Mr. Tresham. I was before you joined us for breakfast.” That was thanks to him too, him and his bank draft, and the feeling of being able to surrender all burdens when held in his embrace.
“Tell me what has you upset, and call me Jonathan. If I’ve progressed to making a fool of myself in your garden, you should use my name when we are private.”
“No, I should not.” Theo should retrieve her hand, walk him to the back gate, and tell him not to come around again until he’d recovered his wits.
“What’s bothering you, Theodosia? Tell me.” He brushed his thumb over her knuckles, a tantalizing caress that a woman of mature years ought to be able to ignore. And to hear her name, spoken with such fierce assurance… Damn Archimedes for a selfish fool.
“You have me upset,” she said. “You and your blasted money.”
Mr. Tresham let go of her hand.
Chapter Eight
* * *
“What are they saying?” Diana asked, peering down into the garden.
“You needn’t whisper,” Seraphina replied. “They can’t hear us.” Theo and Mr. Tresham had likely also forgotten that every window on the back side of the house provided a view of the garden bench.
“But he was holding her hand. Mama never holds hands with gentlemen.”
