Page 42 of My Own True Duchess
“I mean any sort of money. Archie was to disburse my pin money weekly, but I’d been married less than a month before I realized that system would be problematic. I had to go to my husband like a supplicant and remind him that another week had begun. He never forgot a luncheon at the clubs, never missed a Wednesday night card party, never failed to attend one of his friend’s convivial evenings for men only.”
She attacked another pot of fading hyacinths, casting the flowers onto a heap of dead leaves piled against the back wall. She had good aim.
“I thought Wednesday night was for dancing at Almack’s.” And those convivial evenings for men only did not sound like the Lonely Husbands gatherings.
“I thought Wednesday evening was for dancing as well. I learned otherwise. I eventually realized I needed to ask for a month’s money and to make the request in front of others immediately after Archie’s allowance arrived. Then he’d measure out the coin and make a great show of lecturing me about economies and prudent housewifery.”
More dying flowers joined the heap of rotting leaves.
“Your husband was a fool.”
She rounded on Jonathan, her hands fisted against her skirts. “Was he a fool, Mr. Tresham? Archie married me, and in return for dressing up and appearing at the church one Tuesday morning, he got an unpaid housekeeper, intimate favors, the use of my competence, and an increase in his allowance. For a fool, he did quite well for himself.”
This emotional tempest had apparently been brewing for years, a particularly dangerous storm for being well hidden.
“Please tell me Haviland did not boast to you of his cleverness?”
She went after the next pot of hyacinths, pink this time. “When in his cups, Mr. Haviland could be devilishly honest. Then he’d forget, or pretend to forget, the hurtful words he’d spoken. I lived in dread of Diana waking up with a nightmare and getting a dose of her father’s midnight demeanor. Bad enough that Seraphina saw more than her share. Then Archie would be his charming, handsome self come morning—or come noon.”
Jonathan wrapped his hand round Theodosia’s just as she yanked a perfectly lovely bloom from the pot.
“You are angry at yourself for failing to protect your sister, rather than proud of yourself for having protected your daughter, your domestics, your good name, and some of your memories of the man. His good name too, despite his every effort to the contrary.”
She looked at the pink flower, which gave off a cloyingly sweet odor. “I must put this in water.”
Jonathan took the hyacinth from her and propped it on the edge of the rain barrel in the corner of the garden next to the house. Theodosia watched him wending his way between her flowers, her expression suggesting he might make off with her blossom or crush it under his boots.
“I was wrong,” Jonathan said, facing her squarely. “Your husband was not a fool, or not merely a fool. He was also a contemptible parasite. You might mourn his passing, I certainly cannot. He married you, knowing you had no family to speak for you or negotiate on your behalf. He betrayed your trust and failed to provide adequately. A man who lives off his expectations sometimes has little choice. A man who lives off his wife and child’s security isn’t a man.”
The longer Jonathan considered Haviland’s venery, the angrier he became, while Theodosia seemed soothed by his tirade.
“Contemptible sounds better when you say it,” she murmured. “I lost respect for my husband. I tried not to lose compassion for him. Many men cannot moderate their consumption of spirits.”
She wanted, desperately, to make excuses for a man whom she’d clearly also wanted to throttle. Jonathan still wanted to kiss her, though he understood better why Theodosia could not undertake such an intimacy lightly.
Nor should she.
“Many men drink to excess, Theodosia, but they do it without imperiling the security of their dependents. Even my father never jeopardized my mother’s physical safety.” What an odd relief to be able to say something positive about the man. “You told me the former viscount was vigorous in old age. What if the previous titleholder had lived another five years?”
She leaned against the tree, a venerable specimen that doubtless dropped leaves over the whole garden in autumn.
“At first, I thought Archie would settle down once he held the title, but since his death, I’ve admitted he was bent on ruin. He drank, he wagered, he gambled, he had affairs. God be thanked he had no bastards that I know of. If he’d inherited the Hampshire estates and income, he would have lost them on the turn of a card or through an inane bet with one of his friends.”
Another Viscount Lipscomb, in other words. Mayfair was full of them, though solicitors and family usually limited the damage one ne’er-do-well could inflict on the inherited wealth.
“Instead, Haviland spent what you couldn’t hide from him, and now that you have funds of your own, you vacillate between fear that the money will be snatched away and the compulsion to spend it all at once, so that nobody can steal it from you.”
He’d apparently surprised her with that insight. He’d surprised himself too. Deductions, logical conclusions, algebraic variables, those he could manage handily, though insight seldom befell him.
“Exactly,” Theodosia said. “I must be the least sensible widow ever to come into money. I am tempted to buy out all the shops one moment—so very, exceedingly tempted—and then I want to tell my banker never to let me withdraw more than a single pound at once.”
Jonathan longed to hug her, to reassure her physically that her worries were normal. Instead, he offered her his arm.
“Let’s enjoy the alley for a moment. You have a pretty little lane back there, and if I’m not mistaken, we are being chaperoned from the windows.”
She pushed away from the tree and wrapped her fingers around Jonathan’s elbow. “Oh, doubtless. Seraphina and Diana keep an eye on me, the way I used to watch Archie. If anything happens to me, life changes for them, probably not for the better. Have you ever been short of funds, Mr. Tresham? Ever wanted to fling money at every crossing sweeper until no more money remained to worry you?”
Jonathan led her through the gate, latching it behind them. “I was raised on a very strict allowance provided by my uncle. I counted every penny twice and deliberated over every expenditure. While at university, I came into some money as a result of my mother’s passing, which I invested well. Some money became—by my standards at the time—a fortune. I grew obsessed not with money, but with figures, which was my salvation.”
