Page 48 of My Own True Duchess
Mrs. Compton was an acquaintance only, though her husband and Archimedes had been friendly. She waited on the front step, no maid or daughter with her, though a groom stood by a gig in the street.
“Mrs. Haviland.”
“Won’t you come in?”
She stepped over the threshold with the air of one admitted to a den of vice during daylight hours. Her curiosity was apparent, as was her unwillingness to be caught gawking.
“I won’t take up much of your time,” Mrs. Compton said. “This is a social call.”
What else would it be? “The family parlor enjoys good afternoon sunlight,” Theo said. “The formal parlor is better suited for earlier in the day.”
Mrs. Compton was the sort who might be offended by a choice of parlor, but then, her oldest daughter was rusticating in Italy and Dora Louise might well end up waltzing in her sister’s footsteps. An insistence on propriety was likely Mrs. Compton’s only means of maintaining sanity.
“You are gracious to receive me,” Mrs. Compton said when Theo offered her a seat in the family parlor. “We are not friends, but I have discussed the matter with my sister, Lady Hopewell, and she agrees with my decision.”
Lady Hopewell had married a viscount. This fact found its way into almost all of Mrs. Compton’s public conversations.
“I am always glad to welcome good company under my roof, Mrs. Compton. Shall I ring for tea?” Hammet, Theo’s man-of-all-work, knew how to put together a tea tray.
“Tea won’t be necessary.” Mrs. Compton sat on the very edge of her seat cushion. “I’ve come to apologize.”
Clearly, apologies involved gall and wormwood. “I am unaware of any reason you might have to do so.”
Mrs. Compton had been pretty once, in the preferred manner of the blond English rose. She was fading now, into anxiety, middle age, and very likely, marital neglect. Her bonnet, reticule, and parasol were awash in lace, as if she’d bring a tide of consequence with her instead of the graciousness and warmth she might have claimed as a younger woman.
“When Clarice, my oldest, made her come out, Mr. Compton said you weren’t good ton. I wasn’t to encourage any connection between you and my daughter.”
Jonathan had turned the morning into a delightful, if troubling, muddle. Mrs. Compton was threatening to ruin the day—if not Theo’s life.
“Did you come here to insult me?”
Mrs. Compton rose on a rustle of silk and lace. “Certainly not. Mr. Compton is no judge of Society, but he is my husband. I heeded his wishes, because my daughters did not need the good offices of a common widow when Lady Hopewell sponsored them.”
Ever since Archie’s death, Theo had waited for scandal to find her. She’d waited for doors to close, whispers to start. How ironic that today, when she might have been courted by a ducal heir, Mrs. Compton should bring trouble to her door.
“Mrs. Compton, if the sad day ever befalls you when you too become a common widow, you will realize that nobody needs us unless we’re willing to remarry and arrange our lives for another man’s comfort and convenience. I’ll see you out.”
A hint of Dora Louise’s determination shone in her mother’s eyes as she resumed her seat. “Please hear me out. I came to thank you for preventing Dora from making an utter cake of herself at the Earl of Bellefonte’s ball. She takes after her father in some regards—impulsive, convinced of her own genius. She’s young, Mrs. Haviland, and terrified that her sister’s circumstances will become known before Dora can secure a match.”
As Theo was terrified for Seraphina and Diana.
Her ire faded, and curiosity took its place. “The threat of scandal should frighten any young lady, but Clarice is merely seeing the Continental sights in the company of a dear and generous family friend. Nobody will hear any differently from me.”
This conversation called for a glass of cordial, though the parlor was stocked only with Madeira. Theo poured two glasses and brought one to her guest.
“Thank you.”
Theo took the end of the sofa nearest Mrs. Compton’s chair. “What did you really come here to say, ma’am?”
“You have held your tongue regarding Clarice’s idiocy. You intervened when Dora set herself up to be a laughingstock scorned by the best families or preyed upon by a cad as her sister was. You are a mother, you provide a home for your sister, and she will soon make her bow. I cannot openly defy my husband, Mrs. Haviland, but I can express my thanks for your kindness. You could ruin both of my daughters with an unkind word, and yet, you have not.”
“Nor will I.”
Mrs. Compton took a ladylike taste of her drink. “I don’t think I could be as decent as you have been. Mr. Compton enjoys wagering, you see, though not excessively. I know what a mess Mr. Haviland left behind, because Mortimer passes gossip on to me.”
Theo waited with a sense of inevitability. Would today be the day that Archie’s death called in its remaining markers? Would today be the day that Theo wrote to Lord Penweather and insisted that he provide a home for Theo and her dependents?
“My husband will likely die in debt as well,” Mrs. Compton said. “That is not my fault, just as Mr. Haviland’s situation was not your doing. Gentlemen must maintain standards, though nobody is very clear on how that’s to be accomplished.”
