Page 72 of My Own True Duchess
Less than twelve hours ago, Theo had been considering removing Jonathan’s clothing. The notion still had significant appeal.
“Penweather considers me a bad influence, Jonathan. He holds me responsible for turning a fun-loving young man into a wastrel. His lordship hasn’t demanded guardianship of Diana, in part because Archie made arrangements in his will naming me as her guardian.” For which Theo was sincerely grateful.
“That is unusual.”
“But not illegal. Had she been a boy, I’m sure Penweather would have intervened by now.”
Jonathan covered her hand with his own. “You will never again be anxious regarding his lordship’s neglect or his potential meddling, and I give you my word, neither Seraphina nor Diana will either. I shall settle sums on them both and name Anselm executor of their trusts in my absence.”
He stood and drew Theo to her feet and wrapped his arms around her. The comfort of his embrace was profound, the comfort of his insight greater still.
“I hate having to ask anybody for money,” Theo murmured. “Thank you.”
He smelled of damp wool and whatever fancy floral soap was unique to him. Theo’s mood eased, from dreary to peaceful, and yet, she was troubled.
“Shall I write to Penweather?” Jonathan asked.
“Please. I seem to have lost the knack of being a perpetually apologetic poor relation.” How odd, and how wonderful, to remain in each other’s arms. “May I ask you something?”
Jonathan eased away, stealing a quick kiss. “Of course.”
“What business drew you from my side last night?”
He ran a hand through damp hair. “I don’t have a mistress, if that’s what you’re wondering, and if I did, she’d be in possession of her parting gift by the end of the week. I saw the drama and misery that marital infidelity can wreak, and though it’s old-fashioned of me, I will be faithful to you, Theo.”
She hugged him tightly, apparently catching him by surprise. “Be old-fashioned, then. I will never complain of your loyalty.” She had wondered, had tossed and turned, and doubted. What pressing business could have commanded his presence, other than informing a mistress of an upcoming wedding?
“Shall we sit?” Jonathan asked. “I came by to ask if you’d call on Lady Della Haddonfield with me. I’ve rearranged several business meetings to make myself available for a social call, but I’d like to bring an ally with me.”
Pleasure bloomed, because in a sense, this would be calling on his family. “Of course, though I’ll have to change.”
He grasped Theo’s braid and drew the tip along his cheek. “I like your hair down.”
The door was locked, Jonathan had seen to that. Theo brushed a hand over his falls. “I was not expecting callers. Are you still willing to have the banns called?”
He dropped her braid. “Yes. Quimbey should be present for the ceremony. If I allow him several weeks’ notice, he won’t have an excuse for dodging off.”
Now that Theo’s immediate worries had been put to rout—Jonathan did not have a mistress, he would deal with Lord Penweather—she realized that he too was less than ebullient the morning after having become a suitor.
“Are you angry with His Grace?”
Jonathan took the place at the head of the table, where Theo had been composing her correspondence.
“His Grace married only recently, Theo. He’s a duke, and he never married at a time in life when any other ducal heir would have done so.”
“You came along. He didn’t have to marry.”
Jonathan lined up the quill pen and the penknife in the tray, and set the standish parallel to the tray. “He did not marry, because he could not afford to.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Quimbey has refused to modernize his agricultural holdings. I thought that decision was stubborn sentiment, him clinging to the old ways because he’s not greedy or ambitious. I was wrong. He cannot afford to modernize. He keeps his aging staff because he cannot afford to both pension them and hire replacements. The pattern has been right before my eyes for years, but I’ve been too busy resenting my father to notice my uncle’s difficulties.”
Theo took the place at Jonathan’s right side. “You are not your father, Jonathan.”
He crumpled Theo’s failed attempts at correspondence. “I have wondered why Quimbey was so late to notice my circumstances as his heir, why he took so little interest in his only nephew. He was overwhelmed with holding my legacy together, and I never suspected we were in difficulties.”
Nobody referred to His Grace as anything other than dear old Quimbey. The duke presented uniformly sanguine countenance, and Jonathan would resent mightily the dishonesty in such good cheer.
