Page 73 of My Own True Duchess
“How bad is it?”
He tossed the wadded-up letter into the basket of kindling near the hearth. “The dukedom is not solvent. The revenue doesn’t cover the expenses. Quimbey could not afford to enclose his commons. He hasn’t the means to harvest his lumber. The previous two dukes were a pair of heedless libertines. Quimbey had nobody to show him how to go on, and then he was saddled with my expenses as well.”
“You did not know this last night.”
He shook his head, staring at the fire. “I’ve been working through the books a bit at a time, questioning the steward, trying to put the puzzle pieces together while I tended to other business obligations. This morning, a maid who looked to have been born in good King Hal’s day shuffled in with my tray. I asked her why she hadn’t retired. I nearly had to shout the question. She was horrified to think of making the dear duke both pay her pension and hire somebody who’d expect a full wage.”
“And you figured out the rest. I’m sorry, Jonathan. I know what it’s like to feel as if a tempest has destroyed one’s finances. To feel as if the rosy picture you’d believed for so long about people you thought you knew is just that—a painting, not reality. Not true, a lie in fact.”
He crumpled up the last of Theo’s failed correspondence and tossed it straight at the fire. The paper caught, blue flames consuming Theo’s rebuke to the viscount.
“Quimbey married a dowager who has her own means,” Jonathan said. “I can’t see that her finances in any way have been involved in putting his to rights. The dukedom is nearly bankrupt.”
While part of Theo was horrified for Jonathan, another part of her rejoiced: He’d come to her with the news immediately. He wasn’t concocting lies and evasions, pretending the world would come right with his next quarterly allowance.
“We’ll have my competence,” Theo said, getting up to draw the curtains. “I will sell this house. I will be the most frugal duchess ever to serve weak tea at my infrequent at-homes. I bring little to this union, Jonathan, but economies run in my blood. We needn’t maintain your London quarters—lease them out. We can retire to the country with the duke and duchess. I’ve longed to return to the country and—”
She turned from the dreary day beyond the window and ran into a solid wall of male muscle.
“I love you, Theodosia Haviland,” Jonathan said, taking her in his arms. “I love how fierce and protective you are, how practical and loyal, but we needn’t subsist on sour gruel and stale oat cakes.”
“I can,” she said, burrowing into his warmth. “I can if we must. Many haven’t even that much.”
“I have properties, investments, and revenue independent of the dukedom, though even with my own fortune, bringing the Quimbey holdings around will take time. You mustn’t worry.”
“I do worry. I’ve learned it’s better to anticipate trouble than be caught by it unaware.”
Jonathan held her for a long, quiet moment, slowly stroking her back, and gradually, Theo’s breathing eased, her body relaxed. She’d been ready to do battle with the forces of penury on Jonathan’s behalf, too ready.
Of course he had means independent of the dukedom, or why would he be constantly tending to business, rescheduling meetings, or dashing off to attend them?
“I think I have found my balance,” she said, “and then I realize that, no, I have not. My balance is precarious, my sense of peace hard-won. I nearly lost my temper with Lady Canmore last night because she made a casual suggestion that sat ill with me. Be patient with me, Jonathan. I am not frail, but neither am I as fierce as you might think. Your honesty and openness mean much to me.”
“And your loyalty means everything to me.” He kissed her cheek.
Theo caught him by the hair and kissed him back, at length. The discussion had been difficult, and she was still uneasy, but the kissing… oh, the kissing was a delight. Jonathan started undoing her braid—the wretch—and she trailed her hands down his chest, intent on unbuttoning his falls.
Somebody rapped on the door hard. “I found my slate, Mama. I drew you a picture. Do you want to see my picture? Mama?”
Jonathan swore in French while Theo hastily did up her braid. They waited until they’d stopped laughing to open the door.
Chapter Fourteen
* * *
Continents were shifting in Jonathan’s heart, a bewildering sensation. He’d awoken to a revelation of the worst sort: Quimbey had not been honest with him. Quimbey, the one benevolent constant in his life, had pushed a bow wave of financial problems for decades and never once hinted to his heir that difficulties lay ahead.
Before bidding Moira a farewell last night, Jonathan had also learned that Frannie was not merely taking a leave of absence, she’d abandoned her post, and without a word to Jonathan. That development, in addition to Quimbey’s difficulties and Sycamore Dorning’s disquieting accusations, left too many questions and no answers.
Thank goodness Lady Della had been from home, and Jonathan’s first social call with Theo had been thirty minutes of watching the Earl of Bellefonte attempt to charm Theo, while his countess smiled graciously and sent her husband affectionate glances.
“You are brooding,” Theo said. “Come sit by me, please.”
He’d given her the forward-facing seat in his town coach out of habit, for a gentleman did when all of Society was abroad to gawk at a passing carriage. Shifting to the place beside her felt right.
Theo took his hand, and that was welcome too. “You are worried about money?”
“Not money. I know how to make money—I’m good at it, in fact. Did Quimbey say nothing to me because he lacks the skills to perceive the problem? Is every dukedom teetering on the brink of ruin and I’ve simply not been aware of that?”
