My Own True Duchess

by Grace Burrowes

  “I wanted to thank Mr. Tresham for the loan of the French poetry book. I’ve had to look up several phrases, and I love learning new vocabulary.”

  Seraphina was spying, in other words.

  Diana sidled into the room. “Mr. Tresham, good morning, though it’s a very wet morning. Did you bring Comus with you?”

  “Good morning, Miss Diana. On a day such as this, Comus would track mud into the house and carry a certain fragrance which would endear him to no one.”

  “Oh. I can’t find my slate, Mama.” Diana had adopted her helpless and hopeful look, one of her most reliably endearing with strangers.

  Theo sat back and crossed her arms. “While I seem to have misplaced my privacy.”

  Seraphina had the grace to look uncomfortable. Diana’s expression became mulish. Theo hoped Jonathan was trying not to smile.

  “Make your curtsey to Mr. Tresham, Diana,” Theo said. ”I’m sure Seraphina will help you look for your slate if you ask her politely.”

  “Rhymes with contritely,” Jonathan said, bowing to both girls as they shuffled from the room. He closed the door behind them, flipped the lock, and resumed his seat. “They worry about you. Did Lord Pinfeather truly threaten to ship them off to school?”

  “Yes.” This admission made Theo angry all over again. “I hinted that we could use a respite in the country, not only to ensure Diana knew the head of the Haviland family, but also to allow me to conserve resources by closing up this house for a time, or even leasing it out. The viscount’s response was to make a veiled offer to have the girls educated at his expense.”

  Jonathan put the cap on the ink bottle. “Is he a bachelor?”

  “Yes, and something of a curmudgeon in training. To accept his charity would be a last resort.”

  “And you were considering it.”

  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.

  “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 ca
n’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?”

  “You have other theories, I’m sure.”

  Well, yes. “Is Quimbey angry, such that his brother’s son must be made to pay for all the drama and scandal of years ago?”

  Theo should have scoffed at that notion, though she didn’t.

  Dear old Quimbey had shown Jonathan his temper once, in the headmaster’s office. Since then, the duke had been a genial, not quite doting uncle. He hadn’t been able to afford to dote.

  “What evidence do you have of your uncle’s vendetta?” she asked.

  Good word. “None, save the debt.”

  “If he’d been intent on ruining you, might he not have done a more thorough job? Peers cannot be jailed for debt.”

  The anxiety roiling in Jonathan’s gut eased. “Ruin is all too easy to accomplish. You’re right. Quimbey is not intent on ruining me.”

  “I have faced ruin,” Theo said, her head on Jonathan’s shoulder. “It’s terrifying. You worry most for your dependents. You worry that they’ll be sent away to one of those horrid schools with high walls and short rations, where they learn misery and bitterness. To have disappointed Diana and Seraphina like that… The shame would have broken me, Jonathan. They rely on me, and I cannot fail them.”

  Jonathan tucked an arm around Theo’s shoulders, for Lord Penweather—the man who should have protected her—had dangled this horror before her.

  “You think Quimbey is ashamed?” Jonathan tried on that notion and found it credible.

  “If the former duke was a wastrel like your father, then Quimbey was largely at the mercy of solicitors when he took on the title. The solicitors were useless to me when Archie died. Anselm stepped in, and that was helpful. My banker, a man who comes from nothing, was helpful. Lady Canmore sent the vultures packing when they began to gather even before the funeral. The lawyers, by contrast, fussed and sent bills.”

  “Not my lawyers,” Jonathan said. “They damned well do as I tell them to do and they know that their invoices will be subjected to ferocious scrutiny. I sit on various boards of directors, and my greatest contribution to those organizations is my ability to inspect financial documents and detect errors and omissions others overlook.”

  Theo tucked closer. “Scrutiny is a cure for many ills. I look forward to the day when I can scrutinize you, Mr. Tresham, in a big, comfy bed with a cozy fire going nearby.”

  The rain drummed on the coach roof, the horses clip-clopped along on the wet cobbles, and Jonathan relaxed.

  Theo had not failed him. She had not reacted to the bad news with drama, or worse, a suggestion that the wedding date be indefinitely postponed. That possibility had flitted through his mind like the stink of a dead mouse pollutes a spotless parlor.

  Nasty, wrong, undeniable.

  “I meant what I said,” Jonathan murmured against her ear.

  “I believe you. The dukedom will come right in time, and I will do all in my power to help.”

  She had faith in him. Perhaps Quimbey had faith in him too. Jonathan preferred Theo’s version—honest and immediate.

  “I meant it when I said I love you.” He was glad she was snuggled against him, so he could hold her as a combination of terror and joy pushed aside thoughts of the ducal finances. “You did not fly into the boughs when I dropped looming tragedy in your lap. You did not castigate me for being the bearer of bad news. You are here, with me, plotting a solution.”

  To admit his troubles even to Theo was disquieting, but perhaps that had been the flaw in his parents’ marriage: They had each remained alone, despite having spoken their vows. Their infidelities had likely begun outside the bedroom, rather than started there.

  “If we are to be man and wife,” Theo said, “and I d
early hope we are, then I will not tolerate being kept in the dark, Jonathan. I’ve seen that approach. It has nothing to recommend it when difficulties arise, and it further implies that all I contribute to the marriage are pleasures you can purchase elsewhere.”

  Theo had shared her difficulties with Jonathan, and her honesty had allowed him to see more clearly.

  And to love her. “The greatest pleasures cannot be had for coin,” he said. “I should get out here.” He would rather have spent the rest of the afternoon with Theo, even in this coach, simply rolling from street to street in the rain.

  “I don’t want to part from you,” she said. “You make a very comfortable pillow, and this conveyance has much to recommend it.”

  Jonathan could not arrive on Frannie’s doorstep in a state. “Lady Canmore will know if we’ve been canoodling. She will tease you, and that will be my fault.”

  Lady Canmore had arrived at The Coventry last night with Casriel in tow as Jonathan had been leaving. She’d been too busy lecturing Casriel on some vital point to even glance Jonathan’s way, not that he’d mention seeing her there.

  “I thought canoodling was one of the pleasures of being engaged.”

  “I haven’t properly proposed, Theo. You deserve the bended knee, showy ring, public announcement—the whole bit.”

  “I had the whole bit.” She kissed his cheek. “I’d rather have a quiet wedding and you. No showy anything.”

  Truly, truly, he had found a rare and precious woman. “Is that a request for a special license?”

  She sat up. “I leave that to you, Jonathan. I will not demand a lavish wedding breakfast for the sake of appearances. I know how to run a household, but this situation exceeds my expertise and I trust your judgment. If you’d rather marry by special license with Anselm and Casriel as witnesses, that will suffice. The size of the wedding matters not, compared to the quality of the marriage.”

  She was the perfect duchess for him. The perfect woman. “If I do not get out of this coach right now, I will have your skirts up, and this coach will be rocking so violently the horses will be scandalized.” He rapped on the roof three times. “I’ll procure that special license, and when we have more time to talk, we can decide if we’d like to use it.”