A Lady without a Lord (The Penningtons Book 3)

by Bliss Bennet

  He’d give the order tomorrow. Tonight, if Harry would agree to occupy them, too.

  He cleared his throat. “I’ve some things to say to you, Miss Atherton, and I do not want to be interrupted while I say them. Not even the prying eyes of Lord Dulcie will spy us in here.”

  Theo pushed open the door to the sitting room that connected the two master bedchambers. Its furnishings lay covered in sheets although no dust hung in the air. Only expectancy, as Harry set her candle on a small table and rubbed her hands against her arms.

  “First, I want to thank you for standing with me when I told Sibilla and Sir Peregrine about losing her dowry money,” Theo began. “It would have been far more difficult to admit my folly without your presence.”

  “You would have found a way, Theo. And folly is far better than thievery.”

  Theo frowned. “Sir John may have been the one most at fault, but he would never have been able steal from me if I had not shunned my responsibilities. And that is the second thing I’m grateful to you for—for not making excuses for my sorry behavior. I saw how much you wanted to, to defend me, protect me, when I told them how long I’d been ignoring your letters and questions. But you didn’t.”

  Harry hung her head. “No. Because you were right to upbraid me, yesterday, at the tavern. A part of me does want to be in charge, does needs to take control—”

  “That was cruel of me to say. You are the least likely person to think herself better than other people.”

  Harry smiled wanly. “No, I don’t want to be in control so I can lord it over everyone else. But isn’t it equally foolish to believe if I’m in charge, I can keep everyone I care for safe from harm?”

  Theo grabbed her hands. “No. Warmhearted and kind, rather. But still, not always in others’ best interests, to protect them from their own faults. If Haviland had not taken responsibility for his father’s failures on himself, perhaps Sir John would not have taken so easily to thievery.”

  “And if I had not hidden my father’s failings, Sir John would never have been able to pillage your estate.” She pulled her hands free of his, then turned her back to him.

  “Harry, no!” Damnation. He’d meant to offer comfort, not condemnation. He took her by the shoulders and twirled her to face him. “What I mean is that you haven’t failed your father, haven’t failed me, not if you help us to see and accept our weaknesses. You just can’t keep trying to fix them all on your own.”

  “Indeed. I congratulate you on your acceptance of your weaknesses, and how forthcoming you were about them with your family,” she said, her voice brittle. “And since you were not equally forthcoming about our private agreement, I can only assume you no longer desire my officious interference. So if you’ve brought me here to beg off from our engagement, you needn’t bother. I release you without prejudice.”

  Theo groaned. Harry looked so bleak, so unhappy. How could he have bungled this so badly?

  No. It was time to stop dwelling on his weaknesses, his failures. He was no longer going to judge himself based on his abilities or disabilities. He was going to judge himself based on his willingness to be there for the ones he loved.

  The one he loved . . .

  Theo took a deep breath. “Harry. When you found that account book in Haviland’s office, why did you bring it to me, and not go to Haviland, or Sir John?”

  Harry frowned. “Why, because it belongs to you. The thought of taking it to someone else did not cross my mind.”

  “No. But it crossed mine. In fact, I assumed after how I spoke to you at the fete I’d be the last person to whom you’d turn.”

  “Because you said you couldn’t trust me?”

  “Yes. But even after I abused you so abominably to your face, you risked putting your trust in me. Indeed, I still cannot understand why you did, when I’ve not been honest with you, or with myself.”

  “Because that is what people who care for each other do. They trust one other.”

  Theo nodded, then drew Harry close. “My biggest failure, then, isn’t my inability to cipher. It’s not trusting in you, or in myself. And pushing you away because of it.”

  He placed a finger over her lips before she offered a protest.

  “I told you I wanted to marry because you already knew my weaknesses, because I needed your accounting abilities, because I wanted an heir. But that wasn’t the entire truth. No, it wasn’t the truth at all. The real reason I want to marry is because I need you, Harry. I need your sincerity and devotion, your steadiness and responsibility. I need the way you bring a sense of peace to my slapdash, hectic life. Harry, I need you as much as I need my next breath.”

  Harry’s own breath caught, and she took a step back. “Then why, when you were spilling all your other secrets to your family, did you not even mention a betrothal?”

  Theo folded his arms across his chest.“Because what I need is not the only thing that matters, Harry. What of your own needs?”

  Her forehead wrinkled. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Harry,” he groaned. “You give and give, and never ask for a thing in return. Don’t you realize it’s not wrong to want something, or someone, for yourself? And no matter how selfishly I wish you would, you shouldn’t choose that person based solely on what he needs. So, Harriot Atherton, for once in your life, can you tell me what you need?”

  She blinked, but said not a word. Could she truly not imagine wanting anything? Anyone?

  Theo placed his hands on his hips, refusing to be disheartened. “Come now, Harry. Five things, at the very least. Even I can count that high.”

  When he saw the reluctance on her face, he added in a sing-song voice, “Wager you can’t do it.”

  “Of course I can,” Harry exclaimed as she set her elbows akimbo. “First, I need someone who will help me take care of my father.”

  Theo shook his head. “Doesn’t count. That’s for him, not for you, and it’s a given in any husband worthy of the title. Now, what do you need for yourself?”

  Her eyes flew wide, then narrowed in concentration. “I need someone who shares my principles. Who believes in helping others.”

  Theo held up a finger. “That’s one. Good, good, go on.”

  “And who wishes to take an active role in the community in which we live.”

  Theo shook his head. “No, that’s part and parcel with the first. Make the next about you, not about anyone else, or you’ll lose the bet.”

  “All right, then.” Harry tapped a foot against the floor. “I need someone who will be my companion. Who will talk to me, and with me, and who will listen to me when I wish to speak.”

  Theo held up a second finger. “That’s more like. But at this rate, you’ll never make it to five.”

  Harry smiled. “I need someone who will help me enjoy life. Someone who doesn’t take things as seriously as I do.”

  “Three. But I’m waiting . . .”

  “Fidelity,” she said, her voice growing stronger. “I do not need a philanderer, someone who does not hold the marriage vows sacred.”

  “No, you decidedly do not. But that is still only four.” Holding back his thumb, he wiggled his fingers tauntingly near her face.

  “Oh, not to worry, I have a fifth one,” she said, clasping his fingers his her own hand. “In fact, I’ve been saving it for the end, because it is the most important.”

  Harry’s eyes glinted up at him in the candlelight. “Number five: someone who loves me. And whom I love in return. Now tell me, have I won the bet?”

  Theo reached out, cupping her dear face in trembling hands. “Yes. And how lucky you are, Miss Atherton. For, fool that I am, I’ve wagered my heart against your winning. All you need do is reach out and take it, and it will be yours forever.”

  Laying her palms against his chest, Harry tilted up her mouth and claimed her prize.

  October, 1822

  “A bland choice, white.”

  Lord Dulcie raised his quizzing glass, perusing with disapproval the pal
lid gowns worn by the attendees of Lincoln’s Annual Stuff Ball. Theo could not but agree, but wished the viscount would keep his opinions to himself. This ball marked Harry’s first appearance in public as Lady Saybrook, and she had been more than a little nervous about making a good impression. Oh, there were certain to be some who would regard a steward’s daughter as unworthy of her new social distinction, and some who would laugh at him for contracting such a seemingly uneven match. But with not only himself, but Sir Peregrine, Sibilla, and Benedict by her side, he hoped no one would be foolish enough to say any such thing within her hearing.

  “I do wonder what Lady Sheffield was thinking,” Dulcie continued as they strolled through the ballroom in the County Assembly Rooms. “Next year, my dear Lady Saybrook, when you are the Patroness, you should select a more flattering color. Cerulean, perhaps? Or hazel, to match your eyes?”

  Or perhaps Lord Dulcie intended to provoke the company to such an extent that his new wife would appear a paragon by comparison? Thank heavens Lady Sheffield, engrossed in speaking with the musicians hired for the occasion, was not within earshot of Dulcie’s insult.

  Theo’s viscountess tapped a fan against Dulcie’s arm. “And what should it matter to you, my lord? The rules restricting gentlemen’s attire have long been abandoned.”

  Of course Harry would know all about the history of the ball, which had originated back in the time of their parents’ youth as an attempt to stimulate the consumption of Lincolnshire long wool, or stuff. All ladies who wore gowns and petticoats made from wool spun or woven in the county were once admitted free of charge. And by changing the required color of said gowns each year, the ball’s founders had hoped to increase demand for the decreasingly fashionable fabric. But now only the most county-spirited of the ladies donned dresses made from local wool. Theo, for one, was glad that men were no longer required to appear without any cotton or silk in their dress. A wool shirt would have itched awfully.

  “But when I marry, I must pay for my lady’s new gown, in the appropriate color,” Dulcie replied, with a taunting look in Benedict’s direction. “Or to purchase yards and yards of this hideous material in lieu of it.”

  “By the time you wed, Dulcie, the requirements are likely to have been dropped entirely,” Benedict answered. “And if you don’t cease your complaining, I’ll dress you in a lovely white shroud in this portrait you’ve forced me to paint.”

  Theo shook his head. Lord, he’d thought his brother and Dulcie had called a truce since their ridiculous duel at the fete. And yet here they were, scrapping again?

  “Lord Dulcie, have you a partner for the opening set?” Harry, always eager to keep the peace, placed a gloved hand on the annoying popinjay’s arm. “Come, allow me to introduce you to some of our local ladies.”

  “But am I not to dance the first with your charming self? We all know how little Lord Saybrook enjoys treading a measure.”

  “Oh, no, Dulcie.” Theo stepped between Harry and her presumptuous would-be partner. “I may not be a dab hand at dancing, but no one but myself will lead out my lady at her first ball as my wife.”

  Theo made an elegant bow and held out a gloved hand, praying that the dance the Lady Patroness called would be one of those which he and Harry had spent hours during their honeymoon practicing. When they’d not been more pleasantly occupied with discovering the joys of each other’s bodies. He never could remember the order of the steps for anything more complicated than the waltz before, but with Harry there to whisper reminders in his ear, he thought he might be able to tackle La Boulangere, or one of the simpler country dances.

  And what did it matter if he made a misstep or two? Everyone in the room would be so busy admiring the glowing smile lighting the face of his wife—his wife!—that they’d hardly notice if he twirled right when he should have turned left. Yes, that would certainly be his own excuse, too, if he ended up bumping into another couple, or trampling on a dancer’s feet. A love match, don’t you know?

  Lady Sheffield called for the attention of the company. “The Pirouette Waltz, if you please.”

  Theo could not help but chuckle. A waltz, to open a ball?

  Harry’s smile stretched into a veritable grin.“I may have dropped just the tiniest of hints to our Lady Patroness that she was more likely to see Lord Saybrook in the ballroom rather than in the card room if one of his preferred dances were called early in the evening.”

  Theo’s burst of laughter drew the attention of nearly everyone at the ball. But what did he mind? He would soon be holding in his arms the cleverest, most lovely lady in the county.

  “And your hint had nothing to do with the fact that the waltz allows you to gaze adoringly into the eyes of your new husband for the length of an entire dance?” he murmured as they took their place in the forming circle.

  “Nothing at all. Nor for the fact that I may take his hand, or hold my arm about his chest, or have his arms pin my own close behind my back—”

  Theo pulled his wife close as the music for the introductory march steps began, his nose filling with her familiar lavender scent. “Best be careful, my dear, unless you’d like me to do something far more scandalous than pin your arms behind your back, right here in the midst of Lincolnshire’s worthies.”

  “Now, Theo, don’t make the entire room wait,” Harry whispered as she pushed at his shoulder. “Pirouette, pirouette!”

  But keeping others waiting had never troubled Theo Pennington, even if no one ever paid him a single shilling for his tardiness. With a grin, he bent his head and touched his lips to Harry’s, waiting until she shuddered and pressed her own against his in return before he twirled her into the dance. A kiss from his wife—whether in the privacy of their bedchamber, or in the midst of a public ball—would always be recompense enough for him.

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you so much for reading A Lady without a Lord. I know you have many, many entertainment options, and it says a lot about you that you’ve chosen to spend your time reading. I really hope you enjoyed Theo and Harry’s story.

  I’d be honored if you would consider writing and posting a review of LwoaL—complimentary or critical—on your blog, Facebook, Tumblr, or Twitter account, on Goodreads, and/or on the web site of your book retailer of choice. I’d be ecstatic if you would mention my book to your friends and family. Word of mouth is a book’s (and an author’s) lifeblood.

  If you’d like receive word whenever a new Bliss Bennet book is due out (Benedict and Dulcie’s story, A Sinner without a Saint, is next!), please sign up for my newsletter at www.blissbennet.com.

  Bliss

  Author’s Note

  I can’t remember when I first came across the term “dyscalculia.” Many refer to this learning difference as “math dyslexia,” but it isn’t nearly as well known as the disorder that leads to difficulties in reading. Like dyslexia, dyscalculia is a brain-based condition that makes learning or understanding math difficult. People with dyscalculia demonstrate well below average academic mathematical performance for their age, a deficit that is not attributable to a general intellectual disability. Dyscalculia is not just having a fear of math, or not excelling at it. As cognitive neuroscientist Edward Hubbard notes, “A lot of people say, ‘I’m not good at math’ because they couldn’t handle pre-calculus or something . . . People with dyscalculia struggle to tell you whether seven is more than five” (Discover Magazine July/August 2013).

  I’ve read quite a few historical romances in which a hero’s inability to read (dyslexia) plays a role in the plot or characterization. But I had never read one with a character who had trouble understanding math concepts. I began to wonder—how would a person born in a time before learning differences were understood or even recognized cope with such a disorder? Especially if that person were the heir to a great estate, an estate upon which many hundreds of people depended for their financial well-being?

  I’ve done a lot of reading about dyscalculia, both academic (medical and educational ar
ticles) and personal (memoirs by people with the disorder), and consulted with educators and researchers who study it. Any errors in my portrayal of Theo’s learning difference, however, are all my own.

  Although the term “dyscalculia” was first coined in the 1940’s, research into the disorder is about two decades behind that of dyslexia research, according to Edward Hubbard (AK Whitney, “11 Facts About the Math Disorder Dyscalculia.” mental_floss 4/6/2015). I hope in some small way that Theo’s story can contribute to the growing awareness of this condition, and to encourage further research into how to best teach those who understand math in a different way.

  more information about

  dyscalculia

  Memoirs

  Abel, Samantha. My Thirteenth Winter: A Memoir. New York: Orchard Books, 2003.

  Hopson, Kathryn. How to Yodel Standing on Your Head in a Toilet. Trafford Publishing, 2008.

  Rothman, Line. “My World Without Numbers.” TEDx Talk. YouTube.

  Magazine Articles

  Flora, Carlin. “How Can a Smart Kid Be So Bad at Math?” Discover Magazine. 12/11/13.

  Whitney, AK. “11 Facts About the Math Disorder Dyscalculia.” Mental_floss 4/6/2015.

  Organizations

  Annual Dyscalculia and Maths Learning Difficulties Conference.

  Dyscalculia.org

  The Dyscalculia Forum on Facebook

  Learning Disabilities Association of America

  National Center for Learning Disabilities

  Copyright © 2017 by Jackie C. Horne

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by law.