Page 52 of My Own True Duchess
He wanted to say no, that the press of business seldom allowed him to idle under his own roof while waiting for callers, and that would even be the truth. He was scheduled to meet with a different directors’ committee every day for the next week, and each meeting required preparation of meticulous financial reports.
And yet Lady Della… was his sister, and to treat her as extraneous, a nuisance, a presuming intruder in his life would be to walk too many steps along Papa’s path.
“I will be home to you,” he said, “should you and the earl grace me with a call.”
Her smile was radiant, as if the dullest scholar had reasoned—not guessed, reasoned—his way to the correct answer when the headmaster had come to observe the class.
“I will be home to you as well, Jonathan.” She sailed off to join her brother and Lord Westhaven, leaving Jonathan amid sweets he didn’t care for. He’d made some concession in a game he didn’t understand, played with a deck of cards whose markings he couldn’t decipher.
Perhaps Theo might be of some help. She stood by the door of the library with Lady Bellefonte, a tall blond woman in conversation with them. Jonathan’s intended made no indication that she’d taken notice of him, but to him, she appeared very much like an ace and a queen in the hand of a man who’d been losing at vingt-et-un since he’d taken his place at the table.
He set aside his plate and got all of two yards closer to Theo when Miss Pamela Threadlebaum stepped directly into his path, her smile promising him a full plate of inanities about the weather.
Chapter Ten
* * *
The evening should have been pleasant, not an interminable procession of smiles and arias, while Theo tried to both remain vigilant for Jonathan’s sake and ignore him for her own. Bea’s coach rolled five yards closer, among the last in the line on the street before Lord Westhaven’s town house.
“I do fancy a talented violinist,” Bea said, covering a yawn with a gloved hand. “But the ones on offer tonight were more enthusiastic than skilled.”
“It’s a difficult instrument,” Theo replied.
The footman let down the steps and held the door open. Bea gathered her skirts and ascended, and Theo was preparing to do likewise when Jonathan Tresham appeared at her side.
“Perhaps you’d allow me to escort you home, Mrs. Haviland?”
“Do go on, Theo,” Bea so-helpfully murmured from the depths of the coach. “Mr. Tresham will doubtless get you home faster than my sorry pair will.”
Theo could argue, which would draw the attention of the guests chatting on the steps, or she could do as she’d been longing to do all evening and spend some time in Jonathan’s exclusive company.
“I’ll wish you good night, my lady,” Theo said. “Expect a visit from me tomorrow.” And a lecture.
Two minutes later, Theo was handed into a town coach that made Bea’s little carriage look like a doll’s hackney. The velvet upholstery was exquisitely soft, the cushions deep, the sheer size of the conveyance a testament to luxury.
How does he afford this? The question wandered through her mind as Jonathan came down beside her on the forward-facing seat.
“I will pay that violinist to tour the Continent in perpetuity,” he said. “I’ve missed you.”
Pleasure stole over Theo’s determination to remain sensible, like night steals over day at sunset. Jonathan was being honest—the violinist had spent more energy tossing his dark hair about than coaxing melodies from his instrument—and Jonathan was also being swainly.
“You saw me yesterday morning.” Had kissed her yesterday morning, or she had kissed him. Truly, madly, passionately kissed him and wanted to kiss him again.
Jonathan pulled the shades. “I sat with Lady Antonia Mainwaring, who insisted on discussing the music in the most effusive terms. I went through the buffet line with Miss Penelope Bainbridge, whose great fortune earned her a spot on your infernal list. I strolled at the interval with Miss Clytemnestra Islington, another sparkling gem who can discuss the weather more passionately than most MPs can debate the Irish question. Why didn’t you warn me that being a gentleman is exhausting?”
“Would you rather they’d been pressing their bosoms to your person?”
He slanted a look at her. The carriage lamps were turned down, but streetlamps had been lit. His expression conveyed frustration and mischief.
“I’d rather you pressed your bosom to my person.”
He sounded so disgruntled that Theo laughed. “You’re lucky only three of your prospects were in attendance tonight.”
His sour mood reassured her, which was very bad of Theo. She was glad he’d found the evening tedious, glad he was having to work to comport himself as a gentleman among his peers.
She was not glad she’d been on hand to see him succeed at that pursuit. Every one of the ladies present had regarded him with the sort of veiled yearning Diana reserved for French chocolates.
“You went through the buffet with Lady Della Haddonfield,” Theo said. “You should consider her.” Some demon prompted Theo down this path, the same demon that had warned her for years that she was doomed to penury and ruin.
