Page 13 of The Duke of her Dreams

“Still completely enamored by the books? Maybe I should bring some more ledgers for you to feast your eyes on?” A familiar voice drifted into the room, accompanied by the tapping of a cane on the floor.

He kept his eyes on the books, not wanting to remember his grandmother’s attempts to match him up with another woman at the ball. Leaving Mildred Surrey at the top of the stairs filled him with much joy. Once again, he foiled his grandmother’s attempt at deception. Somehow, he was glad about the rules of London society. For one, men were not called upon. If that were the case, Theodore was sure that Clyvedon would be filled with women in their morning dresses with flowers in their hands.

Theodore let out a small sigh, hoping his grandmother would not ruin his morning by asking him for the details of the previous night. In all sincerity, all he wanted to do was stay away from thetonand all of Mayfair in general. As he told Perceval, socializing with ladies was at the bottom of the long list of things he wanted to accomplish.

“Balancing the finances is not a lot of work. I must take care of these things and see to their proper management,” he replied after a stretch of silence, “so that you can go on enjoying that extravagant lifestyle of yours.”

As usual, his grandmother dismissed any word of his management skills. Instead, she took a seat on the chair and fanned out her lurid burgundy silk. Theodore did not mind her presence in the room. His mind drifted back to the ledgers, filtering through each page carefully.

“With the bevy of ladies present at the first ball of the Season, you did not even find one that suits your interests?”

Theodore stared at his grandmother. “My interests do not matter. Duty comes first with responsibilities that need to be taken care of.”

The Duchess laughed, and with the sight of the morning sun pouring on her skin, it made Theodore smile too. His grandmother almost never cared about the finances or the duty of managing such a large home. What she wanted was to enjoy herself in whatever way she could.

“Heavy is the head,” she replied, tapping her cane impatiently on the floor. It distracted Theodore, making him meet her eyes. “Your interests do matter, Theodore. My attempts for your marriage are not for my gain. Without a woman that interests you, I do not see how it is possible for you to become engaged at all. “

He was appalled. “Above everything else? Even my responsibilities as a Duke? If I decide to leave my duties, what else would remain of Wallington Estate? I doubt you have the strength to continually check ledgers and keep things in check.”

“Part of your responsibility is to ensure the continuity of your line. That means providing heirs as well as taking care of the estate. At least, allow this Dowager to meet your children.”

“Would you prefer me to marry a witless widgeon? The ladies in London care about gossip and how they look, not even for once trying to do other things. Like managing accounts or even reading the lowest of pieces of literature.”

His grandmother poured herself some tea into the fleur de lis China. After a sip, she turned to face him again. “I take it that you have tastes then? Or you have sworn off women?”

This time, Theodore smiled. “Of course, I have tastes. But the ladies of thetondo not seem to possess any of those special qualities that I might desire. Not even one that I have met is interested in literature — maybe because their mamas never deemed it fit to teach their daughters how to do a lot more than pour tea and swoon. Besides, London tea tastes dreadful.”

“I am sure that you would have taught Isadora a lot more than pouring tea, then. But do any of those qualities you seek have any real use?”

“Being the lady of such a vast estate, taking care of it should not be a hassle. What if I am on a trip? If she only knows how to pour tea, would the dignity of Wallington remain? Would she run the finances to the ground because of frequent trips to the modiste, buying frocks and dresses that are absolutely unnecessary?”

His grandmother poured some tea for him, too. Theodore knew she was going to make a point. “Ladies of thetonare born for a purpose,” she explained. “To marry into a respectable family and make the most of the Season. Surely, your interests do not lie in London.”

“Maybe I want to be a bachelor for life,” Theodore replied coldly. “Being the head certainly does not give me time for certain pursuits.”

At the cold declaration, his grandmother blinked. “If your father declared such things, you would have never been born. And if your grandfather, may God rest his soul, said such, the dukedom would not have passed to you.”

“I am just facing the reality of the situation. I cannot afford to lose so much again or give my heart out. Even if I wanted to have a bride, it would be out of duty and nothing else.”

The Duchess shook her head wistfully, staring at the shafts of sunlight that streaked through the spaces in the curtain. She set her cup on the table and hefted herself with the cane. “Come with me,” she said and made her way out.

He stared at the books before him one more time, deliberating whether to stay with his thoughts or follow his grandmother wherever she asked of him. Theodore wanted to return to the countryside, to his quiet life where he could do whatever he wanted. With a sigh, he closed the account books and dropped the quill. After cleaning the ink from his hands with a handkerchief, Theodore followed his grandmother.

They moved through the intersecting hallways, silence hovering above them like a thin veil. Theodore did not want the life that his grandmother was suggesting to him. All around him was tragedy, and he did not want anyone else to share it with him.

“Here we are,” the Duchess said, and pushed the doors open.

The room was musty, dust motes swirling in the light. Theodore threw open the windows and marveled at the sight. Still-life and portrait paintings were hung on the walls, their colors leaping out to him. He turned around to face a portrait of his grandfather, his brown hair riddled with grey. Dressed in an inky black greatcoat, he looked even much more like a Duke than Theodore did. His grandmother straightened the easel and asked him to take a seat on the stool. Theodore’s eyebrows arched in confusion.

“Did you paint all of this?” he asked, turning around.

“A woman is allowed to have interests, is she not? Besides, your grandfather and I met at an Arts gallery,” the Duchess said with a smile on her face. Her eyes were glazed over like she was visiting a happy memory.

Theodore could not utter a word. Instead, he ambled over to the stool, taking his seat before the Dowager Duchess. She looked different, less comical — eyes filled with intention.

“You were a painter? I had no idea,” he said, staring at the landscape painting on the large canvas.

His grandmother set out brushes on another stool, checking the fine hair. “Did you think someone else did Isadora’s painting?”

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