by Regina Darcy
“Because,” she went on before he had a chance to reply, “it would be far too easy to do so. I am scarcely fit mettle for your jibes, I think.”
“You mistake me, Lady Theodosia,” he replied.
She raised a slender hand and waved his words away.
“I do not use my title,” she said. “I am Miss Theodosia Patten only. There is no point in being Lady Theodosia when one wishes to get the best cuts of meat at the butcher shop for the lowest price.”
Her remark puzzled him. He maintained a small household staff and the details of the butcher’s bills were best left to the cook, who turned them in to the butler who kept the accounts.
David’s staff had been with him for years and he trusted them. His was not a residence where the staff was unduly encumbered by elaborate social practices. He accepted invitations instead of issuing them, therefore his servants were not taxed with the burden of planning, cooking or serving grand meals; nor did he have guests to stay, which relieved his servants of having to do more than the routine cleaning required to keep a home habitable. He was satisfied with their labour and he enjoyed his club, the society of his neighbours and his own solitude.
“Indeed,” he said. “You are averse to titles, I take it? In which case, the syllabication of the title to which my wife would be addressed . . . it deters you from accepting my proposal?”
Jade was a beautiful gemstone but, he recalled, it had once been used as a weapon because of its strength. Her eyes, soft green as they were, did not appear to refute the legend of jade in any way.
“I repeat, sir, if you are mocking me, then our conversation is at an end.”
“Then our conversation shall continue, for I assure you, mockery is not my intent. I am quite serious.”
She stared at him as if she were not quite sure what to make of his remark. He met her gaze, not looking away even though those jade eyes were searching.
What did she see, he wondered? A middle-aged man who had lived his life fully but who had avoided the most unforgivable, in his view, of stains against his character. He had fathered no children. He had known from his youth that he would not repeat his father’s paternal failings. A son brought up in a home where he was ignored was the cruellest of fates for a child and that, David had vowed, he would never do. He would not be a father. To be circumspect without being abstinent required a certain level of planning, but impulse and spontaneity, however invigorating at the time, led to consequences.
David Overton wanted no consequences in his family tree.
“Do I pass muster?” he asked after her perusal had gone on for some time.
“I am not sure,” she said looking uncertain.
“Then ask me what puzzles you and I shall try to answer.”
“Honestly? You will answer honestly?”
“My dear Lady—Miss Patten, I assure you that, at my age, the truth is one of the few things I still find irresistible. Lying is a young man’s art. He is not very good at it, to be sure, but he practices it so often that one must be astounded at the effort that goes into it. I prefer honesty.”
“Most people do not.”
She was correct in that. People, particularly the ton, preferred their illusions and went to great lengths to preserve them.
“Is my preference for candour a mark in my favour?”
“I am not sure . . .”
“That is honest, at least,” he said ironically. “What must I do to persuade you to consider my proposal of matrimony?”
“Pray tell, why do you wish to marry?”
“Why I wish to marry you?”
Did she want flattery and picturesque promises? Was she, after all, no different from any other ordinary belle? That would be a disappointment.
“Why you wish to marry at all,” she corrected him. “It is irrelevant to whom you are married if your ambition is to wed.”
“It is not irrelevant at all, Miss Patten,” he replied. “I assure you, I have not proposed to any of the ladies in this room. Nor have I entertained them privately, if that is what you are suspecting. I am tendering a proposal of marriage because the prospect of marriage, just now, manages to capture my attention. I am a bachelor in status but in the eyes of my neighbours, I am somewhat of an oddity for being unmarried, for not having a mistress, and for not rushing into the fray in order to procreate.”
“You are marrying because of your peers?”
“Not exactly. I am marrying—if you will have me—because it satisfies me to do so. However, I do not wish to remain married. If you marry me, and I hope that you will, we shall remain as husband and wife for a period of five years. If you find the bonds untenable, I am sure that we could work out an arrangement to end it sooner. But after five years, we will proceed with an amicable divorce and I will take the blame for the failure of the marriage. After being a husband for five years, my peers, as you refer to them, will cease prodding me to marry. They will assume that I am simply an impossible specimen for a woman to be married to. You will naturally be compensated for your years of marriage and I shall make no objection should you continue to use the title even after we are divorced. Despite your aversion to the syllables,” he added with a smile. “What say you?”
“I wish to be sure that I understand,” Theodosia replied cocking her head. “You are proposing a five-year agreement for matrimony. During that time, we will be husband and wife but we shall live with the understanding that this is a business arrangement and not a romantic liaison. At the end of five years, you shall engineer some sort of ruse that will inspire the courts to grant me a divorce naming you as the guilty party. I shall exit the marriage with financial remuneration and, should I wish to use it, the title of Marchioness of Marquenson?”
“Exactly,” he said, pleased with her concise synopsis of his offer. There was no maudlin use of emotion in her account and she displayed no indication that she regretted its absence. “What do you say?”
Her dark lashes framed her riveting irises like embroidery. Her expression had not changed markedly since their conversation commenced and even the introduction of marriage into the discourse had not brought her to any maidenly blushes or sidelong glances.
***
Theodosia found that the anger she had felt when she thought that the Marquess was mocking her slowly easing out of her body. In fact, the anger that had been a cornerstone of her emotional composure since the death of her parents, the failure of her London seasons, and the disappearance of Lord Bantry, seemed to also slowly fade from within. She had not realised how much that repressed wrath had bolstered her until it began to diminish.
The marriage proposal was an incredible offer from a man who did not lack for charm, looks, intelligence or means. When Tabitha had spoken of the Marquess’ past it had been in a cursory manner as if it were obligatory to make mention of his rakish deeds, but she had then centred her description of him on how he was an excellent companion, an expert fencer, a witty conversationalist and, sometimes too kind-hearted. It was not the customary way to consider a man who knew the beau monde from the boudoir to the ballroom, but it had been clear that Tabitha was fond of David Overton and regarded him with affection, as did Arthur.
She bit the inside of her cheek. It was a habit she had developed to help focus her thoughts in times of great emotional challenges. It helped that outwardly no one but she knew how distressed she was. She had learnt early on in her orphanage not to show weakness, least she wish others to take advantage of her.
Making sure her expression revealed nothing, she let her gaze travel up the exquisite cut of the Marquess’s tailcoat, up to his intricately knotted cravat.
What did she have to lose? Theodosia wondered to herself as she continued to study the attractive man looking attentively at her, awaiting her answer.
She had no intention of falling in love; she knew what folly came of that. If she accepted the proposal, she could leave behind a life of parsing the bills and making her income stretch in exchange for indepen
dence of a sort.
As a wife, she would be dependent upon her husband, but as they were not fettered by love for one another, she did not think the fetters would be particularly constraining.
She had no wish to take a lover or engage in society. It would not matter to her if the Marquess went on as before. But as tempting as the offer was, she had no intention of making a hasty decision.
“I will consider it,” she finally replied.
David marvelled again at Theodosia’s poise.
She would consider it. He had to stop himself from grinning.
She did not respond to his offer with the relief of a woman on the shelf, even though she was not of an age where she could expect offers of marriage to come her way. Nor did she expect or extend any sentimental twaddle.
She would consider it.
He had the feeling that Lady Theodosia, who went by Miss Theodosia Patten because it was more expedient for her manner of living, considered many things and did very little without making sure that her mental faculties were entirely engaged in the decision.
“I will consider it,” she said again.
David bowed. “I will await your decision, Miss Patten,” he said. “And now, if you will allow me to do so, I shall return you to your cousin’s side. She has been looking over this way with far too much frequency and I suspect that she is worried that I am shocking you with the stories of my youth, or that I am boring you with the details of my present. In either case, she is surveying us and I would not give the Viscountess any cause for concern.”
He offered his arm and she accepted it. As they returned to where Tabitha and Arthur were standing, Theodosia did not observe the glances that accompanied them, but David did. He knew that the countryside being what it was, the telling was already underway and by the time the day dawned, those who had not been at the ball would be well aware of what had transpired at Henton during the annual Christmas ball. It did not trouble him, but he hoped that Lady Theodosia, who seemed to be a very private person in her demeanour, would not be put off by the way in which the local gentry tended to put their neighbours under a microscope.
He bowed to the Viscount and his wife, although they were friends who did not stand on formality. “I look forward to hearing from you, Miss Patten,” he said courteously, and left.
Tabitha’s grey eyes were enormous. “You were talking to David for a very long time,” she said after he had left them.
“Yes . . . ”
“Arthur,” Tabitha commanded. “Fetch us some punch, will you?”
There was feminine conversation about to commence, Arthur realised. It would be an opportunity for him to leave the ballroom, after the punch was delivered, and meet with several of the gentlemen who were discussing the Colonel’s new hounds.
He quickly made good on his errand and then went off, leaving the cousins to continue the conversation.
The dance floor was crowded with couples enjoying the exquisite music coming from the musicians who played with a skill which might not have been expected at a country manor ball. But Randstand was as fond of good music as he was of the hunt and he would not suffer incompetence in either.
For once, however, Tabitha was oblivious to the strains of the tunes.
“What on earth were you and David talking about?” she asked, posing her question behind her fan so that no one could hear.
“He asked me to marry him,” Theodosia replied.
She kept her voice low. She did not want to be overheard. The conversation she’d had with the Marquess was still a puzzle in her mind. She still needed to consider it more thoroughly.
Hoping to catch another glimpse of her unusual suitor, she scanned the room. The ballroom was filled with guests, all having a good time. She did not see the Marquess and wondered if he had left, or if he had joined the gentlemen in one of the rooms to the side of the ballroom where games and cards were in play. She did not think he was a gambler. Tabitha had not mentioned that there was any scandal associated with debts in his past or present.
“He did what?” Tabitha asked in astonishment.
“He asked me to marry him.”
“Was he drunk?” As soon as the sentence was out the Viscountess realised her faux pas. “Oh, Theo, I didn’t mean it that way, I do beg your forgiveness,” Tabitha pleaded as she hoped desperately that she had not offended her beloved cousin. “It is only that David is so determinedly resolved to remain unmarried that I could not help but wonder if he . . . that is, he was standing by the punch bowl when he first met you...I am not making this any better!” Tabitha wailed. “I have never before wished for the Christmas ball to be over so that you and I may talk this over and explore what he must have meant.” Tabitha grabbed the fan that dangled from her wrist and started fanning herself with more vigour than necessary.
“Proposed, you say? How very unusual. I do not think David has ever proposed in his entire life. I do not say that he is unfamiliar with women, mind, but he has not offered to marry any of them.”
“Yes, he said as much.”
“You seem as if you are considering his offer.”
“I am considering it. However I have not made up my mind, and I wish to discuss it with you when we may have some privacy, later. But I am considering it. Is there any reason why I ought not to do so? He does not have a mad wife locked up in an attic, I hope? He is not a despoiler of maidenly virtue?”
“Indeed not!” Tabitha replied indignantly. “I would not see him here as a guest if he were such a man. David is kind and clever and excellent company, as I have already said. But he has never succumbed, so far as I know, to the wiles of any woman.”
“I was not employing wiles,” Theodosia said with a raised eyebrow. “I would not know how to do so, in any case.”
“Of course not,” Tabitha said quickly. “You are the most honourable of women. I am simply flummoxed. Why he should come to the Christmas ball, which he does every year, and propose marriage to you when he has never met you before and knows almost nothing about you is perplexing.”
“He knows that Lord Bantry disappeared rather than marry me,” Theodosia said.
“Oh, Theo,” Tabitha said sympathetically. “He knew about it?”
“I told him.”
Tabitha was taken aback. Surely she must have heard wrong.
“You told him? Why ever did you do that?”
Tabitha knew better than anyone how humiliated her cousin had been after Lord Bantry had just disappeared without a word to anyone and no explanation at all to Theodosia, who had been so stricken by the episode that she had fled to Bath for the winter and remained in hiding until she could summon the courage to return to London.
It had been a dreadful time, Tabitha recalled and so undeserved. Theodosia had had enough to endure in her life and after everything else, Lord Bantry’s mysterious flight was beyond human tolerance. But that Theodosia herself had told David what had happened . . . it really was almost impossible to believe. What woman would acknowledge to anyone such a mortifying experience?
“He asked if I had murdered Lord Bantry,” Theodosia recalled and then, without any expectation of mirth, she began to giggle. It really was amusing, she reflected, that he should suggest that she’d murdered her vanishing fiancé.
“Murdered—surely not!”
“I assured him that I had not,” Theodosia said gravely, but there was a twinkle in her eye that belied the sombre tone.
“I should think not! Not that we wouldn’t have liked to,” Tabitha said. “Really, Theo, this all sounds rather fantastical . . . ” Tabitha would never admit this aloud but she was wondering if perhaps Theodosia, who was not at all accustomed to strong drink, had been affected adversely by even a sip of the punch. She must tell Arthur that next year, the servants were not to be so profligate with the spirits . . .
“Are you quite sure—”
Her cousin did not realise that Tabitha was asking whether she had correctly interpreted the Marquess’ attentions and a
ssumed that she was asking whether Theodosia was certain that she ought to be entertaining the Marquess’ incredible proposal.
But suddenly, Theodosia was quite sure, quite sure indeed, that she intended to accept his bizarre offer of a five-year arrangement which would pass as a marriage. It would be her way of shaking off the scorn that had fallen upon her from the beau monde after Lord Bantry’s disappearance denied her, yet again after three unsuccessful seasons, the chance to be a bride.
FOUR
Before leaving the ball, David approached Arthur Clemens, who although a neighbour and friend was not a confidante. “I wonder if I might have a word with you, Arthur?”
“Of course,” replied the Viscount, puzzled by David’s request. “Here or somewhere private?” he asked, for there was something in the Marquess’ manner that told him this was no mundane request for a conversation.
“Is there anywhere so private as a ballroom filled with people who are dancing, drinking and talking?” David asked ironically. “This will serve my purpose. We are, for all practical purposes, alone, are we not?”
“If you say so,” Arthur answered, amused by David’s perceptions. The room seemed uncommonly hot and crowded to him, as it was every year, but the Christmas ball at Henton was the social event of the season in the county and now that he was married, carrying it off was one of the duties of the master and mistress of Henton.
He enjoyed seeing his neighbours having a good time and he tried to be, in every way, the perfect host. But if he were forced to admit the truth, he would have acknowledged that he’d have been just as filled with the spirit of the season if he and Tabitha, and of course Theodosia, who was a welcome addition to the household, were spending an enjoyable evening in the drawing-room, conversing over mulled wine and perhaps singing while Theodosia played the pianoforte.