Page 18 of The Lady Who Said No to the Duke

‘That Lady Thea and I have come to an understanding,’ Hal said, ignoring the gasp from just behind him. ‘We have concluded that we would not suit and that both of us should now consider ourselves free of any obligation.’

There was another sound at his back that he sincerely hoped was Thea sitting down with a bump on the sofa and not fainting again.

‘I hope I need not say that I hold Lady Thea in the highest estimation and that not a word of this conversation, or of my visit here today, will ever be spoken of by me outside these walls.’

* * *

Thea was conscious that she was sitting on the sofa and not on the floor, but beyond that, she was in a daze. Hal was giving up? The Duke was walking away?

‘My dear Leamington,’ her father was saying urgently when the buzzing in her ears subsided enough for her to hear. ‘Thea can be a little headstrong, but I am sure you need not heed any girlish foolishness—’

‘I have heard none. Lady Thea has been all that is reasonable and this is an entirely mutual agreement. Neither of us feels that we can honourably enter into a marriage when both of us have the gravest doubts about our compatibility. This leaves us both free.’

‘But the match has been an understood thing for…for all your lives,’ Mama said.

‘It was agreed when we were infants and perhaps at a time when the expectations of what makes for a good match are somewhat different than they are today. It is not something that either of us have agreed to as adults.’

‘Oh, if she has been speaking of some foolish romantic nonsense,’ her mother said, hands fluttering in agitation, ‘that can be ignored. Girls today read too many of those dreadful novels.’

‘No word about romance has left Lady Thea’s lips, I assure you,’ Hal— the Duke— said smoothly.

‘In fact, I can assure you that our discussion has been strictly practical. I should take my leave, but allow me to repeat, this is an entirely mutual decision and I honour your daughter for her modesty, honesty and honourable desire to do the right thing. Lady Wiveton, Wiveton.’

He turned and bowed to Thea. ‘Lady Thea. Good day.’

Thea was hardly aware of him leaving, but he must have gone, because she heard the front door close and Mama and Papa rushed back into the room, almost slamming the door behind them.

‘What did you say? What did you tell him, you wretched girl?’ her mother demanded.

‘We spoke of the nature of our betrothal, the fact that we did not know each other. It became clear that there was no mutual understanding between us,’ Thea said slowly, picking her way through the quagmire of truth, lies and deception.

‘This, as the Duke said, leaves us both free to find matches that will suit us better.’

‘Better than a duke?’ Mama sank down in a chair and burst into tears. ‘What is better than a duke?’

Both Thea and her father stared, appalled. Thea had never seen her mother exhibit the slightest weakness. Temper, yes. Disappointment, all too frequently, but tears?

Her father began to fuss and bluster, but Mama emerged from her handkerchief after a few minutes and waved him away. ‘Stop it, Horace, that is no help.’ She dabbed her eyes with the scrap of lace. ‘What will people say?’

‘Why, nothing, Mama,’ Thea said. ‘The Duke assured us he would say nothing, and we have no reason to doubt his word, surely?’

‘Of course.’ Her father sat down rather heavily next to her mother and began to pat her hand. ‘But what did you say to him, Thea?’

‘I… I can hardly recall now. But at no point did I say that I refused to marry him.’ That, she thought, was nothing but the truth. She had made it abundantly clear, but she had not said the words.

If we had met for the first time now, without any of this history behind us, we might well have decided to wed , she thought bleakly.

But then I would not have known that he was capable of deception, of lying by omission, of manipulating my feelings, just to obtain his own ends. So, this is probably all for the best.

It was not much consolation, because she was horribly afraid that she had been on the verge of falling in love with plain Mr Hal Forrest and now she knew that he did not exist.

Who had it been that she had sat next to beside that little lake? The Duke or Hal? What if she had not frozen into stillness when their hands had touched, but had turned, leaned towards him? Would they have kissed? And then…

‘What are you going to do now?’ her mother demanded, even more angry now, Thea suspected, because of her display of weakness.

‘Why, undertake the Season, of course,’ she said, giving herself a brisk mental shake.

And try to work out what I want to do with the rest of my life.

* * *

The temptation to lie in bed all morning the next day was considerable but, as she had spent most of the night awake, Thea decided she might as well get up when she heard the clocks strike eight. Possibly her thoughts might be less scrambled and her brain might work better if she was vertical.

Only Piers was at the breakfast table when she went down, which was not surprising.

Her father inevitably rose with the dawn and was probably now out riding.

Her mother always took breakfast in bed where she would stay until at least mid-morning.

Clarence, Basil and Ernest ate with their tutor in the suite of rooms that included a schoolroom.

She could feel Piers watching her as she moved along the sideboard, lifting lids on the chafing dishes and trying to decide what she could face eating for breakfast. Not devilled kidneys, that was certain.

‘Yesterday,’ Piers began. ‘What was all that with Leamington?’

Thea glanced at the footman standing rigidly against the wall. ‘If you could just pour me a cup of coffee, please, Thomas. We will serve ourselves. I will ring if you are needed.’

She waited until the door had closed behind him.

‘The Duke called to discuss with me whether or not we should marry. We decided not, that is all. And that is absolutely confidential, do you understand? You know what ridiculous rumours get around with only half the facts, so no gossiping with your friends. I would find it very hurtful and it would be damaging to my reputation.’

‘That’s not the kind of thing we chaps talk about,’ he said with a shrug, but she knew he would keep the secret. Piers was fond of her and, as he grew, was inclined to try to act the protective brother, even though he was younger and only just beginning to find his own way in society.

Next year he too would be taking part in the Season, but for now he and his friends were preoccupied with horses, sparring, learning how to cope with a crashing hangover and very cautiously exploring the scary creatures called women.

‘So, what are you going to do if you aren’t to marry a duke?’ he asked after a few more mouthfuls of steak and eggs. ‘Mama must be in a shocking state and Papa was looking grim at dinner last night.’

‘They are not best pleased,’ Thea said with considerable understatement. ‘I shall do the Season, I suppose.’

‘Haven’t you seen all the eligible chaps the first time around?’ her less than tactful brother enquired. ‘And you’ve turned ten of them down.’

‘Six,’ Thea said absently. ‘I turned down six. There are always new faces. People who did not come to London last year, officers from the Army and Navy home now the wars with the French are finally over.’

‘Widowers out of mourning,’ Piers suggested, pushing his plate away. ‘That’s a thought. You could find a rich old husband and then be a rich merry widow when he expires from the shock of having a lively young wife.’

‘That’s horrible,’ Thea said. ‘Mercenary and callous. Anyway, I wouldn’t want anyone to die.’ She tried not to think about what being a lively young wife to a wealthy old man might involve. ‘But it is true, widows seem to be the only ladies who have any freedom to live their lives as they chose.’

Widows were free from male control unless they were bound by particularly onerous trust conditions, or were financially dependent on their eldest son.

Now Papa controlled her finances, even the money inherited from Grandmama and one of her godfathers.

She could touch none of it without his permission until she married or reached the age of thirty, and that was nine years distant.

When she married everything would become her husband’s except what was protected in the marriage contracts.

And without money she had no options, as she had realised when she had contemplated running away from Cousin Elizabeth.

‘I shall do the Season, see if there is anyone I would like to marry who wants to marry me—and if not I shall grit my teeth and sit on the shelf enduring Mama’s lectures until I reach thirty.’

Or make a better plan. I am not without some intelligence, surely I will think of something?