Page 9 of The Lady Who Said No to the Duke

‘B ut you haven’t met Leamington for years, have you?

’ Hal observed, rashly, as he realised when Thea glared at him.

With what he felt was considerable courage, he continued.

‘And then it was a dislike of him as an adolescent youth—and we agreed, we males are all insufferable at that age. I thought it was your parents you were angry with for forcing this match with the Duke on you.’

‘I do not like what they are doing, but I can see it is what any ambitious parents in society would do. But that man has shown me nothing but the most arrogant disrespect.’

‘He has? But if you have not met as adults, how has this occurred?’

‘He treats me like property,’ she said, making property sound like a swear word. She huffed out a breath and continued in a more restrained tone, ‘A duke requires a wife. Yes?’

‘Yes,’ Hal agreed warily. ‘For, er, heirs; to be a hostess; to look after the cares of the tenants and so forth.’

‘Indeed. And there are various requirements that must be met: she must be of childbearing age, in excellent health and preferably from a family that has a good record of producing sons. An excellent bloodline is essential. Useful political and social connections go without saying. Acceptable social skills are vital and intelligence is desirable.’

‘Yes,’ he said again. ‘Those would be necessary.’

‘The Season will be populated by many young ladies who meet those requirements. So, this hypothetical duke only has to do a little work, a trifling amount of research, to produce a list of suitable young ladies.’

Hal found he was nodding along in agreement.

‘Then he must seek them out and decide which best meets his needs, which one he is most compatible with,’ she continued. ‘This is easily accomplished in the course of the Season. Yes?’

Hal nodded. His response was clearly only a matter of form, because Thea was well away with what could only be called a rant, even though it was delivered in an even, cool tone that had every nerve tingling.

‘And should the young lady who is his first choice find herself unable to like him well enough, then she will have the opportunity to make this clear in some firm but tactful manner. At which point he moves on to the second on his list.’

She took a breath.

‘That is what would apply to any other duke, or nobleman, seeking a bride.

But Leamington does not have to exert himself in this way.

He already has a future duchess all ready and waiting.

So he treats her as he does his coronet, which is another essential ducal accessory.

He leaves her in her box in a secure place until she is required. On the shelf, in fact.

‘She is actually less trouble and cost to him than the coronet.

That has to be kept in good repair. Its care involves jewellers and a secure place to keep it.

Its five gold strawberry leaves must be polished and its velvet cap brushed and free from moth.

But this convenient duchess-in-waiting is kept securely, fed and watered, gowned and educated, by her parents.

‘There she sits, on her shelf, waiting patiently—he assumes, if he gives her any thought at all—until it suits him to announce he is ready to wed. She costs him nothing, certainly no anxiety or effort. All he has to do is claim her while she is still young enough not to have her gilt tarnished, or to have been attacked by moth.’

‘I see why you are infuriated,’ Hal agreed, appalled, finally seeing it from her point of view. This proposed marriage was not so much an honour as an insulting refusal to see her as a person in her own right and, if the tables had been turned, he would have been furious too.

‘The Duke should have visited frequently over the years and written when he could not,’ he said, as much to himself as to her. ‘He should have come to know her and allowed her to know him. He should have made it easy for her to refuse to marry him if that was her wish.’

‘Exactly.’ Thea sounded crisp, but considerably less irritable now. Her outburst appeared to have cheered her considerably, which is more than it had for him.

‘Have you thought about how you will deal with this situation now?’ Hal asked after perhaps another half mile of gentle cantering.

‘I shall refuse to receive him. He will have to be incredibly thick-skinned if he does not take that hint that I do not wish to marry him. My parents will be furious, of course, but they can hardly force me to see him. Or if they do, then I will tell him, No , to his face.’

‘Might I offer a suggestion?’ Hal said. ‘Could you not agree to speak with him and then tell him frankly, as you have me, how you feel about his treatment of you? It seems to me that this could have three possible outcomes. One, he might walk away, abandoning his attempt to marry you, but learning nothing from the encounter. This I doubt—he has clearly behaved very badly, but I have no reason to suppose the man is a fool.’

Ignoring Thea’s disbelieving snort, he continued. ‘Two, he accepts your reproof, agrees to abandon his suit and goes to court another lady, this time having learned a valuable lesson.’

‘And thirdly?’ She sounded intrigued now.

‘He is chastened, but wishes to court you still, and you, deciding that he is not a lost cause, agree to that. You may then make a decision having come to know him better. Whichever of these three occurs, you will avoid further angering your parents by an outright refusal, but on your own terms.’

Silence. Had he spoken too soon while she was still furious and in no mood to heed his advice?

‘That appears to me to be very sensible. Thank you, Hal.’

He let out a sigh of relief. He had half expected that she would be annoyed at his interference and had little optimism about her accepting his advice, so this was a relief.

He still would not wager much on the third outcome—too much depended on Thea keeping her temper when confronted by her neglectful suitor.

* * *

Thea felt a definite lightening of her spirits as they rode on. Hal had set out a plan that covered all contingencies that she could see and which gave her flexibility while appearing to bend to her parents’ wishes.

‘Thank you,’ she said when they were walking back from the stables. ‘I appreciate your advice.’

Hal made the kind of dismissive sound that she supposed meant, Think nothing of it.

‘You came here for a quiet visit with our godmother,’ Thea persisted. ‘You did not expect to have your tranquillity interrupted by a runaway heiress in need of advice and you have been very patient about it.’

‘Patience was not required, neither was tranquillity, if it comes to that,’ he said, sounding amused, and she thought what a pleasant voice he had. Deep and warm, yet flexible. It was reassuring although, for some reason, not exactly calming.

* * *

Thea sought out her godmother when she had bathed and changed and found her in her little sitting room, her feet on a stool and what looked like a novel in her hand.

‘Did you have a pleasant day, dear?’

‘We did, and we have viewed the Italian garden, but we will both give you our impressions at tea time or over dinner. I just wanted to tell you that Hal has given me some very good advice about what to do about the Duke.’

‘He did?’ Lady Holme put down her book and regarded Thea with raised eyebrows. ‘And what advice was that, I wonder?’

Thea settled on the sofa opposite, kicked off her shoes and curled up comfortably.

‘I explained how angry the Duke made me by taking me for granted and not even having the courtesy to write or visit before now. Hal said he could quite see that I felt I was being treated like some kind of ducal accoutrement. Like his coronet—essential but without feelings of its own.’

‘Goodness,’ Godmama said faintly. ‘How insightful of him. I would never guessed he had that much imagination.’

‘Oh, it was my analogy, not his, but when I explained how it felt, being left on the shelf unregarded until required, he understood immediately.’

‘And what was his advice?’

‘To speak to the Duke and explain my feelings quite clearly. If he still wishes to marry me, and is prepared to court me so I can come to know him and make a decision based on his character, then perhaps I will feel able to accept him.’

‘That seems to be excellent counsel,’ her godmother agreed.

‘You find it amusing?’ Puzzled by the twinkle in Lady Holme’s eyes, Thea wondered whether she was being teased.

‘Not at all. It is just that one does not expect gentlemen to be quite that perceptive.’ It looked as though she was about to add something, then closed her lips firmly.

‘You were going to say something, Godmama. Please, do not hesitate, I need all the advice I can get.’

‘Very well. You have come to like Hal Forrest in a very short space of time. To trust him.’

‘Why, yes. But, of course, he is trustworthy—you would not allow me to ride out alone with him if he were not to be relied upon in every way. And are you so surprised that I like him when you clearly do?’

‘Yes, he is an admirable young man, of course. It is just that… My dear, let me be frank.’

‘Of course, please do,’ Thea said, with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Those words, in her experience, never preceded anything that she was glad to hear.

‘Hal is a good man. A gentleman. But it would not be wise to allow yourself to grow too fond of him…’

‘I regard him as a friend,’ Thea said. She sat up abruptly and swung her feet down to the carpet. This was not a conversation to be having sprawled on the sofa. ‘I would not dream of…of flirting or…’

‘Naturally not, you are far too well-bred for that kind of thing. No, I mean, do not allow feelings to develop that can only lead to disappointment.’