The Marquess Method by Kathleen Ayers

12

“May I interrupt?”

Theo looked up from the book in her lap, blinking at a splendid Earl of Blythe dressed in a coat of indigo. His waistcoat, shot through with silver and gold thread, was dazzling, as was the rest of him, so blindingly attractive it hurt to look at him. But the desperate adoration Theo had once held for him failed to rouse itself. No flirtatious, mildly improper comment came to her lips, no hope that he would respond with a laugh. Most importantly, her heart made no leap up inside her chest at the sight of him. She had seen Blythe at Lady Molsin’s, of course, but they hadn’t spoken, not since the night of Theodosia’s Great Folly.

“My lord, what an unexpected surprise.”

“Hopefully a pleasant one.” The sunlight turned his hair to pure gold.

‘I’ve desired you since you spilled ratafia on me.’

The words growled against her skin as she took in the gentleman before her, repeating so loudly, Theo barely heard Blythe’s charming response. How was she to know, Theo wished to rail at Haven, that all the teasing and innuendo he’d subjected her to at the house party had been meant to gain her attention? Haven had told Theo he didn’t flirt, but he did, just not the same way a gentleman like Blythe might.

And I missed all of it.

“Of course, my lord.” Theo glanced down at the book in her lap, shut it, and quickly pushed it beneath her skirts. Theo was reading Lord Thurston’s Revenge, a novel best suited to twittering girls who wished to be kidnapped by pirates, and she’d no desire to have Blythe think her more of a nitwit than he already must. Besides, the enjoyment of the book had been dampened by the annoyance of an image of Haven invading her thoughts whenever Lord Thurston graced the page.

“I wished to call on you before the wedding. I understand it’s tomorrow.” Blythe nodded at the spot next to her on the bench. “May I sit?”

“Yes, my lord.” Theo scooted over to make room for him. She’d come to the garden to read in peace and to escape Phaedra, who was running about the house with a stick clutched in one hand pretending to sword fight. And to contemplate her future.

She glanced at Blythe from beneath her lashes. A part of her wished she’d brought her spectacles into the garden, but Theo could read quite well without them. What would Blythe think to see Theo with her spectacles?

Haven didn’t seem bothered in the least by them. He’d kissed Theo, possessively cupping her sex as they stood in the studio, all with the hated metal frames fixed firmly on her face. The entire episode, the feel of his fingers searching for her through the material of her skirts, left her unable to think clearly.

She pressed her thighs together. Now was not the time to indulge herself with such thoughts. Not with Blythe looking at her strangely.

“You are well, Lady Theodosia?” There was concern in Blythe’s eyes as he settled himself beside her. He turned his chin to take in the garden before facing her again, the close-cropped waves of his hair buffeting in the breeze.

“Yes, thank you.” Theo was well. Or as well as she could be as London’s latest scandal, being forced to marry a destitute marquess who had inadvertently ruined her. But aside from her impending marriage, Theo felt more like herself than she had in some time. There was also a huge sense of relief that Blythe had never seen the miniature.

Haven had saved her from that, at least.

“I’ve known Haven for some time, my lady.”

“I’m aware, my lord.”

“Well, then you must know we argue frequently, mostly because I cannot stop poking the bear.” A dazzling smile crossed his features. “Haven is the bear.”

Still not so much as a flicker of Theo’s pulse. And she’d never had the urge to paint Blythe. “I gathered that.”

“May I be blunt?”

“By all means.”

“Haven is very sensitive about his . . . situation.”

As well he should be. The late Marquess of Haven had not been well thought of before his death, according to gossip. Lots of gambling. Drinking. Women. “I’m aware, my lord.”

“He feels responsible for what happened, though none of it was his fault. Nor what happened to his sister.” Blythe looked at her for understanding. “Has he mentioned the uncle living with him at Greenbriar?”

“He’s a drunk,” Theo replied, wondering what accident had befallen Haven’s sister. He’d only mentioned her being ill, nothing more.

Blythe nodded. “Haven is intensely private, even with those closest to him. Believe it or not, I didn’t even know he had an uncle until recently. He rarely speaks of his sister. Never of the late marquess.” A wrinkle creased his brow. “Won’t ask for assistance. His pride won’t allow it, I suspect.” Blythe hesitated, probably assuming he’d said more than he should. “I wanted you to know, we spoke of Miss Emerson several times before your encounter with him in my study.”

Was knowing Haven spoke to Blythe about the possibility of courting Miss Emerson meant to make Theo feel better? Because it did not. Her feelings for Haven were tangled enough without feeling second best to Viscount Emerson’s perfect daughter.

Blythe gently took her hand. “You were doubtless in the study because of me. You were meaning to present the gift you’d brought for my birthday, weren’t you?”

Entirely true. “Yes, my lord.” Theo waited for Blythe to ask her about the gift, perhaps show some interest in what she’d planned to give him.

“It is my fault you were there,” he said in a distressed tone. “I’m so—”

“You are not to blame, my lord.” Theo interrupted the start of Blythe’s speech. So, this was truly why Blythe was here. Not to reassure her that his friend wasn’t an utter cad. Or to ask after her health. But to relieve his own guilt over the entire affair.

“I am sincere, my lord. I absolve you,” she said, meaning the words.

Blythe nodded, relieved. “Haven is a good man. Once you get past all the anger. He is easy to rile, especially when insulted about his circumstances.”

Or when taunted with Theo’s affection for Blythe, which was steadily waning.

“My lord, may I ask you something?” Though she knew what Blythe’s response would be, and it would change nothing, Theo needed to hear the truth from him. If nothing else, it would help her move forward, as she needed to.

“We are friends, Theodosia. At least I hope we are.” He smiled down at her.

How often had she dreamt of ways to get him to smile at her? Counted the number of times when he did? “We are friends, my lord.”

“Then ask away.”

Theo plucked at her skirts, choosing her words carefully. “If I were not compelled to marry Haven, if I hadn’t been compromised, would you have asked to court me properly? Offered for me someday?”

Once the words left her mouth, Theo looked out into the gardens, focusing on a rosebush with its cluster of pink blooms. A child’s laughter floated in the air, probably coming from the park. She thought about the day she’d spied Blythe from her studio flying a kite with his nephew. How she’d rushed down the stairs demanding Phaedra and Olivia immediately grab their shawls and follow her through the garden gate. What had she been doing before Blythe had distracted her?

I’d been looking at the sketch of my father and couldn’t bear to do so a moment longer.

Theo hadn’t seen Blythe for a year or so when he’d appeared in the park outside her studio windows. She’d thrown off her spectacles, determined to seek him out and capture his attention. The sketch of her father, one of many she’d done, had been placed back in a portfolio to be tucked away on a distant shelf in her studio.

The portfolio was still there, collecting dust across the top. She couldn’t bear to look at it.

“Please do not spare my feelings.” Theo turned back to Blythe. “I value your honesty. As I said. We are friends, regardless. And always will be.”

Blythe stayed silent a long time. Too long. He stood, taking her hand, and bowed. His lips brushed against Theo’s knuckles.

Not so much as a tingle ran through her.

“I hold you in the highest esteem, Theodosia. I enjoy your company. But I would not have offered for you.”

She waited for a rush of pain to follow his pronouncement, but all she felt was a slight shadow across her heart, the memory of a dream she’d once had.

“Thank you, my lord.”

Blythe was so lovely with his golden perfection set against the palette of the garden, like one of her mother’s Grecian statues come to life. But the sight no longer left her in awe. For the first time since meeting Blythe, Theo considered another, more imperfect face. One just as handsome, but also possessing flaws. Like a nose not perfectly straight. A terrible haircut. A tiny scar on the chin.

Blythe squeezed Theo’s fingers before releasing her hand. “Good day, Lady Theodosia. I wish you every happiness.”

“Good day, Lord Blythe.”

How reckless she’d been to have thought to gift him a half-naked miniature of herself along with her heart. Blythe wouldn’t have wanted either. Theo didn’t pick her book back up as Blythe left the garden. Instead, she closed her eyes and listened to the wind stirring the flowers around her and the sounds coming from the park.

‘I’ve wanted you since you spilled ratafia on me.’

Envy over Blythe had likely played a part in Haven taking the miniature, but Theo no longer thought that the sole reason he’d done so.

A bit of dandelion fluff floated past her eyes.

Theo still wasn’t happy about her circumstances. The future, her future with Haven, was a large gaping maw of uncertainty. She admitted to no one how frightened she was. Nor did she wish to give much weight to her developing feelings for Haven.

But for the first time since Theodosia’s Great Folly, she was hopeful.