Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

T heodore strode up to the door and pounded his fist on it—not hard enough to be threatening but not so soft that it was not commanding. He straightened his cravat as he waited for the door to be answered. Theodore turned around and enjoyed the feel of the warm sunlight on his skin.

The door swung open, and the butler stood in the doorway.

"Welcome, Your Grace. His Lordship has been expecting you," the butler said.

The butler stepped aside to allow Theodore to enter.

"Thank you," Theodore replied.

Cornelius Wilkinson, the Earl of Woodmore, hovered inside the foyer, wringing his hands together as he tried to make the Duke believe he was passing through at the moment the door was answered. He quickly stepped forward with his hand held out.

"Welcome, Your Grace," Lord Woodmore said.

Theodore shook the man's hand. "Thank you for having me, Lord Woodmore. Let's not dilly-dally. Shall we get down to business?"

"Yes, of course." Lord Woodmore tried to be firm in his response, but Theodore could hear the slight tremor in his voice. "The drawing room is ready for us. Would you like some brandy or cognac?"

"A small glass of cognac while we talk," Theodore replied.

He understood why the Earl would be nervous. He had requested the meeting without offering much explanation, and whether the Earl knew about the events of the previous night or not, he would still be worried about the visit after a ball the previous evening. His mind would be wandering.

"Right in here," Lord Woodmore said, more of a suggestion than an order.

Lord Woodmore gestured to the maid, and she quietly went to the drinks cart and poured two glasses of cognac. She brought one to the Duke first and the other to her master.

"Leave us," Lord Woodmore ordered the maid.

You wish to hear what I have to say first before anyone else gets to hear.

It should have been a more momentous occasion, one that filled him with trepidation or excitement, but it was purely business. Not business in the strictest sense but the business of life.

"I shall not keep you waiting," Theodore said. "I have come here today to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage." Theodore took a sip of his cognac as he studied the Lord.

"Irene?" The word was not a question from Lord Woodmore but a statement of surprise. "You danced with her at the ball last night."

"No, your eldest daughter, Lady Christine," Theodore clarified.

Lord Woodmore's head moved around slowly, and his eyes fluttered as if dancing girls had appeared in the room. He started taking a sip of his drink, and it turned into a long swallow that consumed half the glass.

"Christine?" he asked. "Are you sure?"

Theodore almost laughed.

"Yes, I am quite sure." He walked slowly around the room, taking it in. "It is the right thing to do."

It was the right thing to do for his reputation, especially for Christine's reputation, and for his sister, Adeline's, future. She would be married soon, and it should only follow his marriage. He had also thought long and hard about the situation he and Christine had bene caught in. If the same ever happened to his sister, he would expect the gentleman to step up and do the honorable thing. He should be the one to model that behavior for Adeline.

The room was spacious, but there was not much furniture, and the decor was not extravagant. The house was nice, but it was obvious that Lord Woodmore was not among the wealthier earls.

"Yes, the right thing to do," Lord Woodmore muttered. "Your Grace, I don't mean to question your intent, but why do you wish to do this?"

"Your daughter and I were caught in a compromising position last night, Lord Woodmore." Theodore took a sip of his drink and smiled. "Usually, that would be entirely my fault, but Lady Christine was as much to blame for it as I was. Nothing would have come of it, of course."

Theodore could not announce to the Earl that his daughter could have progressed to more serious scandals. If things between them had developed naturally, and they got closer, Theodore would not have held back. She was a beautiful woman, and he had thoughts about her the previous evening that he would not voice out loud.

He had seen the look in her eyes, too. She was thoroughly annoyed by him, but she tried to hide her desire. The combination of the two was perfect for his situation.

"No, of course," the Earl agreed.

"I need a wife, and I presume with the role your eldest daughter is occupying by helping your youngest daughter, she has no time to pursue marriage. Yet, you must want that for her."

"I do," the Earl confirmed. "I have been wishing for a long time for her to find a husband, but she… has not found the right man yet."

"Of course," Theodore said. "I thought as much. So, you wish for a husband for your daughter, and she will certainly be marrying up, and I have no time for a long courtship or to search through all the eligible women in London. It appears that this match is a good one. That is why I came here today. I came to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage."

Lord Woodmore tried to take his time to consider the proposition, but his eyes belied his answer before his mouth did. The Earl's daughter would marry into wealth and power, and it was an exciting proposition.

"We should talk about the dowry," Lord Woodmore said.

"We have no need for that," Theodore said. "Let us class the expedited wedding as the dowry. I assume by the discussion of the dowry that you give your daughter's hand willingly?"

"Y-yes, of course," Lord Woodmore said.

Theodore could take the hit to his reputation, but Christine could not. He was protecting himself but protected Christine more, stepping up and doing the honorable thing.

He had not planned for it to happen this way, but it was impossible to pass up when the opportunity presented itself. He would still live his life as he pleased, and everyone around him would be content because he had finally done what was expected of him.

"Then it is settled," Theodore said.

He walked over to the Earl and held up his glass. Lord Woodmore clinked his glass against Theodore's, and both men drained their glasses.

"Your Grace, please have some more cognac to celebrate, and I shall go and fetch my daughter. I am sure she will be delighted to hear the news."

"I am sure," Theodore agreed.

I might not have known her for long, but I am sure delighted will not be the word.

"I shall call the maid," the Earl said on his way toward the door.

"Not necessary," Theodore replied. He walked over to the drink cart and helped himself to more cognac from the decanter.

Theodore wandered the room as he waited. He looked out onto the grounds, and while they were not expansive or meticulously manicured, they were beautiful. Silver birch trees stood close to the manor like long steel swords plunged into the gourd. Behind them, a large grove of oak trees—the history of the area nestled in their branches and trunks. Wildflowers danced in and out of the silver birch trunks.

Theodore did not linger by the window—he wanted to see the look on his betrothed's face when she entered the room. The marriage was a piece of business that would aid them both, but he did enjoy the small amount of insight he had gained into the woman.

She was a lady with far too much emotion within, and she kept it bundled up like a mound of linens tied with spider webbing. Leave them be, and they remained loosely wrapped, but prod or push and the webbing would unravel, the emotions spilling out.

Lady Christine was not tightly wound, but she was filled to the brim, and he had seen it spill out. It had stained his life like a rich claret on a white silk tablecloth, but he was not annoyed by it. He was amused by her but perhaps only in small doses.

The quiet footsteps approaching the room alerted him to the arrival of the Earl and his daughter.

Lady Christine was much as he remembered her, only not as elegant. A comfortable, floral dress had replaced the formal gown, but the lithe curves that lay beneath were still there. There was more left to the imagination, but her silhouette had been etched into his mind from the previous evening, solidified by their angry and tense exchange.

Her features were softer than the previous evening, a molded pillow in place of carved marble, and while the fire in her eyes was no longer there, there was a redness—she had been crying.

If the Duke's heart was an egg, it had been cracked by the sight of her. He had relished the coming storm when she entered the room, but she was a completely different person, rendered meek by the transpired events. Theodore was sure she had cried because she had been caught in a compromising position.

"Your Grace, it is a pleasure to have you in our home." Christine spoke with tightness as if she had been bound tightly in bandages and someone else was moving her mouth.

The Earl had not been gone long, but he had obviously spoken to his daughter before they entered the room.

"It is a pleasure to be here," Theodore told her. "I assume your father has told you about the situation."

"Yes, he has. I, um…" Christine looked at her father.

"You may talk freely," Theodore told her.

"Are you… sure it is me you wish to wed? You danced with Irene and… well, I know how it must have looked to Lady Hammersmith, but there was nothing untoward. You were a perfect gentleman, and you do not need to do this on my account. I shall be fine."

"Christine," her father hissed.

Theodore raised a hand. "It is fine, Lord Woodmore. I would prefer to hear any objections now rather than later. The deal is done, but I would still rather hear from your daughter." He turned to Christine. "I danced with your sister, but I have no interest in her. She is a fine woman, and she will wed soon, no doubt. You are much more intriguing, Lady Christine. Part of the reason is to save your blushes. I don't care how strong you are; people will talk. Part is because I need to wed, and you will make a fine wife."

Christine remained quiet. She held herself stiffly—something he had said rubbed her the wrong way—but her eyes were soft, and they looked less red.

"Good." Theodore clapped his hands together. "We shall have a marriage contract drawn up, and I see no reason to delay longer than necessary. For now, I must have some time with your daughter before I leave. I shall not have a lot of time before the wedding."

"Of course," Lord Woodmore replied. "A walk in the gardens, perhaps?"

"That will suffice." Theodore approached Christine and held out his arm.

She hesitated a moment before he took it, a tight grip at first replaced by a softer hold as if she had forgotten how to hold a man's arm.

Theodore wanted her alone again. When in the presence of her father, she was on her best behavior. Theodore wanted to see if he could provoke the fire in her again—she was much more interesting and alluring when her emotions were let loose.