“Is she?” The man was a stubborn soul. “Why would she run from you on Christmas day then, eh?”
“We had a misunderstanding. And she did not wish to argue with me any longer. I’ve come to apologize.”
“How do I know that?”
“If you will open the door to her room, sir, I will hope you come stand beside me as I offer her my regrets for poor behavior.”
The man’s large brown eyes scrutinized Theo’s. “Come on, then. If you’d be right quick about it, milord. Me wife is tending a roast goose and I imagine you and your lady will be hungry soon.”
“We will,” Theo said in relief.
He followed the roily poly man up his wooden stairs and stood behind him as he rapped on the rough-hewn door. “Milady? Milady?”
She opened the door, her gaze darting from the keep to Theo. Her shoulders sagged in weary acceptance.
The man took that as permission to let Theo near her. “Me wife will serve her goose soon. Do you want yer supper here or in the public?”
“Here,” she said, allowing Theo to walk past him and into her room.
They were well into the plum pudding before she had more than three words for him. “What did you do with your horse?”
“In the stables. I believe he’s well taken care of.”
“You gave the boy extra coin, I suspect.”
“Rightly so. It’s frightful out there.”
She sighed and glanced from where they sat at the little trestle table to the rough glass window. There the dark blue night was filled with falling snow and howling winds. “I wonder how many were able to attend Gertrude’s ball. She wanted this party to be such a success.”
“It is in many ways.”
“With all the chaos, yes.” Her brown eyes brightened. “An affair to remember for years to come!”
He took a sip of his surprisingly good red wine. “I am grateful for it.”
Forlorn, she locked her gaze on his. “We didn’t get to dance with each other.”
He controlled the smile he sent her. His consolation should not be too strong. “We will.”
Her eyes flashed at his words, but she did not address the promise in them. “I suppose you want to be my friend.”
“Oh, I definitely want that.”
She shook her head. “And that’s all?”
“Must a condemned man incriminate himself?”
She tipped her mug at him. “No need. The jury knows the answer.”
That night, they slept in the same small bed. Narrow and lumpy, at least it was clean. The pillows were good eiderdown. And they slept, his arms around her because first and foremost, it was the only way to find any comfortable rest.
Along the road, he’d vowed not to touch her in any other way. That he would do another day, another time, after he had proven to her that they could be friends. Lovers lost in carnal pleasures, he suddenly understood, might not see all the characteristics of the other. But friends understood much, accepted much and found the assets in the other that lovers might not take time to note.
His two wives had been his lovers. In the first, he’d hoped for a passionate partner. To some degree he’d been naive and hoped he’d have a desire for her and she for him to match the one he’d had with Penn. That hope did not materialize. And so he’d wished to cultivate her as a friend. But he found her to be untrustworthy, especially with money, hiding her pin money to buy extra clothes and jewels far beyond her clothing allowance. That galled him because he was a rich man and no miser.
With his second wife, he thought he was wiser in his choice. But she, young and lovely as she was, had a darker side. She did not hide money but demanded it. A lot of it. Often. He was generous, accommodating her and driving himself to earn more to pay her debts. Yet her spendthrift ways irritated him. Her disloyalty to her friends, her ridicule of them, added to his dismay. When she died, he was in grief as much for her passing, a young woman gone in her prime in the pain of childbirth no less. Later, as months went on and his grief lessened and his perspective increased, he was in despair for how poorly he had chosen his mates. He also wondered if somehow the fates had decreed that his wives, poorly chosen, should also die early of some spell his failures had engendered.
Penn was different. Very. The woman in his embrace loved her friends. He’d read that she was often invited to social events and the theater, and she was considered a charming guest. He’d seen that first hand this week. As a man who had performed diplomatic duties from time to time, he also valued those who could navigate a room with ease. She did that, conversing with all and never once appearing condescending or bored. If she had financial struggles, she did not mention them nor did she appear impoverished. He knew she lived in a modest little house on the edge of Mayfair and if he could take her from it and give her everything her heart desired, he would count himself the most fortunate man in the world.
