“I suppose he wants to make me tough,” he said, repeating the line his father had always said.
She shook her head. “Theyalwaysclaim that. But I wonder what would have happened if any of them had tried to make us safe. Or happy. Or comfortable.”
Theo shifted under that statement, trying not to picture it because it hurt too much. When he didn’t speak, she edged a little closer. “Happy birthday.”
“You know it’s my birthday?” he asked.
She nodded. “My maid told me. One of your servants must have mentioned it below stairs. How old are you?”
“Eighteen,” he said, and shook his head. “I suppose he’ll grant me one of his lesser titles now. And I’ll be even further under his thumb.”
“But not forever,” she said with a wobbly smile. “One day you’ll be free, Theo. You’ll get to do whatever you want without him having any say.” She turned away and looked off into the distance again. “It won’t be that way for me.”
“What are they trying to trap you into doing?” he asked, though he already knew.
“They’re already working to marry me off,” Etta said. “Interviewing candidates like it’s a vocation.” She twisted her face. “I’m sure it will all be arranged by the time I’m sixteen and then there will be no future at all to dream of.”
Theo bent his head. Yes, there it was. The marriage. It was one his father had tried to arrange forhimnot twelve hours before. She obviously had no idea of that fact. Or that he had refused the match loudly and strenuously because he couldn’t bear his father and the earl’s manipulation. Their assumptions that he would come in line. His control had been stretched as they made their plans and he’d lashed out and made it clear he wouldn’t be forced.
But even if that hadn’t happened, he never would have considered marriage because he waseighteen. He didn’t want to have his life laid out in front of him. As Etta had said, soon enough he would have some freedom from what his father wanted. The last thing he needed to do was be leg shackled.
And yet, for a brief moment, Theo could see the clearest picture of himself standing beside this girl. Of them walking off into the sunset that was starting off in the distance. Of them leaving their overbearing families behind and making some kind of new life together.
He blinked as that idea overwhelmed him. No. He was just feeling vulnerable and had been comforted by her. That rare experience made him confused, nothing more.
He stepped back from her a fraction. “I really should go in. He’ll rage even more if I don’t.”
Her gaze held his but a moment more and then it dropped away. “Of course. I’m sure I’ll see you later for supper.”
He inclined his head and started toward the house, but then he turned back. “Etta?” he said.
She started at the use of her nickname and pivoted to face him. “Y-yes?”
“Thank you,” he said, mustering all the sincerity he usually shunned in favor of the shield of humor. “What you did was…it was kind. And I hope whoever your parents match you with, that he’ll appreciate that.”
For a moment he saw her gaze flit over him with longing. But then the expression was gone. She smiled and was serene, like she’d made peace with whatever would come next. “Thank you, Theo.”
He left her to return to his father, and pushed away any feelings that standing next to her had stirred up. He had a great deal else to manage at the moment. He would just need to forget the girl in the gazebo, forget the vulnerability he’d felt comfortable to share.
Forget everything but how he was going to take over his own life without regard to his father or anyone else.
CHAPTER1
January 1816
The Duchess of Tunbridge had never been a jealous person. It wasn’t in Bernadette’s nature to covet what others had, nor guard her own possessions or relationships. Certainly, she’d never been one to turn ugly shades of green over the happiness of friends.
And yet she stood at the edge of a ballroom watching one of her dearest friends, Valaria, now the Duchess of Blackvale, dance at her wedding ball with her husband Callum, and Bernadette felt a stir of such an unpleasant emotion. She hated herself for it, because she knew what horrors Valaria had been through and how much she had earned her happy ending with her utterly devoted husband.
She turned away from them and her gaze caught her other best friend instead. Flora Desmond was not dancing with her husband, Roarke, but she, too, looked deliriously happy as they stood close together, their hands linked as they talked. Flora smiled, blushed a little when Roarke leaned in close to her ear.
Bernadette let out an unsteady sigh and moved away from the happy people celebrating and toward a long table where an alcoholic punch was being served. She took a glass, her third of the night, and swallowed a large mouthful before she got up the courage to turn her attention back to the room and all its happy couples. There was no escaping them, nor the way seeing them made her think and feel.
“That is a sour expression.”
She jolted as she was joined in that vulnerable moment by yet another familiar face. Theodore Alexander Monroe Tinsley, the Duke of Lightmorrow, would likely call himself an old friend of hers. In fact, that was often how he introduced himself if they were together at some event. He wasn’t incorrect. They had grown up on adjoining estates, after all. Their fathers had been friends and they had often seen each other over the years.
Her marriage to her late husband, the Duke of Tunbridge, had put distance between them. Theo’s devotion to being an unattached rake had done the same. And yet they now often found each other thrown together thanks to the courtships and ultimately the marriages of their mutual friends.
