For Love and Honor (6 page)

Lord Lyon must have been thinking along the same lines. “I knew her when she was Lady Thea,” he told Sir James. There was an accusatory tone to his voice that Thea did not like.

Sir James dismissed this bit of information with a wave of his hand. “Yes, yes, we all know she is the duke of Duruset’s daughter. You needn’t worry about the current Duruset’s opinion, my lord. His father disowned her when she married. The current duke has stated publicly he won’t have anything to do with her.”

Lord Lyon frowned. “Is that true?” he demanded of Thea.

She was not pleased to have her business bandied about, yet she was also proudly defiant. “It must be,” she said. “Sir James wrote the letter from my father cutting me off.”

“Bad bit of business it was,” Sir James said, moving around his desk to his chair. “Never enjoy those sorts of things, and I admit I’ve been doing what I can to help her out. She’s widowed now. The marriage is done, but she is developing a very respectable reputation at putting the right sort of people together. She helped immeasurably with Peter, and you know we fretted of ever marrying him off. Considering your unusual desires for a wife, you’d be wise to listen to her.”

“Perhaps his lordship would not care to work with me,” Thea suggested stiffly.

“Perhaps,” Sir James echoed. He stood behind his desk now, his fingers resting on its polished surface. “Will you sit down and discuss the matter with her, Lyon? Or shall I toss her out?” He said this last with the familiarity of one who knew his customer.

Lord Lyon shifted his weight as if in indecision, and then he shrugged. “Very well, she may try. I suppose it doesn’t matter who I use as long as she is effective.”

“I believe you will be pleased,” Sir James said. He smiled. “Perhaps someday I shall use her myself. Like you, I must marry sooner or later. Will you sit, Mrs. Martin?”

Thea had the urge to run from the room, but then she thought of her sons, of her looming plans for Jonathan’s education. Lyon was rich. “I shall stay, but it will cost you a pretty penny, my lord,” she said, wanting to give him a bit of his own arrogance back. “My services are not inexpensive.”

“I can’t imagine they would be,” Lord Lyon replied. “In fact, if you find the wife I am looking for, I’ll triple whatever your commission is.”

Thea sat.

Lord Lyon took his seat.

“Now isn’t this better?” Sir James said brightly, taking his own chair.

Thea forced a smile. Neal remained stony-faced.

She decided to really tweak Lyon’s nose and take charge. “Sir James said you have particular qualities you are looking for in a wife. Please tell me what they are?”

He shifted in his chair, crossed his arms and his legs, not looking at her.

“Do you wish her to have blonde hair?” Thea queried in a pert, businesslike voice—one that she knew would needle him. “Or a brunette? Do you like voluptuous women? Or perhaps a more slender version?”

Lord Lyon looked to Sir James. “This is uncomfortable.”

“They are reasonable questions, Lyon,” Sir James said. “If she is to search for a wife for you, then she must know.”

“Or,” Thea said, “you could head out on the Marriage Mart and look for yourself.” The “Marriage Mart” was the name given to the round of social parties and engagements during the season when Parliament was in session. Many a match had been made at these events.

“I don’t want to do that,” he said, still not making eye contact with her.

A memory came to her of the two of them sitting on the same rock beside a running stream, their secret place. She’d been what? Fourteen? He must have been sixteen. She saw them, their heads together, laughing, drawing courage from each other. Their friendship had helped make her world sane, and then the next day, she’d escaped to meet him again as they had done every morning for the past month or more, and he hadn’t been there. She’d visited the site every day for the rest of her summer, and he’d never showed again.

No warning, no explanation . . . and then, in the fall, she’d heard that he’d left for school and she’d stopped searching for him. She’d not seen him again until this moment.

“Then I shall need to know what you are looking for if I am to sift through the large number of women who would be very pleased to marry a wealthy, well-respected nobleman.” She heard herself sounding like a society matron planning a party. She liked the tone. It was distant and didn’t convey the turbulence of her own emotions.

His jaw hardened.

When he didn’t speak, Sir James prompted him once again. “Lyon, what are you looking for in a wife?”

His lordship stirred himself then to sit up. He answered, still addressing himself to Sir James, his voice low, almost inaudible. “Good family.”

How original,
Thea wanted to say. Instead, she said, “Absolutely. And other qualities?”

There was a beat of silence. Thea felt her disdain for this man growing. After the confidences they had shared, how could he sit beside her as if they were strangers? How could he be so bloody cold?

“I don’t want a cold woman,” he said, as if he’d divined her thoughts. “My mother was cold. Some say I am as well.”

But he didn’t used to be.
A wave of sadness swept away her disdain.

“Good with children,” he continued. “Our children must be her priority.”

Something that hadn’t been true about his mother.

Thea resisted the urge to place a comforting hand upon his arm. If Neal hadn’t valued their friendship, he certainly wouldn’t want her pity now.

“And she must be someone I cannot like,” he said. “Admired by others . . . but
I must not like her
.”

Warm thoughts of him vanished from Thea’s mind. “You don’t want to ‘like’ the woman who will be your wife?”

At last he faced her, his features set.
“No.”

“My lord, that is a ludicrous, irresponsible position.”
The words had just burst out of her, carried by her previous disappointments in him.

Apparently, few talked to Lord Lyon in such a direct manner. Sir James’s mouth dropped open.

His lordship sat up even taller. “I find it very responsible.”

“Then you are deceiving yourself,” Thea said. She’d gone this far, she might as well go further. “Not all marriages can be built on love, but those are the best. At the very least there should be the compatibility of admiration and respect. Of
liking
the person you take a vow before God to cherish and honor.”

“That is your opinion. It is not mine.”

Thea looked into his eyes and saw a stranger. “Whatever happened to that boy I once knew who believed in friendship?” she said. “That lad whose confidences I valued and whose opinion I trusted?”

“Let us take a moment to consider our words,” Sir James advised, as if wishing to avert a disaster.

“I can’t help you arrange such a marriage as this,” Thea went on, ignoring the lawyer. “Knowing what I do of you, it would not be right.”

“You know nothing of me,” Lord Lyon countered.

“I beg to differ, my lord. I may know more of you than you know of yourself.”

“And what would that be?” he challenged.

Thea sat back, realizing she was now on very sensitive ground. How well
did
she know him? How much
had
he changed?

Certainly she wasn’t the same person she’d been during those long-ago summer days.

But one thing was still clear in her mind—she believed in love.

The acknowledgement startled her. After all that Boyd, her father, her family had put her through, she still believed.

It isn’t often one is struck with self-knowledge, and every time it is surprising. Suddenly, she realized why she’d set herself up as a matchmaker. She wanted to right wrongs, to guide others away from the disastrous decisions she’d made in her own life.

She softened her voice. “My lord, marriage is a difficult endeavor. I’m not saying you must love your wife, but you must like her. Otherwise you will be saddling yourself to a cold, uncompromising life.” The sort of life his parents had had all those years ago.

The sort of life she remembered him vowing never to live.

Her change in tone worked. The fury in his eyes died, replaced by hopelessness. “You don’t understand.”

“Then explain to me,” she said.

“I’m cursed.”

Thea blinked. Uncertain if he was being dramatic or factual. “Cursed?”

“Yes,” he said with complete seriousness. “And my only hope of survival is to marry someone I don’t like, that I will
never
be able to abide. It will call for a very special woman. I don’t want someone I would detest. There is a difference between not liking and detesting.”

Thea glanced at Sir James to see if he thought his lordship was spouting nonsense. He nodded his head as if agreeing with Lord Lyon.

“You believe him cursed as well?” Thea challenged the solicitor.

Sir James shrugged. “There is evidence to suggest it.”

For a second, Thea wondered if she had wandered into a world of nonsense—and then her mind seized upon another possibility. A sinister one.

“Is my brother behind this?” she demanded.

Both Lord Lyon and Sir James acted perplexed at her accusation, but she was on to the game now. This was the only explanation that made sense. She stood. “Oh, this was very clever of him. I know Horace is not happy that I remain independent and even dare to go so far as to work for my living. But this?” She shook her head. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Sir James. And you, Lord Lyon. What a faithless friend you are. Apparently your title has destroyed whatever was good inside of you.”

“I beg your pardon?” Lord Lyon said. He’d risen when she had and now pretended to be clueless in the face of her accusation.

She moved toward the door. Her excitement over a healthy commission had turned to disappointment.

Sir James came around the desk toward her. “Mrs. Martin, please, I don’t know what we said to upset you—”

She cut him off by whirling around, her outstretched hand a warning that she did not want him to come closer. “
Enough
. I can’t believe I wasted a half shilling on the two of you. Here you are giving in to my brother’s schemes, and for what? A payment, Sir James? Some sort of cloakroom political deal in the House of Lords, Lord Lyon? Oh, yes, I know how the duke works. He’s always hatching new alliances for his own benefit. But I once thought you the closest of friends, and to my great dismay, you have grown into a man much like your parents—cold, distant, everything you said you wouldn’t be.
Curses,
” she said, biting out the word as if it had been an epithet. “Did you really believe I would be so gullible. Well, return to my brother and tell him no one believes in curses in this day and age. Not even his sister, the one he refuses to acknowledge.” With that pronouncement, she opened the door and sailed out of the room.

“Thea,
come back here,
” Neal ordered.

Her response was to keep walking.

Letters from Pie Town

LYNNE HINTON