An Affair So Right (Rebel Hearts #4)(23)
Theodora set her quill aside carefully. “Perhaps I am abnormal not to vent my emotions and wallow in grief, as other people will. I’ve never enjoyed crying in public. Besides, I have learned the grief never goes away entirely, no matter how much I have cried and railed at the injustice of my loss. I worked very long hours after my fiancé, Daniel, died. If I am able to exhaust myself during the day, I sleep better at night and regrets are held at bay for a little while.”
Lord Maitland stared at his boots. “What did you regret about losing Daniel?”
That perhaps she hadn’t loved Daniel enough by the end of his life. In the beginning, she’d thought herself the luckiest of women, in love with a gentleman of great passion, but had been deceived by her own awakening desires. “Far too much.”
Maitland waited for her to say more, but Theodora was too wise to divulge much else. A male secretary would not be so forthcoming about his private affairs. She must learn to keep to her place, no matter how easily she was drawn toward the man who’d taken her in. “You have a dinner tonight to prepare for,” she reminded him.
“I do indeed, but there is plenty of time to change and return to Town by the expected hour.” He remained seated, lost in thought. “If I go up early, my valet will have an excuse to fuss over my attire for longer than necessary. I am quite sure you’ve noted Rodmell’s nature already.”
“I like him. He’s very loyal to you.” She smiled quickly then glanced at his open appointment book, noting his hosts for the night lived not far away, and recognizing the surname from her previous shopping expeditions on Bond Street. “I would not have thought a viscount would have much to say to the proprietor of a prosperous London haberdashery, or his wife.”
Maitland laughed suddenly and took up the day’s newspaper to read. “Then I’m happy to have surprised you. Cabot is a new acquaintance and exceptionally good company. I see the newlyweds often, and I am always available should either one come to call.”
“I see,” she said, making a mental note that her employer’s eccentric circle of friends included a couple many of his class would think far beneath them. On the surface, Lord Maitland had seemed like every other young buck about Town—concerned for appearances and ready for dalliances and fast thrills. Finding out he was also introspective and loyal to friends of all social standings was a happy discovery.
She made entries in his diary for the appointments he would keep and sealed his letters in readiness for dispatch. As she completed her work, she made notes of things to ask the housekeeper tomorrow when they planned Lord Maitland’s dinner, and then thumbed through a great stack of old, untidy papers.
He glanced at his paper. “My investments. London properties and such. Rent day is not too far away, if memory serves.”
“Monday,” she concluded after checking through a few of the files. “Do you employ a rent collector or must I do that?”
“I employ a rent collector. A Mr. Albert Bellington. Mr. Layton used to tour the homes with him from time to time, but I cannot ask you to do that.”
“Why ever not?”
He glanced her way, eyes skimming her from top to bottom and back again. “You’re in mourning. Sometimes tenants do not want to pay, and it becomes an ugly business to extract the rents. I refuse to put you in harm’s way.”
“I have dealt with recalcitrant tenants before. My father owned property in India, too. I know the struggles of running a profitable enterprise while still being fair. I’ll take along an extra groom or footman, if it makes you more comfortable with the idea of me going. Someone who knows how to use his fists, if necessary, and can apply his looks to charm the most reluctant tenant’s wife out of their hidden stash of coins.”
He lowered the paper completely, staring at her. “You are such a contradiction.”
He was not the first to notice she possessed her own peculiarities. Usually, it was brought up at the end of a negotiation that she’d won. Most men did not like to be bested by a mere slip of a woman. “Compared to what, my lord?”
“To my imagination. When I first saw you across the street, you were cutting flowers in the garden. I thought then that conversing with you might be like speaking to any other society lady— a conversation full of empty-headed nonsense about the weather, or the cultivation of plants and such. Something I have little interest in or desire to learn more of, I confess.” He grinned widely and leaned toward her a little. “You are never dull, are you?”
“I try not to be,” she said modestly, but she was delighted by his approval and interest in her character, even if it was for naught but ensuring a pleasant working environment. “So far, I find you rather unique among men, too.”
A warmer smile curved his lips, quickly hidden as he returned to his paper. His paper crackled as he suddenly dropped it again. “Theodora, when you had a problem in your life, who did you confide in? Your mother or your father?”
What an odd question, and even more so that it was delivered with him speaking her given name. With anyone else, she would have protested the informality, but she decided to let the use of her given name pass unchallenged, to see where the conversation would lead. “That would depend on the problem. If I had misplaced an item or could not decide what to wear, I would speak to my mother about it. For anything else more serious, I would have sought my father’s advice.”