"I'm sure Mother would not mind if you kept Mrs. Drake company during breakfast."
Irisa's eyes narrowed at Cecily's words.
But Thea smiled sweetly. "I wouldn't want your mother to be disappointed." She inclined her head to Irisa. "I do believe I will see you again in the future."
Irisa agreed with a wink that made Cecily's mouth tighter, and both girls walked away.
* * *
Chapter 17
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Thea is so bright. I am determined to see her educated in everything in which she shows an interest. My daughter will learn more than needlepoint and pianoforte. Although she will learn those things, too. She is intelligent enough to absorb it all. Her father scoffed at my desire to read books on what he considered unfeminine subjects. He thinks ladies too weak-brained for Latin and mathematics. Thea is not too weak-brained for anything.
January 15, 1805
Journal of Anna Selwyn, Countess of Langley
Drake stood rooted to his spot near Thea. He watched, paralyzed by the conversation he had just heard, as she filled a plate with some of the many delicacies her aunt had browbeaten her cook into preparing for this morning's festivities.
He had learned early on to ignore the raised brows and subtle rejections on his own behalf. He would never grow inured to the slights his mother endured because of his existence. How could he have exposed Thea to this subtle form of ostracism for the rest of her life? She deserved so much better, and yet he had practically forced her to marry him. Forced her to accept a lifetime of raised eyebrows and knowing looks.
She turned from the buffet table and nearly ran into him. Her mouth tipped at the corners in a soft smile of welcome. How could she look at him that way after what he had made her endure, married less than a day?
"Hello, Pierson. I was beginning to think that there was another unwritten rule in the ton that a bridegroom could not converse with his bride at their wedding breakfast."
He looked down at the plate of food in her hands and frowned. "You were supposed to let me get that."
"Oh. I suppose that's another rule. Well, I don't think I shall be very good at keeping it. I like to eat when I'm hungry, not when you've gotten around to remembering me."
"I'm sorry. I should have come to you sooner."
Her smile faded. "What is the matter?"
He should have hidden his reaction.
Hadn't he lived thirty years without telling his mother how much he regretted what his presence in her life had robbed her of? Marriage, acceptance among her peers, the things a lady longs for. Every lady except his wife. Thea had not wanted marriage, nor had she been particularly concerned with her place among the ton. She had changed her mind about marriage. Would she change her mind about needing the approval of her peers as well?
She set her plate down on a nearby table, and then taking his arm, she led him out of the crowded room. "Come on. You look like I felt the other morning just before I made nodding acquaintance with the chamber pot."
They ended up in her aunt's private sitting room.
She walked over to the desk and trailed her fingers across the polished surface. "She sent me sketches."
He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "What?"
"Of the desk. And all the rest of the furniture." Thea made a sweeping motion with her hand, indicating the entire room. "She wanted me to know what it looked like. She sent me sketches of many things. London. Her country home. My father's home. Lords and ladies dressed for balls. So many things. I felt as if I knew England so well, though I had never been here."
Thea came to stand right in front of him. "She couldn't put it all in her sketches, though, not even in her letters. For instance, she could not truly explain London fog when my whole experience had been with clean, clear mists. She could not explain the dawn chorus or the cobbled streets, the smell of the Thames or the overwhelming crush of people."
She laid her hand on his cheek and he felt her warmth seep into him. "There was something else she could not convey in her letters. Something I would not have believed had she tried."
She stood silent, her hand resting against his cheek, and he felt an overwhelming desire to know what she meant.
"What?" he asked hoarsely.
She reached up with her other hand and framed his face. "The way people here judge you by the thin