Irene would have appreciated his suggestions on that score a year ago when creditors were threatening to take their home and all their furnishings, but when she watched him down the remainder of his third glass of brandy and pour a fourth, she reminded herself it did no good to fire off tart rejoinders and be cross. “Either way,” she said instead, “I have given my word to my readers to respect their confidence, and I won’t break it.”
“But, Irene, he’s a duke.”
She was becoming quite tired of that particular refrain. “I don’t care if he’s the Prince of Bohemia.”
Her father gave her an unhappy look. “It would grieve your mother to see you display such irreverence for the aristocracy.”
“Would it?” Irene countered with asperity. “I think Mama displayed an admirable irreverence for her aristocratic family when she had the courage to follow her heart and marry a man of the middle class. And since the viscount and all Mama’s family turned their backs on her from the day of her wedding and I’ve never met any of them in my life, I don’t see why they ever deserved her reverence. They certainly don’t deserve mine. Or yours.”
Pain shimmered across her father’s face at this reminder that Mama’s family had deemed him so unworthy of her, making Irene regret her words at once. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know what you meant, my dear,” he said, cutting her off mid-sentence. “And I am grateful for your loyalty to my side of your family tree. But my dear child, it doesn’t do to have such blatant disregard for the aristocracy. They are very powerful, and their influence is mighty.”
“Yes, so His Grace took pains to remind me.”
“Did he, indeed? And what was your response?”
She grinned. “What do you think?”
Her father sighed, shaking his head. “One of these days, Irene, your cheek will be your undoing.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” she said, trying to look suitably chastened. “But really, Papa, duke or no, what can that man possibly do to me?”
Chapter 4
Private detectives, Henry soon discovered, could be surprisingly efficient. Immediately after leaving Miss Deverill, Henry had engaged their services, and a mere forty hours later, they had occasion to call upon him, having managed to fulfill all of his requests for information.
First, and most important, they had determined that his mother had not yet married Foscarelli, much to Henry’s relief.
Second, they had located the Italian, who was now living in a flat in Camden Town, a full-service suite of rooms leased in his own name the same morning his mother had departed from home. The news that Foscarelli now had an official residence for the purpose of obtaining a marriage license was no great surprise, but in regard to finding his mother, it proved irrelevant. The duchess, he was told, was not residing with the artist, but had ensconced herself in a suite of rooms at Thomas’s Hotel in Berkeley Square.
Immediately upon the departure of the detective, Henry called for his carriage. While waiting for it to be brought around, he wrote a letter to his solicitors, giving them Foscarelli’s address and instructing them to open negotiations with the Italian. Buying off Mama’s lover would be, he had no doubt, an expensive proposition, but to avert the looming disaster, he’d write the check happily.
Once in his carriage, Henry ordered his driver to take him to Berkeley Square, and during the short ride, he read the dossier the detective agency had compiled for him about Miss Irene Deverill, her family, and her newspaper. That particular request had been an impulse on his part, for his heated conversation with the woman had sparked not only his ire, but also his curiosity. She had also evoked in him certain other emotions, those of a darker, more erotic nature, but he knew he’d do well not to explore those particular feelings too deeply.
It was just ten o’clock when his carriage pulled into Berkeley Square. Thomas’s was a small but comfortable hotel located on the north side of the square. It was considered to be somewhat old-fashioned, but to Henry’s mind, that was a point in its favor. Upon his arrival, he inquired after his mother, handing his card to the concierge. “Please have the duchess informed of my presence and inquire if she will receive me.”
A footman was dispatched upon this errand, and though Henry wasn’t at all sure his mother would see him, a few minutes later the footman returned, affirmed the duchess was receiving, and gestured toward the electric lift tucked discreetly behind a trio of potted palms. “If you will follow me, Your Grace?”
He was led up to a suite of rooms on the second floor, and though he knew his mother had taken no servants with her, not even a maid, it nonetheless seemed incongruous when she opened the door to him herself.
“So you’ve found me.”
That cool greeting did not bode well, nor did her equally cool demeanor. No one had ever thought he and his mother bore much of a familial resemblance, for the duchess was diminutive, sweet-faced, and amiable, and Henry, as everyone knew, was none of those things. Right now, however, there was a determined line to his mother’s jaw and a guarded cast to her countenance that reminded Henry far too much of his own character for his peace of mind. Still, given the current circumstances, he could hardly have expected her to welcome him with open arms. “Did you think I wouldn’t find you?”
She gave a sigh and opened the door wide. “No,” she admitted as he came in. “Although I did think it might take you a bit longer than it has.”
“I daresay, since the nuptials haven’t yet taken place.”
“A fact that fills you with delight, no doubt.”
“I find nothing delightful in this, Mama,” he assured her as she led him into the suite’s small sitting room. “We have all been concerned for you.”
“There is no need to be.” She gestured to a pair of moss-green settees, and when she sat down upon one, he seated himself directly opposite. She gave him no chance, however, to begin the eloquent speech he had been preparing since her departure Tuesday morning.
“Henry, I know your intent is to change my mind about my marriage, so allow me to save you the trouble and spare us both what would surely be a quarrel. I shall not change my mind, regardless of your efforts.”
“I am not here only for that reason, Mama. I am also hoping to persuade you to return home. A hotel cannot be as comfortable as your own home, especially with no servants to attend you.”
