“In the beginning, I had thought not to have my letter published, but as Lady Truelove and I exchanged correspondence, I felt more and more strongly that it would be better for all concerned if the news of my marriage came out before the fact, rather than afterward. Otherwise, the members of my family might perhaps feel I had betrayed them and harbor bitterness. By having it come out beforehand, they are able to prepare themselves in advance for what is to come and perhaps forgive more easily. And by the time it happens, society will, I hope, have got over the initial shock, and will regard my marriage as an unfortunate inevitability instead of an appalling scandal.”
“Taking the wind out of everyone’s sails, so to speak?” When the duchess nodded, she went on, “But you did not wish to tell your family of your decision in person?”
“No. It shall be hard on them, I know, but there are certain points in a woman’s life where she must be entitled to consider her own needs, as well as those of her children. They are all very dear to me, but they have no idea how lonely my life has been.”
“I understand.”
“Given that your mother made a similar decision, I think perhaps you do. Still, if I confessed to such a feeling to my family, they would be deeply distressed and see it as an indictment of their care of me. Torquil, in particular, would take it so.”
“He does seem to possess a very strong interest in your personal affairs. Do you not sometimes chafe under such scrutiny?”
She laughed. “I should tell him to mind his own business, you mean?”
“Well, yes, I suppose that is what I do mean.”
She shook her head. “It wouldn’t matter if I did. Henry takes his role as head of the family very much to heart, and it would grieve him enormously not to have the chance to persuade me against what he sees as a disastrous marriage.”
Irene shifted in her chair, hating that she was the means by which he intended to accomplish that task. It was a most uncomfortable position to be in.
“But once the deed is done,” the duchess went on serenely, “he will have the comfort of knowing he did all he could to stop me. As will all my children. For I expect every one of them to make various attempts to change my mind during the coming fortnight.”
Irene pushed aside for the moment the part she was expected to play in that particular activity. “So the delay in marrying Mr. Foscarelli was deliberate on your part? I was told—that is,” she amended at once, “I thought the reason you are not yet married is that Mr. Foscarelli had not yet satisfied the two-week residency a license requires.”
“Oh, no. I daresay that’s what Torquil thinks, for he has damned Antonio as a worthless scoundrel, whose only intent is to take advantage of me.”
“That might be a possible interpretation of events, don’t you think?”
The duchess merely seemed amused. “Oh, dear, my poor Antonio has even you viewing him with a jaundiced eye. What does Lady Truelove think of that, I wonder?”
Irene resisted the impulse to squirm again. “Unlike Lady Truelove, I can see . . . ahem . . . at least a little, your son’s point of view.”
“Torquil’s point of view has been shaped by his life and the responsibilities of his position, Miss Deverill, and he has felt it necessary to cultivate a hard, polished veneer. Underneath it, of course, he is a hopeless romantic.”
To Irene, there was no “of course” about it. Some of her skepticism must have shown on her face, for the duchess laughed.
“It is hard for someone outside the family to believe, I know, but it’s true nonetheless. Still, you mustn’t let on that I’ve given away his secret, for it flies straight in the face of all his efforts to be a hard and world-weary cynic.”
“I shan’t breathe a word,” she promised. Since it’s clear you don’t know your son at all. “But in regard to Mr. Foscarelli,” she went on, “do you not ever wonder if Torquil might be right? That the man might be just a fortune-hunter?”
She grimaced, knowing she’d just been unforgivably impertinent, but the duchess laughed again. “Well, of course he’s a fortune-hunter, my dear! What else would he be?”
Irene blinked, a bit taken aback. Not that the duchess’s words themselves surprised her; on the contrary, they confirmed what she’d suspected all along—that Foscarelli was motivated, at least in part, by monetary concerns. Though she hadn’t seen that in itself as a reason to denounce the courtship, it was the reason she’d taken such great pains to underscore the risks and emphasize tying up the money.
“Your silence tells me I’ve shocked you, Miss Deverill. But I am fully aware that Antonio is a fortune-hunter. Whatever else I may be, I am not a fool.”
Irene was dismayed. “Forgive me,” she said, mortified that she might have given insult. “I never meant to imply—”
Her apology was cut off by the other woman’s pat on her knee. “I know what you meant, and you’re a sweet child to be concerned. I love Mr. Foscarelli deeply, as you are already aware from my correspondence with Lady Truelove, but I have no illusions about his situation. If I did not have money, we would not be able to wed. It is as simple as that.”
“I am not shocked, Duchess. It is only that most people would not be so frank with a new acquaintance.”
“I am not, usually. But when I speak with you, it is almost as if I am speaking with Lady Truelove herself.”
Irene felt smothered, embarrassed, and keenly uncomfortable. It was hard to force words out, but she could see only one course open to her, and she willed herself to continue. “I am aware that Lady Truelove was concerned about Mr. Foscarelli’s lack of an income.”
“She certainly was.”
That gave Irene no cues at all. “I take it, then, that you have drafted the—” She stopped, unable to continue, the question caught in her throat, her face growing hot, and she cursed Torquil for putting her in this impossible situation. She had met this woman less than three hours ago. Who was she to ask impertinent questions, and delve into the other woman’s motivations and reasons? What right did she have to make trouble between the duchess and the man she loved?
