“Couldn’t you take more time than that? Say . . . two weeks?”
Torquil’s words from the night before rang through her mind again. “Do I . . .” She paused and swallowed, finding it hard to ask the question she wanted to ask, afraid to hear the answer. “Does it embarrass you that I intend to keep on with the paper while we are here?”
“Embarrass me? Oh, no.”
“But what about afterward? If things go well, you are hoping I won’t continue it, aren’t you? You’d be happy to see me give it up altogether.”
“I have not thought that far ahead. I am just enjoying myself. And the only thing I know is that I would prefer it if you took some time to enjoy yourself while you have the chance. Lady David is right, you know. To have a foot in both worlds, even for two weeks, will be exhausting.”
Irene made a face. “Lady David is all the more incentive for me to find a way to change his mother’s mind so I can be gone from here. But either way, you needn’t worry about your future. If I fail, Ellesmere will have accepted us. If I succeed, Torquil still has to pay Papa a portion of money, all of which will go to provide a dowry for you. Don’t argue,” she added as her sister started to protest, “for my mind is made up.”
“But it sounds as if the duchess’s mind is made up, too, Irene. I don’t see how you’ll ever persuade her.”
Suddenly, an idea flashed through Irene’s mind like a bolt of lightning, a solution so profoundly simple, she was stunned she hadn’t thought of it straightaway.
“That’s just it,” she said with a jolt of excitement. “I’ve been looking at this situation the wrong way around. The duchess doesn’t need to be persuaded of anything.”
Clara stared at her, looking understandably bewildered. “I don’t under—”
“It won’t be an easy thing to manage,” she murmured, her thoughts racing as her idea took shape. “But it’ll be much easier on my conscience. It’ll take time, though.” She paused, musing. “How am I to find that?”
“As I’ve just been trying to tell you, you could take the time. A two-week holiday—”
“A holiday? By heaven, you are absolutely right. A holiday is just what I need.” Irene chuckled at her sister’s obvious bafflement. “You will be delighted to know that I’ve changed my mind. I won’t be working as much as I had intended. I’ll have to return home for an hour or so each day, of course, just to be sure things are running smoothly and Papa hasn’t converted the newspaper office back into a library during our absence, but other than that, I will hand things over to Josie for the next two weeks, and spend the remainder of my time moving in society with you.”
“You will?”
“Yes. And I shall also be making my best effort to be nicer to the duke.” She couldn’t help laughing at her sister’s stupefied expression. “I must. It’s the only thing to do, don’t you see?”
It was plain that Clara didn’t. She was looking utterly fogged.
Irene laughed again and gave her sister a smacking kiss on each cheek. “And you are the one who has made me realize it. Oh, Clara, you’re brilliant!”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but . . .” Clara paused, yawning. “But I fear you’ll have to explain it all in the morning, for I am going to bed. And after working all day, you should go to bed, too,” she added as she gathered up her discarded clothes and started toward her own room.
“I will, I will,” Irene agreed, but her mind was still racing even after she had slipped on a nightgown and slid between the sheets of her bed. The clock ticked seconds and minutes as she stared up at the ceiling, trying to determine her best approach.
It was going to be every bit as difficult as the course Torquil had intended her to take, perhaps even more so. But, in following it, her conscience would be clear, for she wouldn’t be interfering with another woman’s happiness, and she wouldn’t be going against what she still felt had been correct advice.
But how to manage it? Irene turned on her side, considering. It would be like scaling a Nordic glacier. Not impossible, perhaps, but by no means easy.
That was the challenge of it, but though Irene was seldom intimidated by anything, even she had to admit she found this particular challenge a bit daunting. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more daunting it became, making her even less inclined for sleep.
Finally, Irene gave up. Whether it was the idea racing through her mind, or the rich food she’d consumed, or the excitement of the evening, she was just not sleepy. Flinging back the covers, she got out of bed. Perhaps a book would help, she thought as she lit a lamp. Something deadly dull. Fordyce’s Sermons, perhaps, or an unedited version of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. Those would put anybody to sleep.
She replaced her nightdress with a tea gown, just in case the hall boy wasn’t asleep at his post, then she picked up the lamp, and left her room, padding down the corridor in bare feet.
She needn’t have worried about the hall boy, for he was bent sideways in his chair by the stairs, eyes closed and mouth open, snoring quietly. She tiptoed past him and down to the floor below, but as she turned into the corridor where the library was located, the faint light pouring through the doorway of that room told her she was not the only person in the house who was still awake.
Irene stopped, hesitant. It wasn’t, she knew, quite the thing to be wandering about at this hour. Oh the other hand, she was already here, and she did not want to go back up and stare at the ceiling for the rest of the night.
Irene resumed walking, but when she reached the library, she was forced to halt again when she found that the very glacier she intended to climb in the morning was squarely in front of her right now.
Torquil was facing the doorway, seated at his writing desk and composing a letter, just as he had been the evening before, though less formally attired in a smoking jacket and shirt instead of dinner suit and white tie. Preoccupied with his task, he had not yet noticed her standing there, and she knew she ought to turn around before he did. It was the middle of the night. She was supposed to be in bed. This wasn’t proper.
She moved to turn away, but the very movement caught his attention and he looked up.
He went utterly still, and something very much like dismay came into his face. That, she feared, did not bode well. She ought to go, but his gaze seemed to pin her in place.
