The Truth About Love and Dukes

by Laura Lee Guhrke

  Irene’s eyes stung, and her father’s face blurred before her eyes. “That’s not fair,” she whispered.

  “No,” he agreed and reached for the decanter from the table beside him. “But then life rarely is, my dear.”

  She watched him pour the last of the brandy from the decanter into his glass, and she wondered if that was the first one he’d emptied today. Probably not. “You’re right, Papa,” she said, the words bitter on her tongue. “Life is rarely fair.”

  Irene had spoken with her father in the hope he could be prevailed upon to cancel the deal he’d made with the duke, but in hindsight, she saw that confronting him in the heat of the moment had perhaps not been the most effective approach for achieving such a goal. And with his talk of her sister’s future, he’d taken the last bit of wind out of her sails, for she knew how much Clara longed for society and amusements.

  Resigned, she went back downstairs, called Clara into her office, and explained what had occurred. She expected her sister to greet the news that they would be going out into society with a combination of happy anticipation and stark terror, with perhaps some indignation on her behalf at the duke’s and their father’s high-handed actions. Clara’s wail of dismay, however, didn’t quite square with any of the responses she’d been expecting.

  “Oh, no, no, no.” Clara moaned, leaning forward to plunk her elbows on Irene’s desk and bury her face in her hands. “I can’t believe you agreed to this.”

  “But I thought you’d like the idea of going into society.”

  Clara shook her head without looking up, and Irene circled her desk and put a comforting arm around her sister’s shoulders. “If it’s my feelings you’re worried about, there’s no need. I have no intention of letting that man buy my newspaper and shut it down, I promise you that.”

  “That’s not it,” Clara replied, her voice muffled by the hands covering her face.

  “Oh.” Feeling a bit deflated by this seeming lack of concern for her beloved newspaper, Irene straightened, studying her sister’s bent head as she tried to determine just what Clara found so upsetting. “We’ll be all right, you know, however this plays out. Granted, Torquil’s the sort of man who thinks he can buy whatever he wants, but even I have to concede that he’s willing to pay generously for the privilege. And you’ll be taken care of, no matter what—”

  She stopped as Clara again shook her head and sat up. “Don’t be a goose, Irene. I know you’ll take care of us, whatever happens. That is not what distresses me. And I’m sure you’ll find a way out of the mess. You always do.”

  “But, then, what has you so upset? Is it the idea of meeting new people? I know how daunting that can be for you, dearest, but I’ll be right there by your side.”

  “It’s not that either, Irene. We have a much more immediate problem than my stupid shyness. Beginning in only a few hours, we’ll be staying in the house of a duke, moving in good society, meeting peers and ladies, and who knows who else.”

  “Yes, and . . . ?”

  “Look at us.” The words ended in a wail, as Clara gestured to her brown wool skirt. “There will be social engagements every day, balls and parties every night, and we don’t have anything fit to wear for such occasions.”

  Startled, Irene blinked. “Heavens, I never even thought of that. But it’s a problem easily remedied,” she added. “The paper is making money these days, so we can afford to spend a bit on ourselves. We’ll dash over to Debenham and Freebody this afternoon and buy a few gowns before we go to Grosvenor Square.”

  “Wear ready-made gowns into a duke’s house?” Clara looked at her in horror. “What will they think of us?”

  “If they base their opinions of us on our clothes, then their opinions aren’t worth having,” Irene replied stoutly. “And they can all go hang.”

  A fine sentiment, in theory, but several hours later, standing in the most richly appointed drawing room she’d ever seen, confronted by the elegant clothes and incredulous gaze of Lady David Cavanaugh, even Irene would have happily traded all her high-minded principles for just one bespoke frock. As the duke’s sister-in-law took a glance over the gray-stripe walking suit Irene had purchased at Debenham and Freebody on the way here, she didn’t say a word, but she didn’t have to. The slight lift of her auburn brows eloquently expressed what was going through her mind. At once, Irene’s cheeks began to burn, and she cast a hostile glance at the tall, dark man beside Lady David who had just performed introductions. This was all his doing.

  If Torquil perceived her resentment, he didn’t show it. “Boothby will have your things taken up to your rooms,” he said with a glance at the elderly man who had shown them into the drawing room and announced their arrival.

  Boothby, obviously the butler, perceived at once the command that had been given him, and without a word, he bowed and glided from the room.

  Irene watched him go with a hint of envy. She’d have gladly carted her own trunk upstairs if it meant she could escape the oh-so-superior scrutiny of Lady David.

  “Would you care for tea?”

  The other woman’s question forced Irene’s longing gaze away from the doorway and back to the slim, elegant redhead who was gesturing to the tea tray.

  “No, thank you. We have had our tea already.”

  “I see.” There was a pause so awkward that Irene almost winced.

  Torquil broke the silence, doing so in a way that—thankfully—didn’t make Irene want to go for his throat. “Perhaps you and your sister would prefer to rest before dinner?”

  “We would,” Irene said without even bothering to glance at Clara. If she was uncomfortable, she could only imagine how her reserved sister must be feeling. “A rest would be most welcome.”

  Lady David seemed as relieved as she by this turn of events. “Of course,” she said and reached out at once to tug the bell pull on the wall beside her. A footman in livery appeared in the doorway with a speed Irene couldn’t help but admire.

  “Ah, Edward, there you are,” Lady David greeted the footman. “Will you show Miss Deverill and her sister to their rooms, and have their maids sent up to attend them?”

  “Oh, we’ve no maid,” Irene interjected with deliberate good cheer. “We’ll have to do for ourselves while we’re here, I’m afraid.”

  “You haven’t brought a maid?” Lady David’s face stilled, her polite smile frozen in place. Guests without maids must be a rare thing in this house.

  Irene did not help her, and it was left to Torquil to jump into the breach.

  “My mother’s maid will be happy to attend you, of course,” he said.

  This offer, Irene couldn’t help but note, did not please Lady David at all, a fact that almost tempted her to accept it. “We would not dream of depriving Her Grace of her own maid.”

  “It would not be a deprivation, Miss Deverill, I assure you.”

  “Perhaps not, but we are happy to do for ourselves.”

  “Yourselves?” Lady David’s question betrayed that she was laughing at their lack of sophistication. She must have sensed that she’d shown her amusement too plainly, however, for she went on at once, “No, no. Torquil is right. Of course you must have a maid to attend you. We could never allow our guests to do for themselves.”

  This gesture, one of accommodation and nothing more, was too much for Irene’s pride. “Clara and I are not only sisters, but friends. We do not mind assisting each other. Please, do not distress yourselves about this. If you do, you shall make us feel quite embarrassed.”

  “Well, we can’t have that,” Torquil murmured before Lady David could reply, and he closed the topic by offering Irene and her sister a bow. “We shall see you both this evening, then. Dinner is at eight, but the family usually begins to gather about half an hour beforehand in the library.” He paused, gesturing to an opened set of doors which led to the room next door. “Please, feel free to join us when you are ready. Edward, see our guests up to their rooms, if you will.”

  Irene and Clara
followed the footman out of the lavish ivory-and-blue drawing room, back to the wide, sweeping staircase, and up to the second floor, where they were shown into adjoining bedrooms.

  Irene’s room was not as ostentatious as the drawing room. Done up in pale green and white, it was light and airy, and though she loathed giving the duke or his house any credit, she had to admit her room was very pretty indeed. Their trunks had been brought up, and both of hers now reposed on the floor at the foot of her bed, open and clearly awaiting the maid who would never come to unpack them.

  The sound of a door opening diverted her observations of her surroundings, and she turned as Clara entered through an adjoining door. “Oh, Irene, isn’t it lovely? And we’ve a bathroom that’s just for us. Come and look.”

  Irene allowed her sister to pull her through the doorway into a bathroom that was substantial enough to possess not only two doors, but also two marble washstands with water taps, a flush lavatory, and an enameled bath with hot water pipes and a mahogany surround.

  “My goodness,” Irene said, laughing in disbelief. “Are we in a hotel?”

  “If we are, it’s the Savoy.” Clara paused, looking at her. “We didn’t have the chance to talk much about it earlier, but I know you aren’t happy about this, and I don’t blame you. You must be frantic with worry about the paper.”

  “I’m not ready to wave the white flag on that score just yet. Especially not to that man. You don’t mind me fighting to keep it, do you?” she asked. “If I succeed, it’ll mean a smaller dowry for you. And Ellesmere might not be prevailed upon to help launch one granddaughter when the other runs a scandal sheet.”

  “I never expected any sort of dowry, so I’m happy even to receive a small one. And your paper means the world to you, I know. I wouldn’t ever want you to lose it.”

  “You’re a darling. But I’m afraid losing it is the most likely outcome at this point, for I don’t see how I can change the duchess’s mind. And I confess, I’m not happy at the prospect of attempting to do so.”

  “It was very wrong of the Duke to maneuver you into this, of course, but his actions do seem to stem wholly from his concern for his mother’s future happiness. And even if she does marry the Italian in the end, the Duke surely won’t blame you for it.”

  “Won’t he?” Irene made a face. “I’m not as hopeful on that score as you are, I’m afraid.”

  “He’s upset, of course, but once he learns the depth of his mother’s feelings for the man, he’ll hopefully become more accepting of her marriage, or you’ll find a way to persuade her to at least pause and reconsider. Either way, I hope you can find a way to enjoy yourself a little bit, while we are here?”

  She thought of the superior Lady David, the dark, arrogant Torquil, and the task that would be required of her, and she doubted there would be much enjoyment to be found. But she looked into her sister’s face, and refrained from expressing such a gloomy opinion. “I will try,” she said instead. “If only to please you.”

  Clara smiled, pleased already. “Good,” she said and gestured to their surroundings. “Do you mind if I have the first bathe?”

  “Not at all. I shall unpack. After all,” she added as she turned and started back to her own room, “since we are so déclassé as to possess no maid, we have to undertake that task ourselves. Oh, the horror!”

  Leaving Clara laughing, she returned to her room and put the walking suits, tea gowns, ball gowns, and undergarments Clara had insisted she would need in the armoire. The boxes containing her shoes and slippers she placed on the bottom shelf, and the ones containing hats she placed on top. She also made use of the room’s chiffonier cupboard for her shirtwaists, skirts, and underthings.

  She laid out her new blue silk evening gown on the bed, then crossed to the bathroom, where her knock went unanswered. Taking a peek inside, she found the room empty, but still steamy, showing that her sister had made good use of the hot water. She decided to do the same, and as Irene sank into the depths of a warm bath a short time later, she was forced to admit that staying in Torquil’s house for two weeks did have one favorable aspect.

  “Ah,” she groaned with pleasure, leaning back and closing her eyes, the tension in her shoulders easing a bit. “Now this I could get used to.”

  Somehow she drifted off, a fact she realized only when a knock from Clara roused her from her blissful lethargy.

  “Irene?”

  She jerked upright in the tub, appreciating that the water was now cold and her fingertips wrinkly. How long had she been in here?

  “What’s happened?” Clara asked, and even through the closed door, Irene could hear her sister laughing. “Did you fall asleep?”

  “Of course not,” she lied, rising to her feet. “What time is it?”

  “Half past six.”

  Heavens, she’d been in here nearly three quarters of an hour. She dried off, an action that didn’t take long, for the towel was composed of the softest, most luxurious cotton she’d ever felt, and it wicked the water from her body easy as winking. When she slipped into her wrapper a few moments later, the muslin didn’t even stick to her skin.

  She gathered up her discarded clothes and returned to her room. She donned her underclothes, using the brass knob of her footboard to assist her in lacing her corset tightly enough, then she donned the skirt and bodice of her evening frock, put up her hair, and passed through the bathroom to knock on her sister’s door. “Clara, I need buttoning up.”

  At her sister’s urging to come in, she opened the door. “I’m sure you do, too,” she went on as she entered the room, but the words were barely out of her mouth before she perceived that her sister wasn’t even close to needing her help.

  Clara was standing before her dressing mirror in her underclothes, one of her three newly purchased evening gowns clasped in front of her. The other two lay strewn across the bed, along with a variety of petticoats, corsets, and stockings.

  “What’s all this?”

  “Too many choices!” Clara turned, spreading out the skirt of the celadon-green brocade gown she was holding. “What do you think?”

  “Very pretty.”

  “That’s the same exact thing you said at Debenham and Freebody this afternoon.”

  “And it’s still true. All the dresses you bought are pretty.”

  “But which evening dress is the prettiest? On our first night, I want to make the most favorable impression I can.”

  “The pink, then. Pink always suits you best.”

  Clara cast aside the green brocade, picked up the bodice and skirt of pink silk, and held them up to the mirror. After a moment, she gave a satisfied nod and began to dress. When she’d finished donning her own gown, Clara did up the hooks down the back of Irene’s, then turned so her sister could do the same for her.

  “There,” Irene said as she fastened the last hook and smoothed the tucks at the back of Clara’s dress. “Who needs a maid anyway? Let’s go down. We can see just what books are in a duke’s library.”

  Clara turned away, shaking her head. “You go. I still have to dress my hair.”

  She had no intention of letting her sister go down alone. “I’ll wait for you.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Irene,” Clara said, sounding exasperated, “I may be a little shy, but I am capable of going down to dinner myself, even in a duke’s house. I don’t need you hovering at my elbow. I’ll join you in the library in a short while.”

  “All right, if you’re sure,” she capitulated and started back toward her own room. “Just don’t linger up here too long. Heaven only knows what they’ll think if you’re late to dinner. That would surely be a capital offense.”

  With that, she returned to her own room, put on her long white evening gloves, and started toward the door into the corridor, but as she passed the cheval glass, she remembered Lady David’s incredulous face, and she paused, feeling a sudden, uncharacteristic pang of uncertainty. She took a step back, turned toward the mirror, and immediately wished s
he hadn’t, for the fold lines along her skirt only underscored the reasons for Lady David’s incredulous stare.

  Still, though the problem could be resolved tomorrow, there was nothing to be done about it now, so Irene gave a philosophical shrug, patted her hair, and left her room. The house was quiet, no servants in sight as she returned to the first floor and started down the corridor she and Clara had traversed earlier in the day.

  It was not yet half past seven, and no dressing gong had sounded, so Irene didn’t expect that anyone else would be down yet, but as she approached the drawing room and the library beyond, voices told her that some members of the family had arrived before her. The doors to both reception rooms were closed and the voices were low, but given the sultry afternoon, the transoms over the doorways that helped ventilate the house were wide open, and Lady David’s voice came to her quite distinctly from the library.

  “My dears, you should have seen their clothes! Straight out of a department store, I’m absolutely certain.”

  Irene stopped outside the door, her hand stilled just above the handle she’d been about to open.

  “Not that one ever really expects middle-class girls to dress well,” Lady David went on. “But one would expect even the daughters of a newspaper hawker to have their ready-made clothes properly fitted and altered, and to have the creases removed before wearing them out in public.”

  Irene felt her cheeks growing hot. She lowered her hand to smooth her skirt, but it was a futile attempt, and she saw just how right her sister had been to be so concerned about their clothes. Having come straight here from Debenham and Freebody, they’d had no time to press their new clothes, but that didn’t do much to alleviate the discomfort of being ridiculed.

  If my mother suffers ridicule and condemnation because of you and your publication, what responsibility do you bear?

  Torquil’s words from their first meeting came echoing back as if to mock her, and she realized that she hadn’t ever allowed herself to consider that question. Nor did she have time to consider it now, for a second female voice entered the conversation taking place on the other side of the door.