Page 25 of The Truth About Love and Dukes

“Today?” Irene gave a laugh of disbelief. “You can’t possibly expect us to come today?”

“I can, and I do. If you arrive at teatime, you can take refreshment if you choose and still be settled into your rooms before dinner. I do not know if my mother will have returned home by teatime, or what prior engagements the other members of my family have fixed for this afternoon, but I will ensure that my sister-in-law is at home to greet you properly, and I shall also be there to perform the necessary introduction.”

“Oh, goody,” Irene muttered. “What a treat.”

“If you do not arrive,” he went on as if she hadn’t spoken, “I will present your father with a bank draft tomorrow morning and you shall not be required to come at all. As I said, the choice is yours. My home is located on Park Lane, at 16 Upper Brook Street. Good day, Miss Deverill.”

With that, he gave her a bow and turned away, leaving Irene to glare daggers at his back as he departed. Fourteen days under his roof might not seem like much time to him, but to her, it loomed ahead like an eternity of hell.

Chapter 6

The duke had barely departed her offices before Irene was also out the door. She strode past Clara’s desk, and something in her face must have reflected the emotions roiling inside her, for her sister followed, calling after her as she crossed the foyer.

“Irene, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“Not now, Clara,” she called back as she started up the stairs. “Not now, I beg you.”

She found her father in the drawing room sipping his brandy and reading a book, his gouty foot propped up on cushions. He looked up as she came in, and the full force of her fury must have been reflected in her expression, because in the face of it, even her father shrank back a little.

“Is it true?” she demanded, halting beside his wheeled chair. “Is it?”

He frowned, but he did not quite meet her gaze. “Moderate your tone, child, and remember to whom you are speaking.”

“Is it true?”

“If you are asking if I’ve agreed to sell the newspaper to the Duke of Torquil, the answer is yes. He has even agreed to assist in the reconciliation of our family. He knows Ellesmere and has pledged to do what he can to assist. Wasn’t that thoughtful of him?”

“Oh, very thoughtful,” she shot back. “How could you do this, Papa? How?”

He reached for his glass and downed the contents in one swallow. Only then did he meet her gaze. “Really, Irene, you needn’t look as if I’ve just sold you into servitude, when the reality is the exact opposite. Now, there will be no need for you to labor like a common shop girl.”

She ignored his attempt to make his action seem noble. “I enjoy my work. Why can’t you understand that?” She watched him shake his head, making it clear he still refused to believe that fact, and she hastened on before the conversation could be diverted from the material point to a debate about women’s rights. “I’ve revived our family business and made it successful again. I created Society Snippets, and I’ve made it a success. And now, after all I’ve accomplished, you’ve sold it right out from under me without so much as a by your leave.”

“I am your father. I don’t require your leave to do anything if I feel it is for your good.” Beneath the testiness of his voice, she perceived an underlying guilt, but he gave her no chance to jump on it. “As for the rest, what I have done is what every father has an obligation to do.”

“What obligation is that?”

“To secure his children’s future, of course. I’ve secured yours, and Clara’s, and I can only hope that makes up for what a dismal mess I’ve made of things in the past.”

Her anger faded with those words, for she knew he believed with all his heart that what he’d done was for her benefit. “Oh, Papa, how many times do we have to discuss this? What you’ve secured is your vision of my future, but it isn’t the sort of future I envision for myself.”

“Only because you’ve never had a taste of it.” He nodded, donning a wise and complacent air. “Just you wait. When you are out and about, enjoying the events of the season, dining in a duke’s house, going to balls, making friends, you’ll be having such an agreeable time, you won’t want to come home at all, much less go back to that newspaper of yours. You’ll see.”

As always when they had this conversation, Irene felt as if she was pounding her head into a brick wall, but she persisted. “I don’t want balls and parties. I have no interest in doing the season, and I don’t want to go hunting for a husband. I want to publish newspapers.”

“And your sister? Is being your secretary and living as a spinster what she wants for her future?”

For the second time today, Irene felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. She parted her lips to reply, but no answer came out.

“You enjoy slaving away in that office downstairs, but does she?” he asked. “Is she happy, knowing her life is to be spent taking down correspondence, and typing, and making your appointments?”

He gave her no chance to reply. “She wants to enjoy her life, now, while she’s young. She yearns for the amusements of the season as much as any girl.”

She shifted her weight, guilt nudging at her. “Clara knows she is free to attend all the parties she wants. Cousin Martha would happily make arrangements among our acquaintances and act as chaperone.”

“Clara would have a difficult time in society without you to help her along. We both know how shy and reserved she is. And my cousin, though a worthy woman, would make Clara even more so.”

“I’m happy to go with Clara anywhere we are invited,” she assured him at once. “But neither of us is in any rush to wed.”

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