Page 26 of The Truth About Love and Dukes

“Well, you’re not, anyway,” her father countered tartly. “Turtles are in more of a rush than you are. And why, pray? Because you prefer running a newspaper to finding a husband.”

“Only because society forces me to make that choice.”

“Not only society. My dear child, no husband would allow his wife to have a career.”

“Either way, we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about Clara.”

“So we are. How is your sister to meet anyone when she spends most of her time working for you? She’s twenty-two, Irene, so there’s not much time before she’s on the shelf. I’ve arranged things with the duke so that she can have a bit of enjoyment. She can go to balls and the theater, she can dance, and flirt, and enjoy the season as a young woman should, before it’s too late.”

“Two weeks isn’t much of a season.”

“But with the duke’s help, the viscount might see his way to giving Clara—and you, not that you’d want it—a full season next year. He might forgive, and the breach in our family could be healed.”

“And we’ll all live happily ever after.”

Her father didn’t seem to hear that dry rejoinder. “Clara will have the chance to meet worthy young men, and fall in love. She might then be able to marry, and have children and a home of her own. Would you deny her all these opportunities simply because you don’t want them yourself? Would you truly sacrifice her youth on the altar of your ambition?”

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.

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