Page 30 of The Truth About Love and Dukes

Her brows lifted, her countenance understandably skeptical, but if she was tempted to take issue with his words, Fate deprived her of the opportunity. Her sister appeared in the doorway behind her, and much to Henry’s relief, the younger girl’s cherubic countenance showed no hint of the bristling resentment displayed by her sibling. She, at least, did not seem to know what had just occurred. “And your sister, too,” he went on, offering the girl a bow. “Good evening, Miss Clara.”

“Duke,” she answered, giving him a quick, nervous bow that caused her sister to move closer to her, and he perceived that he was not the only one with protective instincts. “I hope I am not late?”

“Not at all,” he answered her. “It is well before eight. And my mother is not yet down, nor is my brother-in-law. But come,” he added, turning to offer the elder Miss Deverill his arm. “Allow me to introduce you to the rest of my family.”

As he performed introductions, he began to once again feel in control of the situation, but when they came to Carlotta, he was reminded that any control he thought he had over Miss Deverill was nothing but an illusion.

“I must thank you for your making us feel so welcome upon our arrival this afternoon,” she gushed to his sister-in-law. “Why, I don’t believe I’ve ever heard so much warmth and consideration expressed for one’s guests.”

Carlotta’s face flushed crimson, and though Henry couldn’t help but feel such a set-down no more than his brother’s wife deserved, Miss Deverill’s impudence also made him appreciate that the next fourteen days were not going to be a stroll in the park, especially since his mother was still in an intractable frame of mind.

He’d taken her aside directly upon her return this afternoon and explained the situation, framing things just as he’d told Miss Deverill he would do, and though Mama had expressed a willingness to introduce the two young ladies into society during the coming two weeks without any indication she’d guessed he had a deeper interest in the Deverill family, Henry felt as transparent as glass. Mama’s manner toward him was still cool and a bit wary, and he knew he would be ineffective in any attempts he might make to dissuade her. He could only hope Miss Deverill could do better, though it was perhaps a faint hope. She seemed unable to dissemble, and he knew from personal experience she had no difficulty offering her opinions, most of which flew directly in the face of convention. She was also the most strong-willed and independent woman he’d ever come across, qualities that did not seem conducive to her purpose here. What would result from all this, he could not begin to imagine, and not for the first time he wondered why he could never seem to achieve the well-ordered life he longed for.

He had little time for that sort of wishful thinking, however, for at that moment, his mother entered the room on Jamie’s arm. She made straight for them, but though her countenance was restored to the warm and affectionate one he was used to, Henry feared this display of friendliness was not for his benefit.

“Mama,” he greeted her and beckoned to his guests, who were standing nearby. “Miss Irene Deverill, Miss Clara Deverill, may I present my mother, the Duchess of Torquil, and my brother-in-law, Lord James St. Clair.”

“Duchess,” the Miss Deverills murmured together as they curtsied. “Lord James.”

Jamie bowed, offered to bring sherry for the ladies, and moved away toward the liquor cabinet as Mama turned to their guests.

“I am delighted to meet you both,” she said, “but especially you, Miss Deverill. I so enjoy reading your newspaper.”

That, Henry was relieved to note, softened Miss Deverill’s defensive stance at once. “Thank you, Duchess. You are very kind to say so.”

“I say it because it’s true. I particularly enjoy reading Lady Truelove’s column. It is the high point of my afternoon, much to my eldest son’s disapproval. I do believe he would be more comfortable if the ladies of his house limited their reading to the Court Circular.”

Henry stirred. “Really, Mama—”

“Torquil hates being teased, Miss Deverill.” She cut him off with an airy wave in his direction. “But I do it anyway, for his own good. Without a bit of teasing now and again to bring him down a peg, he can become somewhat autocratic.”

“I quite agree, but—” Miss Deverill broke off to cast a considering glance in his direction. “I fear you have not been teasing him enough, Duchess.”

This pert reply earned her a delighted laugh from his mother. “You may be right, my dear, and I suspect you could be of great assistance in that regard, if you chose. Now, Miss Clara,” she went on before Henry could remind them that he was actually in the room and there was no need to talk about him as if he weren’t, “I do hope you will be comfortable with us during your stay and enjoy yourself. Have you any fixed engagements?”

The girl, who had impressed Henry upon his visits to the newspaper’s office as being somewhat tongue-tied, now seemed wholly mute, for though she opened her mouth to reply, no sound came out.

Her elder sister moved as if to come to her aid, but Mama, an excellent hostess, preempted her. “Ah, I see that my son-in-law has been waylaid by Sarah on his way to the sherry. Miss Clara, you and I shall have to remind him of his responsibilities as a gentleman. Come, my dear. Lord James, as you may know, is the second son of the Marquess of Rolleston, whose grandfather . . .”

Her voice faded as she moved out of earshot, Miss Clara in tow, and though Miss Deverill started to follow them, Henry stopped her. “Let them go,” he advised. “If your sister is to move in society,” he added as she seemed inclined to protest, “you can’t be forever dogging her heels, even if it proves to be for only two weeks.”

Some of her earlier resentment returned to her countenance. “If I feel impelled to watch over her in this particular company, could you blame me for it, given what I heard a short time ago?”

“No,” he admitted. “Your sister did not hear it, too, I trust?”

“Thankfully, no. To her, this visit is the most exciting, glorious, terrifying thing that’s happened in years, and if she had heard what I heard, it would have devastated her.”

“You need not worry on that score, for once I have spoken with the members of my family on the subject, any talk such as you heard will not occur again in this house, I promise you. Until then,” he added as she took another glance past him, “my mother will watch over your sister. You need not worry.”

She nodded, seeming satisfied. “The duchess is very kind, but then, I had already guessed that she would be. In appearance, though, she’s not at all what I imagined.”

“I suppose that’s to be expected. When you have a preconceived idea of what someone looks like, the reality rarely matches it. I, for instance, imagined Lady Truelove as stout, red-haired, and swathed in jet beads.” He slid his gaze down, a move that reminded him again just how wrong his imagined picture of her had been. The sight of Miss Deverill in an evening frock was a fetching one indeed, and fired his imagination even more strongly than her suffragist shirtwaists and neckties had done. As his gaze slid over the creamy skin of her bosom and caught on the shadowy cleft in the deep V of her neckline, his fancy of her in sheer chiffon flashed across his mind more vividly than ever. His body responded at once, desire flickering up inside him and underscoring the fact that when it came to Irene Deverill, control might be a difficult thing to maintain.

Henry forced his gaze back to her face. “I don’t think my imagined picture of you could have been more wrong.”

The words were innocuous enough, but he feared his voice may have betrayed a hint of what he was feeling, for her eyes widened a fraction. “But tell me,” he hastened on, desperate for a safer topic, “just what did you imagine my mother to look like?”

“Stout, red-haired, and swathed in jet beads.”

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