Page 27 of Anything But a Duke
“Any sort of acquaintance with a nobleman will, in the normal course, lead to familiarity with other noblemen. Invitations come your way, I’m sure.”
“They do indeed.” Huntley was forever entertaining, and Nick and his wife, Mina, had begun to host dinners in their new Belgrave Square home in an attempt to establish their place in London society.
“There’s something that matters more in aristocratic circles than a man’s wealth or title or bloodline.” Her brow folded in a worried frown, as if she was about to convey news he would not wish to hear. “Reputation, Mr. Iverson, is the most precious commodity.”
“I’ve engaged in no scandals, Mrs. Trellaway.” He’d spent years avoiding bad business deals and building trust with other men of commerce in London.
“You have not, but I’m afraid the Duke of Tremayne is considered a newcomer to thetonand the marquess is... perhaps too well-known.”
“I do have other aristocratic acquaintances. Members of Lyon’s and a few gentlemen at the Royal Society.” He knew them well enough to exchange a civil greeting, but no better, and he suspected Mrs. Trellaway sensed he was grasping for unlikely possibilities.
“We may need to call on them, Mr. Iverson, but let me first determine when Lady Bridget will be in town. Her family resides mostly on an estate in Ireland and only comes to London for the Season.”
“Whatever it takes.”
“I shall make inquiries and report back to you by the end of the week.”
“Very good.” He could almost taste the end of small talk with marriage-eager debutantes, only to discover that their fathers were as noble as he was. When the matchmaker scooted forward in her chair, Aidan scooted back in his chair, eager to see her out.
She gathered her notes carefully and then let out an unexpectedah. “There is one last bit of information I require, Mr. Iverson.”
“Which is?”
“Your people. The Duke of Ainswyck is as scrupulous about lineage as you are, sir.”
“I came to you because I have no noble pedigree to boast.”
The lady matchmaker bristled and sat up straighter in her chair. “Most of my clientsdoboast such a pedigree, sir.” She flicked the papers at the edge of her folio and stared at the top of his desk as if pondering what to say. “Ainswyck’s estate is nearly bankrupted. That much is true. But I fear even that inducement would not allow him to bind his daughter to a man whose history remains shrouded in mystery.”
Aidan scrubbed at his jaw and squeezed his hand around the knot of tension at the back of his neck. “Tell him they were respectable. Tell him they’re dead. Remind the duke of all that I can offer Lady Bridget.” Aidan turned his gaze from the woman and worked to stem a flare of irritation. Anger lay just below the surface, reminding him too much of the impulsive young man he no longer wished to be.
“I’m not at all certain I can convince the duke, Mr. Iverson.” Her tone was cool, her voice dubious.
“Cost is irrelevant. Offer Ainswyck whatever he wants as an engagement gift.” Aidan squared his gaze on the woman. “Only to be delivered when the banns are read.” He wasn’t fool enough to make a bad deal, even with a matter of such consequence.
“Your wealth is not in doubt, Mr. Iverson. But your parentage will be if I can give no answer to the Duke of Ainswyck when he asks. And I promise you he will.”
“Stall him. Or make something up.” Aidan stood and pushed back his chair. It was either that or tip his entire desk over in one shove.
He turned to gaze out the window, focusing on the pale ribbon of gold still lighting the dusky sky. But out of the corner of his eye, he could sense Mrs. Trellaway’s unease.
“I do not think I can assist you.” The matchmaker scooted forward on her seat. “If you can provide no information that I may take to the duke, then I fear any match with Lady Bridget, or any duke’s daughter, will be impossible.”
When she stood, a crinkling noise sounded in the office before she stepped forward and placed the check he’d given her on his desk.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Iverson.”
Aidan didn’t look at her or offer any parting words. For the moment, gentlemanly civility escaped him.
When the matchmaker departed, Aidan settled back on the edge of his desk. Shivers racked his body, though warmth still emanated from the grate in the corner of his office.
Like poking at an open wound, he couldn’t stop from reaching inside a carved box he kept on his desktop and pulling out the faded scrap of paper inside.Sarah. The name was simply formed, a child’s hand. And the drawing was more primitive still, a few lines meant to represent a smiling face. One tiny stick arm raised in the semblance of a wave.
He had no photograph of his sister. Just this ragged single memento and a hoard of regrets heavy enough to crush the air from his lungs.
Pushing off his desk to stand, his hand snagged on a piece of the morning post his clerk had left for him to review.
His pulse started a wild tattoo when he saw the feminine hand and the sender’s name.
