Page 3 of Anything But a Duke
At the threshold, he paused. “You’ve made a dreadful mistake today. Perhaps you don’t know it yet, but you will when you’re old and alone.” After shooting her one last sneer, he slammed the parlor door on his way out.
Di sank onto the nearest chair, trembling, struggling to blot out his words. Part of her wanted to shout at the closed door that insults would not change her. Instead, she took a deep breath and savored the relief of having him gone.
His horrible curses echoed in her head, tangling with guilt about shirking her duty to her family. Then other thoughts swelled in, as they always did. Her mind never settled. Ideas, calculations, images of what she wished to build filled her mind.
At times like these, the whirring chaos of images and impulses was a comfort. A soothing distraction.
She could almost pretend she didn’t hear Egerton’s cruel words ringing in the back of her mind.
Spinster. Alone. Aberration.
The clock struck six. Diana stood and headed for the door. The young man’s condemnations might be true. Perhaps she was all those things. Maybe she would end her days alone.
But there was more. Deeper, she felt an ever-present hunger. An ambition that she knew most thought improper for a lady. Yet it was a compulsion she couldn’t deny. Her ideas were good and she longed to prove herself to those who would scoff at a woman inventor.
She heard movement upstairs and feared facing her mother. Later, there would be time for recriminations and explanations of why she’d turned down the first marriage offer she’d ever received.
Diana headed quickly for the door. Tonight’s lecture was an opportunity to meet other scientists and speak to them of her inventions or hear of theirs. She wouldn’t let Egerton’s cruel words stop her. She wouldn’t let anything stop her.
Aidan Iverson jumped down from the rented carriage and ducked his head as he strode into the torrent. Rain pelted his skin at a vicious slant, ice-cold drops soaking his hair and sneaking inside the collar of his coat.
His disdain for finery didn’t serve him well on nights like this. Beaver hats and kid leather gloves would have proven useful against the elements, but they weren’t his taste. A youth spent without luxuries meant such adornments never crossed his mind. Even now, when he owned shopping emporiums full.
Tonight he was willing to bear any discomfort.
After months of searching, he’d been given a tantalizing clue that had led him to Belgravia. With two former Bow Street Runners and one private inquiry agent on his payroll, he’d finally found an indication of where his mother had once lived. He hoped Lord Talmudge of 29 Belgrave Square might have more answers.
Mary Iverson’s history was as much a mystery to Aidan as his own. He wasn’t even sure she’d been called Mary, but the name lingered in his mind.
Every memory of the woman was blurred and indistinct. He recalled her as tall and thin, with hair redder than his own. But he couldn’t remember the sound of her voice or if she’d said anything the day she’d abandoned him and his infant sister at a workhouse in Lambeth.
Thinking of the place brought a flood of images. Flashes of memory clouded in smoke and tears. Bits and fragments. Nothing he could hold on to.
The name Iverson was the only legacy he possessed, and he wasn’t even certain if it was his mother’s surname or his father’s. But he’d made his name matter. After the workhouse, he’d scavenged to survive. And once he’d earned enough to gamble, he’d multiplied a pittance into a fortune.
The highest of London society knew his name, even if they didn’t accept him into their circles. His wealth and instinct for profitable investments had earned him infamy.
But he needed more.
He could earn himself a million pounds and there would still be a hole where his family should have been.
Rounding the corner, he stopped and squinted through the fog-dimmed glow of a streetlamp. Several men loitered on the pavement ahead, crowded under umbrellas, forming the end of a queue waiting to enter a town house.
Drawing closer, Aidan made out a few distinct voices. One he recognized. The low rumbling tone belonged to an earl who’d sought his advice regarding an investment opportunity.
Aidan slowed and lowered his head.
He had no wish to be seen or to spark speculation among fashionable society about his meeting with Talmudge. Turning around, he searched for a side lane and found one leading to the mews behind the row of elegant, whitewashed town houses.
Footsteps echoed at his back as he entered the dim alleyway. He glanced behind but could see nothing clearly in the rain-shrouded darkness. He continued on, counting houses until he came to Talmudge’s.
A fence lined the back garden. He reached to twist the latch, and the footsteps behind him hastened. Two men emerged from the shadows, one with an arm aimed toward Aidan’s chest. A hard point of metal slammed against his ribs.
Footpads armed with pistols were unexpected in Belgravia, but Aidan was no stranger to a brawl. He’d fought for his supper before, even fought for his life a time or two.
“No coin to be had, gentlemen.”
“We’ll see,” the large one barked.
