Page 53 of Anything But a Duke
When she looked up to await his answer, she saw a battle raging behind his eyes. Despite the coolness of his manner, there was something else in his gaze. Longing. Pain. A look of unease that made her throat ache to offer words of comfort.
“Tell me she doesn’t like the opera, and I’ll be there at nine-thirty.”
Diana smiled. “Read your notes, Mr. Iverson. She likes zoology, art, and taking the waters at Bath.”
“Excellent. Tomorrow, Miss Ashby.” He shocked her by reaching for her hand, his ungloved skin warm against hers. He lifted her fingers to his lips as he had the night they’d met. Diana could say nothing. Her heart was in her throat, but she stepped beyond the threshold of his office and then glanced over her shoulder. One nod was all he offered. He looked like a man going to the gallows, aware of his fate, willing to face it, but dreading every moment.
In the outer office, a steel-haired woman stood and turned a dismissive glance on Diana as Coggins led her to Aidan’s door.
As she stepped inside, she heard the woman say, “I’ve come about your mother, sir, just as you requested.”
Coggins pulled the door shut, and Diana’s mind flooded with questions. Who was this woman who brought news of Iverson’s family? Was he estranged from them?
“Mr. Coggins, would you answer a question for me?”
The young man gave her a wary expression. “If I’m able, Miss Ashby.”
“Do you know that woman?”
“Not at all. Her arrival and insistence on seeing Mr. Iverson was entirely unexpected. Forgive me for interrupting your time with him, miss.” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t know he was musical.”
“Nor I.” Diana had enjoyed herself. Perhaps too much. But she wouldn’t apologize for how much she liked seeing a new side of Aidan Iverson.
The young man turned his attention back to his work, assuming he’d been dismissed. But Diana decided to try her luck again.
“I have a harder question for you, Mr. Coggins.”
The clerk blanched and seemed to steel himself. “As you wish, Miss Ashby.”
“What do you know of Mr. Iverson’s past?”
“That one’s rather easy.” He looked pleased. “I know nothing at all. I’m afraid you’ll have to inquire of him if you wish for those answers.”
“Oh, I intend to, Mr. Coggins.”
Chapter Sixteen
Lambeth was as grim as Aidan recalled from his youth. Soot hung in the air and infused every breath with a metallic tang. There were more chimneys now, hundreds of blackened spires choking dark smoke into the air. There were no grassy squares, just brick buildings clustered together and a thick parade of people and carts shuffling between them.
After escaping the workhouse, he’d stayed in Lambeth for several years, working first as a chimney sweep and sometimes a mudlark, retrieving anything of value he could dig up from the muddy shore of the Thames. He’d spent his days covered in grime and his nights shivering against cold cobblestones when he couldn’t find a cheap doss house.
The memories were so grim that he could hardly bear to recall them. When he did, he looked back as if on someone else. A pathetic waif. He sometimes wondered if that boy deserved the riches he had now.
Everett Street was one he’d traversed often, and it was eerie to know that he’d done so dozens of times with no knowledge that he’d been born within the grimy brick walls of a lodging house in the center of the street.
Aidan rolled his shoulders and squeezed at the knot of tension at the back of his neck before knocking on the front door. He told himself to temper his hopes. If the Mary Iverson who’d resided at this lodging house was his mother, she’d done so more than three decades past. There was no reason to believe she might still be alive, or anyone who would remember her and why she’d abandoned her children.
It was several minutes before an old, sickly-looking man leaning heavily on a cane opened the door. He scanned Aidan from head to toe, bending forward to inspect his clothes and boots.
“Hello, sir,” the man finally said. “I take it you’re not after lodgings. Who are you here to see?”
“Mr. Callihan. Would that be you, sir?”
“Aye, that I am.”
“Then I’m here to speak with you. May I come in?”
The old man hesitated, his hand braced against the door frame protectively, but finally relented. “There’s the front parlor if you wish to step inside.”
