Page 67 of Nothing Compares to the Duke
“Her name is Mrs. Belinda Turner. I don’t think she intended any wrongdoing, and I think perhaps you should help her if you can.”
Rhys understood the minute he stepped into the drawing room who the woman was and why his father had purchased the property in Gordon Square. A brooding portrait of the duke dominated the wall above the mantel and the petite blonde perching on an overstuffed chintz chair told the story.
“I take it you never knew about me, Your Grace?” she asked.
“No, Mrs. Turner.” Rhys had never known about her specifically, but he knew his father kept mistresses. Even, unfortunately, while his mother was alive.
“Then I take it he left me nothing. He truly never spoke of me?” Sadness seemed to weigh her down.
Rhys shook his head. “My father and I rarely spoke in recent years.”
Bella cleared her throat and gave him one of her raised-brow stares. A look that had always felt equal parts encouragement and challenge.
“I can provide you with some funds in the short term.” His voice sounded more clipped and angry than he intended. He didn’t know if Mrs. Turner had entered his father’s life after his mother had died. Based on how recently the property was purchased, he suspected she had.
His real frustration wasn’t with her, or even his father. All the disgust he felt was directed inward.
He’d kept a mistress and had his share of lovers set up in much the manner his father had treated this woman. Marriage had never crossed his mind. He’d never given much consideration to what would happen to the women when he tired of their company. And he always did.
“Do I get to keep the house?” There was a quaver in her voice, but her gaze was pure steel.
“For now.” He didn’t have the heart to ask the woman to decamp. She considered the town house her home and for the time being he would let it remain so.
“Until when?”
“I don’t know.” Meeting his father’s mistress was like holding up a mirror on all his own offenses over the last five years. He didn’t have answers. He couldn’t fathom how to fix it. All he truly wanted to do was escape.
“You have enough for now?” Bella asked.
“My current funds will sustain me for the next several months.” Mrs. Turner’s gaze darted warily toward Rhys.
“I’ll see to sending you more,” Rhys told her. He wanted to help the woman as Bella has advised him to do, but he also wanted to be done with all of it.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” When the lady nodded, Rhys offered her a slight bow.
“We bid you good day, Mrs. Turner.”
“Wait.” Bella reached for his sleeve as he stalked past her. “There’s something I didn’t ask her yet.”
“What is it, Miss Prescott?” The lady rose from her chair and pulled her wrap tighter around her shoulders.
“Are you acquainted with a Mr. Radley?”
Leave it to Bella to have the good sense he forever seemed to lack.
“Yes, of course, though only through correspondence. He’s the one who arranged for the purchase of the house and the funds the duke used to send to me.”
“And when was the last time you corresponded with him?” Rhys asked. The man was proving damnably elusive.
A pained looked crossed her face before Mrs.Turner said quietly, “A few weeks before your father’s passing.”
Rhys swallowed down the guilt that welled up like bile in his throat. The woman’s grief was sincere. He wasn’t certain he could say the same about his feelings regarding his father’s passing.
“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Turner. We bid you good day.” Bella shocked him by slipping her arm through his and leading him toward the front door.
When they were out on the pavement, he loosened himself from her hold and strode across the square toward the green.
He drew in gulps of autumn air and told himself to stop acting like a fool.
