Page 19 of Married to the Icy Duke
Tommy. I ought to call him Tommy.
Jamming his hat on his head, Isaac strode out of the front door and into the mizzling summer rain outside.
The Ton’s Devils gathered in a vast old library, repurposed into a club. Membership was exclusive, and a pair of broad, grim-faced doormen ensured that nobody without a membership got past the heavy double doors.
The doormen flinched as Isaac strode by and did not even think of challenging his identity. There were twin murmurs of,good day, mi’lord,greetings which he did not bother to return.
Inside, there was a small square foyer, in which Isaac handed his damp coat and hat to the footman and moved into the building.
It was easy to see where the main part of the library had been. It was a cavernous square room, with bookshelves still rounding the walls. A mezzanine littered with pairs of soft armchairs and coffee tables ran around the room halfway up.
Men of all ages, creeds, and colors were to be found here—the Devils did not discriminate. To highlight this point, a short, slim man with close-cropped fair hair and rather feminine features came stepping by, heading for the door.
“Morning, Hatsworth,” Isaac greeted idly. The gentleman might be Mr. Hatsworth in London, but it was rumored that once she had been Miss Henrietta Hatsworth, a young lady in some quiet little country town. But that mattered little, not amongst the Devils. Amongst the Devils, it did not matter what onehad been, only what onewas.
Isaac paused, scanning the mezzanine for a familiar face. He brightened at the sight of the man he was looking for, and set off up the stairs at a run. A man sat with his back to the stairs, resplendent in a deep blue velvet suit.Notvery Devil-like. He twisted around as Isaac approached and grinned.
“Tristan. There you are.” Isaac said, sitting down in the seat opposite. He noticed with relief that his friend had already seen fit to order two brandies and reached for one.
“Ah, ah,” Tristan scolded. “The second brandy is for me, also. I had a late night, and I require a little extra energy today.”
Isaac rolled his eyes and snatched up the brandy anyway.
Tristan was a rather curious figure for a duke, or so people said. He was almost as tall as Isaac, with a headful of rich auburn hair, and favored bright colors of dress. Gaudy, some had said, but never to Tristan’s face. It was well known that offending himwas not wise. Not with his extensive network of eyes-and-ears all over London. No, all overEngland, and probably extending far beyond.
Tristan sighed, picking up his own brandy, and eyed Isaac thoughtfully over the rim. He had strange eyes, a clear, light amber color which appeared almost red in certain lights. He was a fairly handsome man, it was said, but there was something about his looks and demeanor that seemed to drive away hopeful young ladies and their determined mammas. As far as Isaac knew, Tristan was entirely happy with this.
“I heard a rumor that there was something of a scene at your party,” Tristan said coolly. “Involving a Harding, no less.”
Isaac sniffed. “Lady Charlotte Harding, yes. Thomas—Tommy–had escaped the nursery.”
“Again?”
“Again. He found his way downstairs and naturally became terrified at the crowd. We could not find him, but it seems that Lady Charlotte stumbled upon him. She was playing with him underneath a table when we discovered them.”
“At least he wasn’t hurt,” Tristan remarked, his odd amber-red eyes fixed on Isaac. “I assume there is more to the story. More than I read about in the scandal sheets, at least.”
Isaac clenched his jaw, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He found himself angry at the very thought of those ridiculous lies. Why should Lady Charlotte be maligned simply because she was kind enough to console a frightened child? Well, at any rate, those lies would stop at once after they were married. Nobody would dare write about her then.
“Thomas would rather be called Tommy, it seems,” Isaac said abruptly.
Any other man might have queried the abrupt subject change, but not Tristan. He narrowed his eyes, tilting his head.
“Oh? And how do we know this?”
“When Lady Charlotte asked his name, he told her that he was called Tommy.”
Tristan’s eyes widened. “Hetoldher?”
Isaac nodded grimly. “Yes, that’s right. He spoke to her. She had no clue that anything was remarkable about that. Of course, nobody outside my inner circle knows about Tommy’s silence, so she is unlikely to have heard it elsewhere. Hespoketo her, Tristan.”
“Why her? Haven’t you presented him to all sorts of young ladies in the hopes of getting him to speak?”
“That I have,” Isaac sighed. “I have consulted so many doctors, they all seem to blend into one. Nobody could get a word out of him. For most of them, he wouldn’t even nod or shake his head. He would not interact with them at all.”
And yet with Lady Charlotte … Isaac clenched his jaw, staring down into his empty brandy glass. When had he drunk it all? Oh, it didn’t matter.
“For the first time in the longest time,” Isaac murmured, “I felt as though progress was within my reach. That I might not entirely fail my brother. That I might not failTommy.”
