Page 36 of The Truth About Love and Dukes

“It is not a matter of taking trouble, Miss Deverill,” Torquil said. “I assured your father that I would attempt to assist him in healing the breach with his father-in-law, and I am glad to do so. But if you think my direct assistance inappropriate, you need only say so.”

She might have done exactly that but for Clara, whose big brown eyes were pleading with her across the table. “I appreciate my father’s attempt to bring about a truce,” she said instead, “for that is probably best for all concerned. But if that truce means the viscount shall expect me to abandon my obligations to the readers and advertisers of my paper, I regret to say that I cannot accommodate him.”

“His granddaughter’s occupation may be a difficult thing for Ellesmere to accept,” the duchess put in, “but he is partly to blame for it. And if Ellesmere wants his granddaughter to give up her journalistic interests, all he has to do is help to bring his granddaughters into society.”

Irene wanted to say that she had no intention of giving up her paper, but she did not want to embarrass Clara, so she bit her tongue.

“I’m sure,” the duchess went on, “that once Torquil has made the viscount aware of his son-in-law’s sincere desire to hold out the olive branch, he’ll put things right. In the meantime, he can hardly object if Miss Deverill is unwilling to risk her family’s livelihood because his sensibilities are offended.”

“But what of society?” Sarah asked. “What will they make of it?”

“They’ll be shocked,” Carlotta said. “What else could they be?”

“Even if they are,” the duchess said, “it is the viscount’s intransigence which has forced Miss Deverill out into the world, given that her father is ill and unable to attend to business matters himself. Miss Deverill can hardly be condemned for carrying on in her father’s stead. I grow so weary of how unrealistic some in our set can be about the economic realities so many people face.” She paused, meeting her son’s gaze across the table. “How else but by work or by marriage is a man without inherited wealth to gain an income?”

Irene’s gaze slid to the man beside her, but he looked back at his mother impassively and did not answer.

“Oh, lovely,” muttered Lord David. “First, professions for women, then another family’s private squabbles, and now money. What delightful topics for dinner conversation.”

“Well, I don’t see why it matters anyway,” Angela said. “I think there should be a much wider variety of things for women to do. Well, why not?” she added as all her siblings groaned. “Gentlemen have so many more occupations and distractions available to them than women do.”

“Working for a living isn’t one of them, though,” Lord James replied. “Not in our set, not for either sex.”

“No, but, Jamie, surely you would agree that the gentlemen do have more activities available to them than we young ladies do. Paying calls and buying clothes and doing the season is all very well, but it can be so tedious, and sometimes, downright pointless. We can’t even vote.”

“Ugh,” groaned David.

“It would be lovely,” she went on, ignoring him, “to have something meaningful to do with one’s time.”

“Yes,” Lady David interjected with a tittering laugh, “because publishing a scandal sheet is so meaningful.”

Irene stilled, her hands tightening around her knife and fork, but when she looked at the woman across from her, she made sure there was a bright smile on her face. “Not nearly as meaningful as minute examinations of what people are wearing, though, I daresay.”

This time, the silence was not only awkward, but painful, and it seemed to go on forever as glances were exchanged around the table—some embarrassed, and some, like Clara’s, understandably bewildered.

As her sister stared at her, looking not only confused but also hurt, Irene’s conscience smote her, and any satisfaction she’d felt in standing up to Carlotta’s spite vanished.

“Well, of course,” Clara said after a moment, breaking the silence. “Fashion is a fascinating topic to all ladies.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Sarah jumped in at once. “Have you seen the new leg o’mutton sleeves? They’re enormous.”

With a relief that was palpable, the conversation shifted to a discussion of current fashion, with nearly everyone offering a comment, except Irene, who decided it might be best to pretend vast interest in her fish and say as little as possible.

Torquil seemed to share her disinterest in ladies’ sleeves. “Tell me, Miss Deverill,” he murmured after a moment, his voice low enough that only she could hear, “do you stir things up everywhere you go or merely within my family?”

“I—” She paused for a swallow of wine. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t you?” He paused, waiting, and after a moment, she forced herself to look at him.

“I suppose you think I ought to have held my tongue,” she said.

“I find it’s usually wiser to adopt that course. Carlotta is exasperating, and can often be malicious, but you don’t make things easier on yourself by needling her.”

“Odd, but I thought she was needling me.”

“She was, and as I promised you before dinner, I will put a stop to it the first moment I am able to speak with her alone. My concern at the moment is not her, but you. You shall be moving in high society, Miss Deverill, a place that does not always accept controversial opinions with good grace. That may be a failing of it, I don’t know, but for your part, I should advise caution. As for your intention to continue your duties with your newspaper during the coming fortnight, there is no point in discussing it now, but we shall have to come to some understanding about it before the evening is over.”

His tone left no doubt what he thought that understanding should be. “I don’t see that there is much to discuss.”

---