Page 38 of The Truth About Love and Dukes

Carlotta was smiling as she looked at her brother-in-law, rather like a cat who’d got into the cream, and who could blame her? Irene braced herself for the duke’s inevitable disapproval.

“Whatever Miss Deverill’s obligations may be, scheduling them is hardly within my purview,” he said, and Irene was so astonished she nearly fell out of her chair. “Either way,” he went on, meeting his sister-in-law’s gaze across the table with a hard look Irene was coming to know well, “since you spend most of your time prior to luncheon in bed, Carlotta, I cannot see that it is any of your concern.”

Those words were like a door slamming shut. Carlotta, suitably chastened, returned her attention to her meal, and Irene, still a bit stunned by this unexpected show of support, leaned closer to her host.

“In cases such as this,” she murmured, “I thought it was best to hold one’s tongue?”

“There are limits, Miss Deverill,” he replied, his voice equally low. “Even for me.”

She made a face. “If anyone tests your limits, it’s probably me.”

“Yes,” he acknowledged and looked away, reaching for his wine. “In ways you cannot possibly imagine.”

Chapter 9

When dinner was over, the men remained in the dining room for port, the ladies went through to the drawing room for coffee, and the duchess gave Irene her first chance to begin the task that had been forced upon her.

Settling on one of the ivory brocade settees, the duchess smiled at Irene and patted the seat cushion beside her. “My dear Miss Deverill, do bring your coffee and sit down by me.”

Irene complied, but as she did, it struck her again just how difficult her undertaking was going to be. Ever since the duke had maneuvered her into this situation, Irene had been racking her brains to determine how best to save her beloved newspaper without compromising her own principles and beliefs, and also without spoiling another woman’s happiness.

She had developed a sincere liking for the duchess during their brief correspondence, and now that she had met her, Irene liked her even more. There was a warmth and genuine friendliness in her that one couldn’t help responding to. In addition, their meeting had reinforced Irene’s opinion of her as a woman of intelligence and sophistication, who was well able to make her own decision about who to wed and how to deal with the aftermath.

So how on earth, Irene wondered, was she supposed to change the other woman’s mind? And was it even ethical to attempt it?

The duchess spoke again before Irene could begin to contemplate a course of action. “I am so glad you and your sister have come to us. As I said earlier, your Lady Truelove column is one of the high points of my day.”

Beside Irene, Lady Angela wriggled as if uncomfortable with this topic.

Her mother noticed at once. “Angela, my dear, I do believe we need some music. Will you play for us? You play so beautifully.”

“Oh, but I—” The girl stopped, seeming to realize that her mother was not really making a request. “Of course, Mama.”

She rose and walked to the piano where her sister and sister-in-law were leaning over various sheets of music, leaving Irene and the duchess alone on the settee. The older woman watched her daughter go, smiling a little. “She’s a darling girl, Angela.”

Irene remembered how she’d overheard the other girl defending her and her sister before dinner, and was happy to agree. “She seems lovely.”

“She is. Inside, as well as out. I do hope—” The older woman broke off, her smile vanishing, a thoughtful frown taking its place. “She is worried about her future now, in light of recent events. They all are.” The duchess turned to look at Irene, giving her a considering look. “You know, I’m sure, why that is so?”

There was no point in pretending otherwise. “I believe everyone knows your situation, Duchess. I, of course—”

She broke off, feeling as if she was groping in the dark, but after taking a moment to consider, she felt it best to be as frank and aboveboard as possible. “I have a confession to make, Duchess. Lady Truelove has . . . ahem . . . shared your correspondence with me. Lady Truelove shares all her letters with me so that I might best perform my role as editor. In telling you this, I hope you do not feel she has broken your confidence?”

“If I wanted my situation kept a secret, Miss Deverill, I should hardly have written to a newspaper columnist, even one who pledges to keep my confidence.”

“Why did you do it? Sorry,” she added at once. “I don’t mean to pry, but I confess, I am curious. Most of the people who write to Lady Truelove are not likely to be identified by the reading public. Even their nearest and dearest don’t usually recognize who they are. You are different. Your name has been connected with Mr. Foscarelli for some time. You must have known that upon reading your letter and the details you provided, many people would know that the ‘Lady of Society’ is you.”

“Just so. But my reason for writing to Lady Truelove was the same as that of most people, I imagine. I was in great distress of mind, and I did not feel there was anyone in whom I could confide, at least not anyone who would listen without judging, and who could offer unbiased advice.”

“No close friend, or relation?”

“The life of the aristocracy, Miss Deverill, can often be superficial, and isolating, despite the fact that we are always surrounded by others. My family, understandably, wanted to stick their heads in the sand and pretend their mother did not have a young Italian lover! Discussing it with any of them would have been distressing for them and embarrassing for all of us. As for my friends, I was fully aware of what they would say had I asked their opinion: don’t be a fool, Harriet. Have your fling, if you must, but be discreet.”

“I see.”

“In considering marriage to Antonio, I have been fully aware of what impact it would have on my life and the lives of my children. On the other hand, I have come to realize that to continue with him at all, marriage is the only possible course.” She smiled a little. “I have always considered myself a woman of the world, Miss Deverill, but I find that an illicit love affair, however exciting, is not really my cup of tea.”

Irene smiled back at her. “My question was not as much why you wrote to Lady Truelove for advice, but why you agreed to have your letter published. Lady Truelove gives all her correspondents the ability to refuse publication. She would have advised you to the best of her ability either way.”

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