Page 34 of The Truth About Love and Dukes

“As for the Mary Louisa, Miss Deverill,” Torquil went on, turning to Irene, “she’s small as yachts go—only 108 feet—but quite well-equipped. She has a full galley and dining room, a parlor, and four bedrooms. She even has”—he paused and took a sip of his wine—“a bath.”

“Then you miscounted, Duke,” she quipped. “You have eighteen bathrooms.”

“Goodness, Torquil,” Sarah said, laughing. “What inspired you and Miss Deverill to count up the number of baths we possess?”

“I wanted to know,” Irene said before the duke could reply. “And I was so impressed by the number that I deemed him a hedonist.”

The absurdity of that description was underscored by a merry round of laughter at the table, and then Angela spoke. “The number’s still wrong, though,” she pointed out. “It’s twenty baths, if you include both yachts.”

“You have two?” she echoed, and looked at the duke askance. “Two yachts, and you still say you are not a hedonist?”

He smiled as another round of laughter broke out around the table.

“Each ship has its own purposes,” he explained. “The Mary Louisa is, as I said, quite small, with a mast short enough to pass under all the London bridges. We use her mostly for sailing the Thames and the canals. The Endeavour is a much larger vessel, meant for the sea. And Angela is right about the number of baths, for the Endeavour has two.”

Irene reached for her wine, beginning to feel staggered by all this opulence. In creating a scandal sheet, she’d known instinctively that this glittering world appealed to a wide swath of people, and the publication’s success had proven her right, but she’d never shared the public’s fascination for aristocrats and their ton. She’d come here certain that nothing about these people, or their wealth, or their style of living could impress her, but in these elegant surroundings, Irene began to fear she wasn’t quite so high-minded as she’d thought herself. Two yachts, she had to admit, sounded like smashing good fun. As for the man beside her, she didn’t like him, not at all. He hadn’t given her much reason to do so. And yet—

She slid her gaze sideways and found to her astonishment that he was watching her, and though his countenance was as impassive as ever, there was something in his steady, unreadable gaze that impelled her to take another gulp of wine, and she decided one of the things about him she found most vexing was his ability to hide what he thought and felt so well. But maybe there was nothing to hide. Maybe he was every bit as cold as she’d first thought him, as emotionless as he always appeared.

Impelled to break the silence, Irene struggled to remember what they’d been talking about. “If you have two yachts, you must love sailing,” she said, a comment so inane, she instantly wanted to kick herself.

“We are a sailing family,” he agreed, and though his voice was as grave as ever, there was no need to guess that he was teasing her.

Irene made a face at him, but before she could pay him out for it with a suitable retort, another voice intervened.

“There are two kinds of families in society, Miss Deverill,” Carlotta said, obviously feeling the need to school her on such matters. “Hunting families and sailing families.”

“Well, we are most definitely in the latter category,” Angela said, laughing. “So, Torquil, can we take the Miss Deverills out on the Mary Louisa?”

“That depends,” he answered. “Our guests may not enjoy sailing.”

Angela looked from her brother to Irene. “Are you a good sailor, Miss Deverill?”

“I don’t know,” she answered. “I’ve never been on a boat, other than a punt on the Serpentine. Does that count?”

“Not if you ask my brother. He thinks if it doesn’t have a sail, it’s beneath his notice.”

“Not true,” the duke objected. “I sculled and rowed at Cambridge, you know. And I’ve punted you around the Serpentine a time or two, dear sister. But I confess, I do prefer ships with sails. Why do the work yourself when you can let the wind do it for you?”

“As if sailing isn’t work!” Angela cried. “If we do go sailing, Miss Deverill, my brother will put us all through our paces. The Mary Louisa has been in dry dock all season for repairs, and she was only put on the water a few days ago, which means there’s been no time to make her ready. If we take her out tomorrow, we shall all have to help get her underway—except Mama, of course. I doubt being our guest will save you. I expect Torquil will haul the pair of you into service the moment you step on the gangplank. He’ll probably thrust a rag and a tin of metal polish into your hand and tell you to get to it.”

“I shall do no such thing to guests of ours,” he answered. “You may rest easy, Miss Deverill, Miss Clara, for no work on your part shall be required. My saucy sister, however, is a different matter.”

“You see?” Angela said, making a face at him past Irene’s plate. “What did I tell you?”

“You talk as if there will be so much for you to do,” Lord James put in good-naturedly. “Torquil will only make you help until the ship’s underway, Angie. After that, he won’t demand anything from you or any of the ladies but to sit on the deck chairs, put up your parasols, and sip champagne cups. It’s the gentlemen who tack and jibe and take the wheel.”

“But what if the ladies want to tack and jibe, too?” Irene couldn’t help asking. She looked at Torquil. “What if we want to steer the ship? What then?”

She was challenging him, she knew, but if he intended to take up the gauntlet she’d thrown down, he was given no chance.

“A woman at the helm?” Carlotta said in lively astonishment. “How absurd. Torquil would never allow it.”

Irene turned from Torquil to his sister-in-law. “I don’t see why not.”

“No,” the other woman said, the pity in her smile unmistakable. “I should imagine you don’t.”

“I daresay Irene would like to sail,” Clara put in, her voice a bit higher than usual. “So would I. What’s it like?” She turned to the man beside her. “Lord David? What is so appealing about the sport that it makes yours a sailing family?”

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