Page 41 of The Truth About Love and Dukes

“You shall be moving in society, Miss Deverill, a place most unforgiving of professions, particularly for women. Carlotta might have been wrong to underscore the fact at the dinner table, but nonetheless, her concern was valid. Ellesmere will not look upon your continuing to work with favor, nor will all the other people who have been subjects of the gossip printed in your paper.”

“As you said, your lot should be used to being talked about.”

“But they don’t like it, especially not in print, and certainly not by someone who is expecting them to welcome her into their circle.”

“I don’t care if I am ever welcomed into your circle.”

“But your sister does, and what you do reflects upon her.”

Irene pressed her lips together, refusing to be manipulated by guilt. “I cannot help that. And my sister understands the publishing business well. She understands the demands the newspaper makes upon my time, and that no one can run it for me as well as I can run it myself, particularly now, since we recently lost our most important source of advertising revenue. She also knows that I cannot and will not risk our livelihood for the sake of others’ sensibilities, especially when I have received no indication of support from my grandfather. I would be happy to see him do something for Clara—a dowry, perhaps—but either way, if I am successful in what you have demanded of me, both my sister and I will be returning to Belford Row, where I shall continue to run my newspaper to the best of my ability, for I have no intention of depending upon Ellesmere for our support.”

“He is your grandfather, and though it might sting to accept help from him, but—”

“Sting? He disowned my mother, disinherited her, refused her a dowry, and never spoke another word to her again for the remainder of her life.”

“An action he might have come to deeply regret by now.”

“I don’t care if he has. Do you think I would ever, ever, allow that man to support me or my family?”

“Your pride is considerable, I understand that, and your desire to do right by your loved ones is commendable. I am not asking you to give up your paper, Miss Deverill. If you did, you would have no reason to help me. But I hardly think your paper or your family are put in jeopardy if you hand over its day-to-day operations to someone else for the coming two weeks.”

“To what end?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” But his gaze slid away from hers to pretend a sudden interest in the titles lining the nearest bookshelf, belying his words.

“You know what I mean. It is you, Duke, who has put me in the position of watching my beloved sister stare longingly at the glittering life you dangle in front of her, a life she is unlikely to ever have.”

“She could have this sort of life, if she wanted it, with the proper connections and her grandfather’s support.”

“Oh, could she?” Irene folded her arms. “Even though her sister runs a scandal sheet?”

His lips pressed tight together, confirming that she had a valid point. “Even then, it might be possible, if you were to do as I suggest and be discreet about its ownership.”

“So I should hire people to run the paper for me, pocket the profits—discreetly, of course!—and pretend for the world I’ve nothing to do with it? I should brush my occupation under the rug, relax, and just enjoy the entertainments your connections and those of my grandfather shall provide for me? Is that what you mean?”

He met her gaze again with a level one of his own. “Yes, I suppose that is what I do mean.”

She shook her head in refusal before he was even finished speaking. “Never. I created Society Snippets. It’s my brainchild, my work, my lifeblood. It’s as much a part of me as your estates are to you.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”

With that question, any softening toward him she had felt over dinner crumbled to bits. Her temper—a thing she had never even known she possessed until she’d met this man—began flaring up. “Why?” she demanded hotly. “Because I’m a woman?”

“No—that is, not entirely. The suffragist cause aside, Miss Deverill, it cannot be disputed that my estates are a far greater responsibility that a sixteen-page newspaper.”

“Bigger, perhaps, but not greater. Not more important. I have no doubt,” she added before he could reply, “that you will now demonstrate the same disdain for my paper that your sister-in-law displayed at dinner and, like her, deem my creation less than meaningful.”

“If I did, could I be blamed for it?” he countered, sudden anger in his voice that matched her own. “Am I not entitled to some degree of disdain for a publication that prints gossip and innuendo about my family and friends and calls it news? Am I unfair for asking that you not flaunt that paper or the fact that you support it with your own labor in my house? Especially at dinner with my family—a family, which you well know is right now being profoundly impacted by what has been written in its pages?”

“I am not flaunting anything,” she said fiercely. “Your mother was making plans for my sister and me, making it necessary for me to inform her of which plans for me would not be possible. As for my paper, I refuse to feel either guilt or shame for creating something that saved my family from destitution and provides us with our living. Furthermore,” she added before he could get a word in, “I love my work. Nothing in this world gives more pleasure or satisfaction than producing my newspaper and carrying on the publishing business that has been my family’s lifeblood for fifty years. I am proud—yes, proud—of what I do and of what I created, and I know my other grandfather, the one who actually cared about me and my welfare, would be proud of me, too. I will not hide what I do and what I have accomplished as if I am ashamed of it in order to ingratiate myself with a relation who has never displayed the slightest regard for me. I will not even do it to elevate my beloved sister to a higher station in life. And I certainly will not do it because you demand it of me.”

She stopped, breathing hard. The soft, lovely notes of a sonata floated through the room as she and Torquil stared at each other, the anger between them rolling like thunder. When the music stopped, neither of them moved or spoke.

“Well done, Angela,” Sarah said over the smattering of applause. “Do let me play. I want to do this duet with Torquil. Where is he, anyway? Torquil?”

The duke glanced toward the door and back to her, then he stepped back and gave her a bow, and when he straightened, there was no hint of anger, or anything else, in his face. It was as if she had just seen a slate wiped clean. “Miss Deverill,” he said so politely that no one would imagine a single angry word had passed between them. “If you will forgive me?”

He turned and walked away, leaving Irene alone with her anger, which was probably all for the best. If he’d stayed, she might have hurled a book at him.

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