Page 10 of The Trouble with True Love

So much for treading with care. He grimaced and took another swallow of punch.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been in correspondence with her again?” Petunia made a sound of exasperation before he could decide how to reply. “His discovery of your communications with your mother—and the fact that you were giving her money—are the entire reason he cut off your income in the first place. It is fortunate for you that I have been able to replace it.”

“Very fortunate,” he agreed. “You’re a brick, Auntie Pet.”

“Why? For spiking your father’s guns, or for providing you a source of funds to spend on a bachelor’s shallow pursuits?”

He grinned at her. “That’s a no-win question if ever I heard one. I think I’ll refrain from answering.”

“Unlike your father, I recognize that attempting to force your hand only makes you more determined. Still, if he finds out you have been writing to your mother again, I can’t think what he’ll do. Disinherit you completely, I expect.”

“He’s bitter enough for such a course, I grant you, but I did not write to Mama. And if she chooses to write to me, what would you suggest I do about it?”

“Inform Mr. Bainbridge. Give him her letters.”

“Tattle on my own mother to the family solicitor?”

“By communicating with you, she is in direct violation of the terms of the separation decree.”

“Bainbridge would tell Papa, who would then take away what little income Mama receives from the estate. I am her son, Auntie Pet. Her only son. It was very wrong of Papa to forbid her to see me or write to me.”

“She’s fortunate Leyland granted her an income at all!” Petunia’s voice held some heat, reminding him there was no reasoning with her on the subject of Mama. “She shamed him and the entire family with her wanton behavior. And,” Petunia added before Rex could remind her there had been grievous wrongs on both sides, “nothing’s changed since, from what I hear. Her affair with the Marquis of Auvignon is over, and since he’s not supporting her, money must be what she’s after, though why she’d apply to you escapes me. It’s not as if you can afford to give her any, for you spend every cent I’m giving you as it is—Gaiety Girls, drink, cards, and heaven-only-knows what.”

“Quite so,” he agreed, managing to utter the lie without a blush, even though he hadn’t had a woman or a round of cards in over a year. His reputation as a wild-living bachelor had been well-earned, but nowadays, it was nothing more than a convenient way to explain his perpetual lack of funds. If Auntie Pet found out where the money she gave him was truly going, the fat would be in the fire. “And yet, my irresponsible spending habits don’t seem to be as great a sin as Mama’s.”

“If you married,” she went on, ignoring his point completely, “all this frivolous living would stop, of course—”

“And no frivolity at all would be better?” The question was incisive, his voice razor-sharp as his restraint began to crack. “I look at Papa, and I am inclined to doubt it.”

She sighed, studying him with a sadness that cut him to the heart. “You are made of stronger stuff than your parents.”

To his mind, that wasn’t much of a testament to his character, but he hated quarreling with Auntie, so he decided to change the subject.

“You’ve chosen my first dance partner this evening, have you?” He paused, drawing a breath and bracing himself for whichever young lovely was about to be thrust upon him. “Am I entitled to know who she is?”

“I wish you to open the ball with Miss Clara Deverill.”

The name was unfamiliar, and he gave his aunt a teasing grin. “Ah, trying new tactics this season, I see.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’ve never met this Clara Deverill in my life, and I can only conclude that, having exhausted all possibilities amongst the young ladies of our own set, you are now attempting to cast your nets a little wider.”

“Miss Deverill is part of ‘our own set’, I’ll have you know. She is the granddaughter of Viscount Ellesmere. And she has other connections as well, for her sister married the Duke of Torquil earlier this year.”

Rex was not the least bit fooled by this mention of the girl’s connection to Torquil. “Ellesmere? Isn’t he the chap you almost married back in ’28, or whenever it was?”

“Heavens, dear, I’m not that old. It was 1835. More to the point, this is the girl’s first season, always a nerve-wracking time for a young lady. So, you see? This isn’t about you at all.”

He grinned. “Then it’s clearly about you doing Ellesmere a favor. Still carrying a torch for your childhood love, are you?”

“Don’t be absurd,” she remonstrated with a sniff. “Viscountess Ellesmere is alive and well, as you already know, and she asked my help in bringing her granddaughter out.”

“Why should a girl with such valuable connections need help—oh, God,” he added at once, dismayed as another possibility occurred to him. “She’s ghastly, isn’t she?”

“Miss Deverill is a nice, sweet girl.”

That description only reinforced his suspicions. “I knew I should have stayed away,” he muttered. “I knew it.”

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