Page 14 of Loving a Dowager
They stopped in front of the dilapidated building, and Lord Otterman lifted his head, blinked, then let his head fall back into his hands. “Nick off, Weathersbee. Leave me be.”
Walter ignored the man’s request. “Good gracious, Otterman, what are you doing loitering out here?”
Lord Otterman shook his head not bothering to look up. “I’m warning you, Weathersbee, dancing with Lady Henrietta is a dangerous affair.” He glanced up, revealing bloodshot eyes. “You don’t want to attract the attention of her son.”
“We are not here to discuss the Hadfields,” Walter replied.
“Ah, but it is the Hadfields, that meddling Lady Henrietta, who have brought you here. Now, my failure will be revealed to all and sundry.”
Walter crouched down in front of Otterman but recoiled at the smell of gin and ale. “Otterman, focus and answer me—what are you doing here?” Walter motioned to the house in front of him.
“I’m waiting.” Lord Otterman swayed a little to his left.
Nicholas stepped forward and braced the man by the shoulder. “Lord Otterman, we don’t have all eve and I’m running out of patience. What are you waiting for?”
Turning to look over his shoulder at the door behind him, Lord Otterman said, “She won’t answer my letters. She claims I’ll be happier without her.” Hands clenched at his knees, Otterman continued, “I’m denied the right to see my own damn son. Heir to a destitute and damaged title, but a title nonetheless.”
Nicholas hunkered down next to Otterman. “Who isshe?”
Otterman’s gaze flickered between Walter and his nephew. “The woman who stole my heart—Lady Irene Torsney.”
Walter rose and took a step back to carefully assess the small hovel in front of them. Lady Irene Torsney. Certainly, this could not be her abode. Details of last season’s scandal came to mind. Lady Irene had been disowned by her papa after she was found to be with child and refused to disclose the name of the scoundrel who had taken her innocence. Her mama hired Bow Street runners to locate her after she went missing. The last reported sighting of the girl was on a mail coach headed for Dover. A flicker of light peeked through the wood slats. There was only one way to find out how she came to be living in the slums of Seven Dials. Walter walked up the steps and reached over Otterman’s hunched form. He raised and lowered the brass knocker to rap on the front door three times before leaning back to peer at the window once more. The curtains fluttered and then the door squeaked open.
An exhausted-looking Lady Irene peeked her head out. “Lord Weathersbee. Lord Darlington. I beg you to take your leave.”
Walter stepped around Otterman. “Lady Irene, a moment of your time.” Before she could close the door, Walter jammed his foot between the door and the frame. “Please.”
Boots shuffled behind him. A quick glance behind revealed Otterman breathing down Walter’s neck. Lady Irene’s dark, shadowed eyes flashed over his shoulder to the man. There was a glimmer of emotion in the woman’s gaze Walter couldn’t define. Disgust. Desire. Pity. Mayhap a mixture of all three.
She swung the door open. “Very well, but only the two of you may enter.”
Walter turned. “Otterman, respect the lady’s wishes.”
Lady Irene sank into a graceful curtsy as he passed her in the entrance. Her circumstances had certainly changed, but the disowned woman exuded the confidence of a well-bred woman that knew her own mind, much like Henrietta. Only Henrietta had been embraced and protected by the Hadfields, while Lady Irene was left to live in squalor.
Nicholas slid past Otterman and ducked his head as he entered. “My thanks for allowing us an audience.”
Both Walter and Nicholas ignored the guttural growl Otterman emitted as the door closed in his face.
Securing the three deadbolts in place, Lady Irene patted the door and spoke through the keyhole. “Charlie, go away!”
“I’m not leaving until they do,” Otterman hollered back through the door.
“Grrr.” Lady Irene pushed away from the door and led them into a back room.
Walter followed Lady Irene, interested to see what the woman would do next. If she was anything like Henrietta, she would peek through the window to check on Otterman. When she did exactly that, Walter’s fate was decided—he was going to assist this woman as best he could.
The house was small, dimly lit, and sparsely furnished. But it was clean. A crib was positioned in front of the fire that illuminated the room. Lady Irene was garbed in a well-worn day dress protected by an apron. She marched to the fireplace and stoked the dying embers.
Nicholas, quick to assist, said, “Allow me.” He took the poker from her hand, crouched, and busied himself rearranging the logs.
Lady Irene peeked into the crib. She reached in and hauled the baby, wrapped in a thick blanket, to her chest. She rocked from side to side and murmured, “Charlie was left penniless. He needs to marry a lady with a fortune. It is why I didn’t tell anyone.”
Walter needed to hear the truth and have his suspicions confirmed. “Is Lord Otterman the father?”
Head bowed, Lady Irene said, “Aye. I ran away before he found out.”
It made no logical sense. Running away placed her babe and herself at risk. Henrietta’s voice floated through his mind—She did it for love. “Do you love Lord Otterman?” Walter asked.
