Page 28 of Cora
“Can we at least come inside? Poor little Titi is shivering,” the shorter woman asked. “Aren’t you, darling?” She scratched the animal’s head and craned her neck, trying to peer into the halls of the House of Virtue. Considering she lived down the street, this was a transparent attempt to get inside. God help every man in thetonif she got wind of what this place truly was.
Fortunately, the countess was careful to present the interior of her home as what it purported to be—at least from this vantage. Nary a salacious statue or rude painting to be found. No indication of its true nature whatsoever.
Starke was onto Miss Caldwell’s aims. “You may sit in the front parlor while Mr. Wentworth has a word with Mr. Bristow. The twins, Iris and Ivy, will bring tea momentarily, ” he said.
Neither woman budged. Belladonna wouldn’t be happy to have her prying around. Now that Gideon knew the depth of the ties between the countess and Wilder & Co., he wasn’t happy, either.
“Cora. Go home.”
“What did you mean by clients?” Miss Caldwell asked. Cora elbowed her. She winced. “Ow.”
Good lord, the girl truly had no concept of subtlety. Gideon caught his wife’s arm and leaned in. “Honora Caldwell is the worst possible person you could have brought here. Get her out before she goes blabbing all over the ton.”
“Is this place really a brothel?” Cora whispered.
He nodded tightly.
“We shall discuss your presence here later,” Cora declared, yanking away and following the other women as Starke led them away.
“Indeed. You have explaining to do, yourself.”
“Me?” She whirled to glare at him. Miss Caldwell caught her arm and dragged her away.
“Mr. Wentworth?” a rather weary young man interrupted. He couldn’t be older than twenty, possibly younger. This was the person Countess Oreste, the ruthless widow who ruled London Society through secrets and sex, had left to manage her affairs during a prolonged absence?
Gideon struggled to conceal his astonishment.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
GIDEON
The young man’s weariness was evident as he led Gideon deeper into the mansion, down a hall and into a study. He had never set foot into Countess Oreste’s infamous parlor before. Until recently, this had been Eryx Wilder’s territory. Gideon therefore took his time examining the space filled with dark furniture and stained wood. The walls that were not lined with shelves and cabinets were covered in silk wallpaper, an understated feminine touch to an otherwise thoroughly masculine space.
“What can I help you with, Mr. Wentworth?”
“I understand you are Countess Oreste’s son?”
“I am.” The boy poured him a glass of brandy without asking whether he wanted one this early in the day. Gideon accepted it and set it aside. “My mother was called away on urgent business before the Christmas holiday. I have been looking after her affairs ever since.” He grimaced. “Making a hash of things, frankly.”
“I doubt my visit will bring you any solace, Lord Bristow.”
“Wonderful.” He flopped into a chair. “You may call me Archie. I’m not a lord. The count was my stepfather, not my natural sire.”
Right, he’d forgotten that Oreste’s son had been born out of wedlock. “You might have heard that I recently acquired Mr. Wilder’s bank.”
Archie nodded tiredly.
“There is an underlying loan arrangement that requires Countess Oreste’s signature.”
“That’s a problem.”
“When is she expected to return?”
“I don’t know.” He sighed. “She departed suddenly for France, but no one has seen her there. Not her old friends in the demi-monde, not Comte Oreste’s family, no one. She hasn’t contacted anyone since.”
Disquiet roiled Gideon’s gut. He had a bad feeling about this. “I need her signature, or that of her legal representative, on this document.”
He held it out. Archie read it quickly and said, “I am afraid I cannot assist you with that, Mr. Wentworth. I only become her legal representative upon her death. Without proof of her death, my hands are tied.”
