Page 62 of Wagers of a Duke's Daughter (The Duchess's Investigative Society 3)

“She must have had her reasons, surely? Your aunt was kind, and I know she donated heavily to the foundling hospital.”

He scowled and kept her held close while they wound down another tight alleyway. “She was more than generous. Without her, I suspect I would have died.”

“How...?”

“She visited when she could, ensuring I had warm clothes and food in my belly.”

Demeter swallowed. “How could a father treat a boy so?”

“It is still a mystery to me and will remain so forever, I suspect. I haven’t set eyes on the man since he decided to enjoy the warm weather in Italy seven years ago.

“He does not deserve such a life,” she muttered.

“Perhaps, but there is little I can do about it.” He shrugged. As far as he was concerned, so long as he did not have to look the man in the eye ever again, he’d be happy.

“So how did you aunt save your life?”

“I was gravely ill when I was nine years of age. She visited and demanded my father treat my illness. He claimed it was punishment for bad behavior and only what I deserved.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, still able to recall the stench of illness and sweat surrounding him, of being wrapped in his aunt’s warm embrace and placed in a soft, feather filled bed.

“My aunt took me then, against my father’s wishes, ignoring his every threat.” He let a smile curve his lips. “I might have barely been lucid but I never enjoyed a moment in my life so much as when my aunt swept past him and told him he would have to duel her if he wanted me back.”

“Clearly, she did not have to follow through on her threat.”

He shook his head. “She nursed me back to health and my father forgot about me. I lived with Aunt Iris until I went to Eton.”

“She was an incredible woman.”

“Which begs the question, why would she do such a thing for me yet subject Foster to a life no better than what I was living?”

She stopped and put a hand to his arm, meeting his gaze. “What does your instinct say?”

“That there is more to this than meets the eye.”

“Precisely.” She looked toward a group of women leaning over basins of soapy water, beating garments vigorously against the ground with such aggression, the slap of the fabric cracked through the air. “I think I should speak with some of his neighbors.”

“The private investigator did the same, much good it did him. No one could tell them anything of Foster. What his life was like before London, no one knows.”

“Yes, but you are forgetting one thing.”

Blake eyed the determined point of her chin. “That you are utterly bewitching and will encourage anyone to tell you anything?”

“Be serious.”

“I am! Only Ashford knows about my childhood and even then, just barely.”

“I am grateful you shared, Blake. Why men are so insistent on keeping secrets I do not know.”

“You are hardly one to talk, sweeting. If I recall, you have one rather large secret...”

Her gaze narrowed. “I have good reasons for not telling my sisters of my gambling and you know it.”

He lifted his shoulders and smirked. “It might do you some good to confess all,” he said sagely.

“You cannot lecture me upon secrets. Ever.” She wagged a finger at him. “Now I have an idea. I do believe a friend of mine, Charlotte Summers, knows a few people who live in this area. I shall talk with these women but Charlotte might have more luck finding anything out than we will.”

There was little sense in arguing with her. For a quiet woman, she had more determination than anyone he’d ever met. With only the slightest shake of his head, he leaned against the wall and watched her engage the women in conversation. He grinned to himself. Lady Demeter Fallon really was a woman to be admired.

Chapter Twenty-Three

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