Chapter 15
The Peacock
Damien sat at the head of the breakfast table in all his sartorial glory, savoring both his morning coffee and the anticipation of Eleanor’s reaction.
The vibrant pink shirt—now a permanent fixture in his wardrobe—was paired with the peacock-embroidered waistcoat and those magnificently ghastly yellow breeches that transformed him into an exotic bird who’d lost a fight with a rainbow.
He’d arranged himself with perfect equanimity, as though his appearance were entirely ordinary.
When Eleanor appeared in the doorway, her reticule slipping from suddenly nerveless fingers, Damien felt a surge of satisfaction at her obvious shock.
“Good morning, my dear duchess,” he greeted cheerfully, gesturing to the chair beside him. “I trust you slept well? I’ve taken the liberty of having Cook prepare your favorite jam tarts.”
He watched with amusement as Eleanor approached the table with the wariness of someone entering a battlefield. “You’re wearing that… ensemble.”
“Indeed I am.” Damien’s smile was brilliant as he delivered his explanation. “I’ve decided to embrace the aesthetic until you beg me to stop.”
“Beg?” The slight rise in Eleanor’s voice as she took her seat was music to his ears.
“The laundress was remarkably thorough in her work,” Damien replied with obvious admiration, enjoying every moment of her growing consternation.
“Such dedication to her craft deserves proper recognition. Besides, I find the color rather liberating. There’s something to be said for abandoning all pretense of dignity. ”
“You abandoned that the moment you appeared in my drawing room drinking my brandy,” Eleanor retorted, though Damien caught the smile she couldn’t quite suppress.
“Ah, but now I’ve elevated that abandonment to an art form.” He gestured grandly at his outfit, reveling in the theatrical moment. “Behold—a duke so thoroughly comfortable with himself that fashion becomes irrelevant.”
“Fashion was never relevant to that particular combination,” Eleanor observed dryly. “It defies several natural laws.”
“Only several? How disappointing. I was aiming for a complete overthrow of established order.” Damien was thoroughly enjoying their banter when Simmons appeared in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral despite the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“Your Grace,” the butler addressed Eleanor, “Mr. Thoreux has arrived for your appointment.”
Damien seized the opportunity with predatory swiftness. “Excellent,” he said before Eleanor could respond, rising with theatrical flourish. “I do so enjoy meeting my wife’s business associates.”
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Your Grace, Mr. Thoreux is here to see me—”
“And now he shall see me instead,” Damien interrupted with insufferable smugness. “I’m discovering the most fascinating things about your charitable endeavors, my sweet. Such creative financing arrangements.” His smile turned wicked. “Do wish me luck in my educational endeavors.”
“Damien,” Eleanor began, half rising with obvious alarm.
“I promise to be on my very best behavior,” he said with exaggerated solemnity. “After all, one mustn’t alarm the help with too many questions about irregular accounting practices.”
Before she could voice her objections, Damien swept from the room.
Damien adjusted his ridiculous pink shirt as he entered the library with deliberate confidence. The man waiting inside visibly startled at his appearance, nearly dropping the ledger he’d been examining.
“Mr. Thoreux, I presume?” Damien closed the door behind him with a decisive click.
“Y-yes, Your Grace.” Thoreux was a slight man with ink-stained fingers and the hunched posture of someone who spent his days bent over account books.
He quickly tucked the ledger under his arm, his gaze darting nervously toward the door.
“I was expecting Her Grace. There must be some misunderstanding.”
“No misunderstanding at all.” Damien smiled with practiced nonchalance as he settled into the chair behind the desk. “Her Grace is otherwise occupied this morning. I’ll be handling any business matters in her stead.”
Thoreux’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “With all due respect, Your Grace, perhaps I should return another time when Her Grace is available.”
“Nonsense.” Damien gestured to the chair opposite. “As her husband, there should be no confidences kept from me. Please, sit.”
The man remained standing, his discomfort palpable. “I really must insist, Your Grace. The duchess’s instructions were quite specific regarding discretion.”
Damien’s ears pricked. A secret. Interesting.
“Ah, my wife has many secrets of a business nature,” Damien observed casually. “I assure you, I’ve noticed several curious entries in the household ledgers—investments that I allow her to engage in.”
He had seen no such thing, but the calculated guess hit its mark. Thoreux’s fingers tightened on the ledger.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss Her Grace’s personal financial matters,” Thoreux replied stiffly.
“Come now.” Damien smiled disarmingly. “I’ve spent considerable time in the East, where unconventional banking arrangements are common practice. I admire entrepreneurial spirit, especially in areas traditional banks neglect. The docks, for instance.”
Thoreux’s eyes widened slightly. “You’re familiar with maritime investments?”
“I’ve made a few myself.” Another calculated fabrication. “Good returns, if one knows the right captains.”
The tension in Thoreux’s shoulders eased fractionally. “Her Grace has quite the eye for opportunity.”
“So I’ve gathered.” Damien gestured to the chair again, and this time Thoreux hesitantly sat. “I simply wish to understand the full scope of our shared interests. For instance, your business is…?”
“I operate a small shipping office near Wapping,” Thoreux admitted reluctantly. “Specialized cargo, primarily textiles from India and China.”
“China!” Damien exclaimed with perfectly calibrated enthusiasm. “I’ve recently returned from there myself. Fascinating markets in Canton. And your office is located…?”
“Near Bell Wharf.” Thoreux shifted in his seat. “Her Grace’s investment allowed me to expand operations last year.”
“Investment, not loan.” Damien noted the distinction. “She takes a share of profits, then?”
“A modest percentage.” Thoreux’s expression suggested he felt he’d already said too much. “Your Grace, I’m not comfortable discussing—”
“Does she have many such arrangements in the area?” Damien interrupted smoothly. Eleanor had connections in precisely the neighborhood he needed to investigate. The coincidence was almost too perfect.
Thoreux cleared his throat. “Her Grace supports several small enterprises. She has a particular interest in creating opportunities where few exist.”
“And I imagine such a network provides other benefits,” Damien suggested. “Information, perhaps? Eyes and ears in parts of London where a duchess wouldn’t normally venture?”
The man’s face closed immediately. “I should go, Your Grace. Her Grace will expect my report another time.”
Damien knew he’d pushed too far. “My apologies, Mr. Thoreux. I’ve overwhelmed you with questions.” He stood, extending his hand. “Please, convey my admiration to the captains at Bell Wharf.”
Before the man could reach the door, it swung open to reveal Eleanor, her blue eyes sharp with displeasure.
After dismissing Thoreux to another room, she turned to face Damien, arms crossed. “That was entirely inappropriate.”
“Merely taking an interest in our financial affairs,” Damien replied innocently.
“You’re using my business connections to aid your search,” Eleanor said, stepping closer. “My people trust me, Damien. If you compromise that trust by involving them in something that could destroy us both…”
“Their knowledge could prove invaluable. Would you deny me the chance to save my brother?”
She moved close enough that her skirts brushed his legs. “I know the sort of places that search will take you. The question is whether you understand what that association will cost both of us.”
“You’re worried about scandal,” he said.
“I’m terrified of it,” she corrected. “Everything I’ve built could crumble if Society discovers the Duke of Westmore has been frequenting opium dens and brothels.” Her hand rose toward his chest, hovering inches away. “If you’re discovered in those places, I’ll be destroyed alongside you.”
“Then what would you have me do?” he asked quietly. “Abandon him?”
“No,” Eleanor said firmly. “But send someone else—hire investigators. Surely someone else can search those places without dragging our name through the mud.”
“If Dominic is truly lost in that world again, only I can reach him.”
“And if you’re caught? If you’re seen?” Her voice rose. “Do we both pay the price for your heroic gesture?”
Damien stepped back, needing distance. “I can’t take the risk of losing him. If that makes me selfish, so be it.”
Disappointment settled over her features. “Then you’ve already chosen,” she said quietly. “Your brother over everything else.”
She moved toward the door, pausing at the threshold. “Tread carefully in those neighborhoods, Duke. London’s underbelly has shifted in your absence.”
“Leave me to my shadows,” he said softly, “and I shall leave you to yours.”
Eleanor’s shoulders stiffened, but she left without another word, the soft click of the door somehow more final than if she’d slammed it.