Page 26 of The Not So Perfect Duke

“No, but I applaud your work here. Someone suggested I come to this street, claiming there is a brothel named Saint Nicholas’s or Nicky’s. If so, could you direct me to the building?”

To Miss Purcell’s credit, she did not flinch or act shocked at the mention of a brothel, but why would she if she has been here thirteen years? For the woman had no doubt seen and heard plenty. Miss Purcell sat and clasped her hands, resting them on the desk.

“Ah. Nicky’s. A famous spot when Wilton’s was open. It closed eight years ago. It was located across the street, on the vacant lot. It was torn down six years past; the building was in a shockingly rundown condition.”

Miss Purcell took off her spectacles and cleaned them with a cloth. “Many a fancy nob came to Wilton’s and Nicky’s for cheap thrills,” she continued. “Especially those of the peerage eager to wallow in the gutter.” Miss Purcell glowered. “If any area could use an orphanage, it is here, considering the number of unwanted children on the streets. It’s been like that for decades. Probably centuries.”

From what Althea could glean about Damon’s father, this could be his idea of a cruel joke. Twenty years ago, Edward Cranston would have been at the height of his vigor. He no doubt was a regular of the brothel and gave the name, thinking if his duchess ever investigated, she would be mortified.

So, where did Edward Cranston leave his illegitimate children? On the street as Miss Purcell had suggested? Oh, that would be too awful to contemplate.

Althea opened her reticle and peeled off two pounds from her small roll of notes. “Please take this, Miss Purcell, for your mission.”

“Thank you. I am sorry I couldn’t be more assistance.”

Althea stood. “On the contrary, you were most helpful.”

Althea departed and started walking until she could hail a hansom. Damon will be disappointed. She wondered how he had made out with all his conferences and meetings.

Then that heated kiss wandered into her mind again, as it did on and off since it occurred. Does she encourage more kisses? Perhaps initiating a few herself? What about more? Entering into a physical relationship with a man who had been with numerous women? An unrepentant notorious rake? One that attended orgies and who knows what other deviant enterprises? Should it matter what his past is as long as they enjoyed being with each other in the present?

For there could be no future for them. They were too wildly different in so many ways.

Of course, many said that about Eleanora and Christian, but Christian happily embraced Eleanora’s life and became part of it without demanding that she become part of his. Althea could not see Damon Cranston, the newly minted Duke of Chellenham, doing the same. In fact, she could not see him even meeting her halfway.

And that made her sad and full of regret. If only Damon were different, not so self-centered. And not a duke. Althea told her sister once that she had a weakness for pretty men.

And Damon certainly was that.

So why not enjoy his attention for as long as it lasts? Why deny herself? Why not see where this attraction goes? That reason certainly overshadowed all her other trepidations.

As she hailed a hansom coming into view, Althea was satisfied that she had made the right decision.

See where this goes, indeed.

Chapter 9

Althea sat at the dining table eating breakfast when her cousin, Sybil, rushed into the room. She held a newspaper aloft.

“You thought you escaped scrutiny regarding your appearance at the late duke’s funeral. Well, sorry to say, you haven’t.”

Sybil sat across from Althea, laid the folded paper on the table, poured a cup of tea, and reached for a piece of toast from the rack.

Althea frowned. Blast it all. “I am reluctant to ask, but read it aloud, Cousin.”

Sybil held it up again. “The Daily Mail. It came into existence two years ago with one of the highest circulations in London.”

“Wonderful,” Althea muttered.

“It is only a paragraph. ‘The presence for the Duke of Chellenham’s funeral was rather sparse, with few peers in attendance. Not surprising, considering the duke was not popular among his own because of his scandalous reputation and abysmal voting record in the House of Lords. Long estranged from his duchess, who was not in attendance, the only family member present was the bored heir with an equally shameful status, Damon Cranston, the new Duke of Chellenham. By his side was a woman, who, we have since learned, is the younger sister of the Duchess of Allenby, Miss Althea Galway, co-owner of The Galway Investigative Agency.’”

Althea groaned loudly.

“There is a little more. ‘The couple were together and seen to be speaking intimately both at the funeral and the short reception following. Will Chellenham follow in his friend, the Duke of Allenby’s footsteps, and take up with a lady detective? Or was Miss Galway there in a business capacity? Only time will tell.’ There, not so bad,” Sybil concluded.

“And to think I used to relish reading the gossip. Never again,” Althea grumbled. “And not only because they have focused on me, but the snide remarks about Eleanora and her supposed lowly status. A curse on London society.”

“Eleanora doesn’t care, and neither does Christian. And neither should you,” Sybil stated firmly. “It is no one’s business, although,” Sybil gave her a sly smile. “Were you speaking intimately? What is happening? Come, Althea. Do tell. I haven’t had a chance to speak to Eleanora.”