Page 19 of His Improper Lady

“You kept it all these years,” she pointed out. “Through everything that’s happened.”

“I kept it for Wells. It’s his heritage.”

“Yet you’ve never given the ring to Wells.”

He glanced at her sharply, but he didn’t speak, only stood up and went to pour himself another drink.

“Did I hear someone take my name in vain?”

Desiree and Brock turned to see Wells standing in the doorway. His tone was light and unemotional, but Desiree noticed that his hair was uncharacteristically mussed and his color high, his posture not as languid as usual. She wondered what he’d been up to, but she knew she’d never find out.

“Dez thinks I should have given you your ring,” Brock told him, pouring his brother a drink.

“My ring? That’s your ring, old chum...although it seems that our Dizzy has quite an interest in it, too. Well, you two will have to sort it out. I have no interest in it. I don’t fancy jewelry.”

“Mm,” Brock said noncommittally and handed Wells the glass. “At least nothing that’s identifiable.”

Wells crooked an eyebrow at him, but said only, “Now...why are you discussing this ring?”

“Brock was telling me what he remembers about our parents.”

“Which is damned little,” Brock added.

“I take you’re still intent on finding out who sired us,” Wells said to Desiree.

“Yes.” She turned to Brock. “What did people call him? Surely someone must have said his name.”

“My lord—that’s what the servants called him. Stella...” Brock looked off into space. “She called him ‘my love’ and ‘darling.’ She’d say to me, ‘His lordship is here, and he has a headache, so you must be quiet, love.’”

“Wasn’t anyone else ever there? A friend?”

“There was a man.” Brock frowned. “I don’t recall his name. He visited sometimes. He seemed to be his friend, but...he’d visited us before then, too.”

“You mean, he was an admirer of Stella’s, too?” Wells asked.

“I don’t know—I wouldn’t think a former admirer would still visit after your father had set Stella up as his mistress, would you? And your father was quite friendly with him, as I remember. Perhaps he was merely a friend of both. He was a jolly sort of fellow. I liked him better than ‘his lordship.’ He used to give me candies.”

“Was he—Do you think he might have been your father?” Desiree asked.

“Anything is possible.” Brock shrugged. “But no one ever said anything like that. Stella told me my father was a hero, a commander in the navy who was lost at sea. Obviously that was a fantasy, but I’ve no clue who the man really was. I don’t really care.”

Desiree sighed. “I’ve no idea how to find out any more about him. I could go to the duke, I suppose.”

“And get shown the door immediately,” Brock said. “Probably by the butler. I don’t think dukes are easy to meet.”

“What about Sid Upton?” Wells asked. “He was Bruna’s husband. Even if she wouldn’t tell us, she might have told him.”

“No. I’ve asked him before,” Desiree said. “He doesn’t know anything.”

“But you have something now that you didn’t have before—a name. If you asked him if he’d ever heard of a Moreland in connection with our mother, it might jog his memory.”

“Old people love to talk about the past,” Brock put in, interested despite his resistance. “And now that he’s retired, he has plenty of time to think and remember. If nothing else, he’d enjoy a visit from you.”

“Did you ever show Sid that ring?” Wells asked.

“No,” Desiree admitted. “I didn’t know that it was important.”

“That’s it,” Wells told her. “You have to know what to ask when you’re questioning someone. Show him the ring. Give him the name. Tell him about this chap that Brock remembers. He might know who that friend was.”