Page 25 of His Improper Lady

“No. There was a letter. That’s when the housekeeper came to us. Stella said she’d gone to America with his lordship.” The twist of his mouth as he said the words indicated little liking for the lord in question.

“A letter?” Desiree leaned forward. “I never heard there was a letter.”

“Aye, well, I guess we never talked about it. No reason to.”

“Did you keep the letter?”

“No. Bruna couldn’t read, and I can’t do that elegant kind. The housekeeper told us what it said.”

“What did it say?” Desiree asked, hungry to hear her mother’s words.

Sid shrugged. “I don’t remember exactly. Bunch of romantic nonsense. They couldn’t bear to be apart and whatnot.”

“She didn’t say anything about us?” Even as she asked the question, Desiree knew the answer from the uncomfortable expression on Sid’s face. She struggled to keep her face smooth; she didn’t want Quick to see the disappointment that swept her.

“I don’t remember,” Sid said. Desiree was certain it was a lie to ease her hurt, and Sid confirmed that with his next words. “I’m sorry, Dez.”

Tom jumped into the silence. “What was his lordship’s name?”

“Ah, well, that I don’t know.”

“Surely you saw him. Stella Malone must have mentioned him.”

“I didn’t go over there much. Bruna went to see her sometimes, but in the afternoon when he wasn’t there—it would have been awkward, running into him.”

“Not even early on? He didn’t come to see her perform?” Tom pressed.

“I don’t know about that. I guess he could have. Must have, to begin with. But he wasn’t one of the ones who hung around the stage door all the time, trying to court her. Just all of a sudden, Stella left her act and moved into that house.”

“Your wife was her very good friend,” Tom said. “Wouldn’t Stella have told her his name?”

“Aye. But Bruna promised she’d never tell anyone, and she didn’t. She was a woman that kept her word, my Bruna was.”

“She kept it hidden even from you?” Skepticism colored Quick’s tone.

“Please, Sid.” Desiree leaned forward again, laying her hand on his arm. “Don’t worry it might hurt me or make my mother look bad or anything. I want to know who my father is, no matter what.”

“I know.” Sid patted her hand. “I’d tell you if I could. But Bruna didn’t say, and I wasn’t going to ask her to break her word. I’m sorry.”

“Could his name have been Moreland?” Desiree asked. “Do you remember ever hearing Stella say that name?” Desiree dug into her reticule and pulled out Brock’s ring, holding it out to Sid. “He gave Brock this ring. Do you remember seeing him wearing it? I believe it’s a family ring.”

Sid took the ring and brought it up close to his eyes, examining it. With a sigh, he handed it back to Desiree. “No. I don’t remember that name. Or the ring. I doubt I saw the fellow more than once at a distance. Like I said, it would have been awkward. We’re not the sort he’d be chatting with.”

“What about friends? Did anyone visit them? A friend of his lordship?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I don’t know of any.”

There seemed little to ask after that, and Desiree took her leave not long afterward. Tom followed her out the door. She glanced over at him. The sun glinted off his blond hair, and she couldn’t help but gaze at his eyes, that striking combination of blue fractured by ice very noticeable in the light. Desiree wished she was indifferent to his looks, that she hadn’t stolen glances at him all through the interview with Sid.

Tom gazed back at her, and for a moment she thought he was going to say something, but he did not. Silence stretched awkwardly between them, and Desiree turned away, walking to her carriage. Tom started off down the street. Desiree stared after him, her brain whirring, then climbed into her carriage. The driver turned the vehicle and started back in the direction they’d come from. As they reached Tom, Desiree told the coachman to stop.

“Mr. Quick,” she called, and he turned. “Are you taking the train?”

“Yes.” His expression was faintly wary.

“Why don’t you ride with me back into the city? It will be faster than the train.” She opened the door in invitation.

The wariness in his gaze deepened into suspicion, but he came to the door, looking into the carriage. “Why would you offer me a ride?”