The Making of a Duchess Read Online Free PDF

letter."
       "Or the lovely Mademoiselle Serafina."
       Julien ignored Rigby's comment. The letter was still on his mind. It was the reason he had come out to his club tonight. The reason he was still here at—he checked his pocket watch—three in the morning.
       "Oh, what'd you go and do that for?" Rigby complained. "Don't tell me what time it is. If I don't know, I can truthfully tell my father that the time got away from me."
       "You need to get your own flat," Stover in formed him.
       "Or move in with Valère here," Rigby said, waggling his eyebrows. "His mama doesn't care how late he stays out."
       "She'll care tonight," Julien said, deciding he might as well take his seat again. There was no point in going home yet. He would not be able to sleep. The letter was still on his mind.
       "She wants you looking your best for the Mademoiselle Serafina."
       "Stubble it," Stover ordered Rigby. "Tell us about the letter."
       He handed Julien the brandy, and this time Julien accepted it. He took a long swallow, lowered his voice, and said, "I'm going back to France."
       "Are you jingle-brained?" Rigby exclaimed. "There's a war on."
       Julien gave him a look, and Rigby sat back. "Alright. I'll stubble it."
       Julien turned back to Stover. "I received a letter from someone who alleges he was a servant for my family. In the letter, he claims to know the whereabouts of my brother Armand."
       "Where?" Stover asked.
       "He won't say in the letter."
       Stover looked thoughtful. "It could be a trap. Get you back in France then capture you."
       "Are there windmills in your head?" Rigby sat forward. "Of course it's a trap."
       Julien turned on him. "And what if it's not? What if my brother is trapped in France right now, rotting in some jail, while I lounge here, sipping brandy?" He slammed the glass down, garnering looks from several men at the gaming tables.
       Rigby gave them a wave, and they turned back to their faro. "Calm down, Valère. We're just trying to warn you what this ill-fated venture could cost you."
       "I don't count costs," he said through a clenched
    jaw. "If my brother is alive, he needs me. There's no price on that."
       "Have you considered that your brothers are most likely dead?" Stover asked.
       "There are no records of their deaths."
       "What records would there be?" Stover spoke carefully. "You said yourself your mother believes the boys perished in the fire."
       Yes, but Julien wanted proof. He had obtained proof of his father's death. After the duc de Valère fought the peasants, giving his wife a chance to escape, he had been captured and transported to Paris and guillotined as the crowds cheered.
       But of his younger brothers, the twins Sébastien and Armand, no account existed. Julien had gone back to France in secret and investigated, but he had gotten nowhere. And then yesterday he received the letter. It was signed by Gilbert Pierpont, their former butler. He wrote that he had information about Armand but couldn't give the information in the letter; it was too dangerous. He wanted Monsieur le Duc to come to Paris—into the lion's den.
       "I have to be sure."
       Rigby shook his head. "You're going to get yourself killed playing the hero."
       "I'm not a hero. I'm just doing my duty." Ne quittez pas. Never give up. That had been his father's creed, and Julien had adopted it.
       "Well, let me give you another duty. There's a tavern over in Chelsea with the prettiest barmaid—"
       "I don't care about some woman."
       "That's obvious," Rigby muttered. "Work, work,
    work."
       Julien sighed. It was true. He worked far too much, but he hadn't had the security of a father's fortune like Rigby and Stover. He and his mother had to start over after fleeing France.
       "He's not going to meet a barmaid on the same day his fiancée arrives," Stover said.
       Julien winced. "Don't call her