She had wondered for a time, last night, whether she and Marco were to be allowed to stay. The duchess had collapsed onto the nearest chair, moaning weakly about fraud and deception until her dresser hurried in with a glass of hartshorn and supported her faltering steps up the stairs. Neither her husband nor her son had taken much notice of this performance. "There, there," the duke had said soothingly, then turned to ask eagerly for news of his brother. "M'mother's given to the vapours," Lord John had explained. "No use letting it cast you into the dismals." Teresa had gathered that her genial uncle was not influenced by his wife's distempers. She and Marco could stay, for the rest of their lives if they chose. Whether her Grace would agree to sponsor her in Society was another matter. Don Eduardo wanted her to join the Haut Ton, not merely to live as a poor relation in his brother's house. She would follow Lady Parr's directions with the greatest precision, she vowed, and prove to her aunt that she was worthy.
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