Page 109 of Duke of Iron
“Take as long as you like,” said April. “We shall keep June from committing any major crimes in your absence.”
May collected Rydal from the nurse, settled him in the three-wheeled carriage, and set off along the duck pond, her hands tight on the handlebar. She watched the way the wind riffled the surface of the water, the way the ducks jostled for space and food and primacy. Even the tiniest creatures, it seemed, had better luck with their offspring than she.
She walked until the noise of the park faded to a manageable hum, then stopped beneath a tree and kneeled to adjust the baby’s blanket.
Rydal caught her thumb in both fists and gummed it with a determination that bordered on desperate. May smiled, and the smile hurt, but she let it linger.
“We do not need anyone else, you and I,” she murmured. “We are perfectly complete.”
But the lie was thin, and the longer she stood there, the more she understood how much she had hoped for something that couldnever be. She had begun to see herself in the future—a mother, someone who belonged somewhere more solid than the shifting sands of theton. She had not realized, until this moment, how much of herself she had traded on the possibility.
“Your Grace?”
May looked up to see Mr. and Mrs. Beamond standing two paces away. She rose, brushing imaginary grass from her skirt. “Mr. Beamond. Mrs. Beamond. How do you do?”
“We are quite well, Your Grace,” said Mrs. Beamond, though her voice wobbled on the last word. She looked at the pram. “Is that… may I?”
“Of course.” May stepped aside, and the woman bent over the baby, brushing a gloved finger across his brow.
“He is so big,” Mrs. Beamond whispered, as if afraid to disturb the air.
Mr. Beamond hovered at his wife’s elbow. “We heard that you were here, Duchess. We hoped you might have a moment to speak.”
May nodded. “Certainly. Shall we walk?”
They set off down the path, Rydal’s carriage bumping in time with their steps. For a long minute, no one spoke. It was Mrs.Beamond who broke the silence. “We received word that there would be… changes.”
May’s heart thudded. “Changes?”
The woman glanced at her husband, then at May. “About the arrangements, at least we hope. We were told you might be moving.”
May stopped dead in the path. “Moving?” The word sounded foreign on her tongue.
Mr. Beamond cleared his throat. “A house on the edge of Mayfair has been sold to the Duke of Irondale, or so we are told.”
May searched her memory, but nothing surfaced. “I… this is the first I have heard.”
Mrs. Beamond gave a little gasp. “Oh. Then you have not decided. You are not…” She broke off, shaking her head. “Forgive me. We misunderstood.”
May forced a smile. “There must be some error. I am sure the Duke meant to inform me, but…”
She trailed off, her mind racing.Why would Logan not tell me? Why would he buy a house without so much as a word?
“Perhaps it is nothing,” Mrs. Beamond said, but her disappointment was so obvious that May wanted to shrivel up and blow away on the wind.
They walked a few more steps. “Were you hoping,” May asked, “to have Rydal returned to your care?”
Mrs. Beamond began to answer, but her husband cut in. “He is your charge now, Your Grace. We would not interfere. But if there is ever a time when…” He faltered. “We only wish to be part of his life, in some way. If it is allowed.”
The woman’s eyes shimmered with tears. “We have lost so much. I thought—when we heard the news—I thought perhaps we could…”
May nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Steeling herself, she marched back toward the picnic, the problem forming in her mind with the clarity of a mathematical proof.
If Logan had bought a house and if he had not told her, it could only mean one thing—he was making arrangements for a future that did not include her. He must have realized that she wanted something more, that her heart was not as cold as she claimed, and now he meant to cut her out of the equation.
He will not have the last word. Not this time.
