Page 13 of Duke of Iron
“Oh, thank goodness. We were worried. Are you?—”
“I am fine.”
Before anyone else could speak, a footman appeared at the threshold. “Dinner is served.”The family filed into the dining room, but the tension clung to the air like fog.
As they took their seats, and May laid a napkin on her lap, she spoke.“I said there is no need for August to find Irondale,” she repeated. “He has already offered for me.”
Glasses paused halfway to mouths, and a thousand words erupted at once.
“What?”
“When did this happen?”
“How did he find the nerve?”
“The rake will marry?”
May let out a breath and lifted a hand, silencing the table.“I have not been entirely honest,” she said. “The Duke and I have been acquainted for some time now. We chose to keep our connection private. I have accepted his proposal.”
Their mother clutched her chest. “You sly, brilliant girl! A duchess! Another duchess in the family!”
June frowned, her amber eyes full of skepticism. “But why the secrecy? Why not tell us?”
May offered a small smile. “Because I did not want anyone assuming I sought to follow April’s path. I desired freedom.”
“Freedom?” June said, arching a brow. “To court a rake in secret?”
“He is a rake no longer,” Dorothy said, dabbing at her eyes. “A reformed man, clearly. Irondale and May. What a pair!”
August, who had not yet spoken, studied her. “You’re sure this is what you want?”
May nodded, though something inside her shifted uneasily. She was lying to her family, and she barely understood the nature of the man she had just said yes to, or whether he would truly keep his word.
Dorothy practically bounced in her seat. “I shall write to every connection we have. The papers must print the announcement! My dear May, the Duchess of Irondale!”
“We must be careful with the scandal sheets,” June muttered. “You know how they twist things.”
April leaned toward her. “Are you truly happy, May? I know I was caught by surprise, but I want to believe this is truly your choice.”
May opened her mouth to answer, but her mother’s voice rose above hers. “I must tell your father!”
“Tell me what?”
They turned as one to see Albert Vestiere, the Duke of Wildmoore, in the doorway, a cane in his right hand, and a footman beside him. Dorothy rushed to his side.
“Oh, Albert, I did not mean for you to hear it like this, but the Duke of Irondale has offered for May.”
Her father’s silvering brows rose, and he turned in May’s direction. “Irondale?”
May stood. “Yes, Papa.”A beat passed. Then she nodded again, forcing her voice not to tremble.
Unexpectedly, he smiled.“Well. That is something.”
Dorothy beamed as she led him to the table. “Is it not marvelous? Now thetonshall swallow their words about my daughters.”
Albert frowned. “What has thetonbeen saying?”
Dorothy flushed, fumbling with her napkin. “Oh, you know how they are. Always whispering, always watching. They said things, unkind things—about May, about the carriage—but now, well, they will be forced to swallow every last word.”
