Page 65 of Duke of Iron
“Are those the gloves from Mrs. Hatherleigh’s shop, or are you hoarding a French glove maker?” Lady Kitty said, seizing May’s hand the moment she reached their table. “Don’t tell me you possess a secret source. I could perish from jealousy.”
May let her fingers be examined, half-smiling. “They’re not from Hatherleigh’s. Their window has been uninteresting since March. These are from…” She searched her memory. “Somewhere on Bond Street. I forgot the name.”
“That is criminal,” Lady Christie announced, her eyes settling on the menu. “A duchess must always know the provenance of her accessories.”
“Do you think they are duchess-worthy?” May asked, splaying her fingers.
Kitty glanced at Christie. “You could wear gloves sewn from fishnet, and thetonwould start a riot to have them.” She dropped May’s hand and nodded in approval. “Your taste is becoming infamous.”
May wasn’t sure if this was a compliment or a warning as she sat and placed a napkin on her lap.
“Have you seen Lady Louisa Weatherby this week?” Christie asked as she poured tea.
Kitty’s eyes lit with anticipation. “Oh, has she finally selected a suitor, or is she still declining gentlemen as if she were heir to the throne?”
“She refused Lord Ternbridge at Almack’s,” Christie said, her lips barely curving. “He nearly tripped over his own feet in confusion.”
May accepted a cup from Christie. “Perhaps she simply didn’t like him,” she said. “Or perhaps she wishes to choose for herself, which is more than most of us are allowed.”
The other two exchanged glances. Kitty was the first to recover. “No one blames her for being particular, but to reject every offer?—”
“Is to risk becoming a cautionary tale?” May cut in. “Perhaps she hopes to become a legend instead.”
Kitty laughed, but the sound was bright rather than harsh. “You always take their part, May. It’s rather noble, actually.”
May set her cup down, refusing to feel defensive. “I only mean that every lady ought to choose a gentleman she is compatible with, not just the first to stumble into her path.”
Kitty held up her hands. “You misunderstand. We only meant that daughters of barons rarely dare to act as if they were daughters of dukes.”
May bit her tongue to keep from answering at once. Christie rescued the mood by sighing, “But the real excitement is the masquerade next week. I hear there are already wagers about who will dare the most scandalous costume.”
Kitty leaned in. “You must go as a queen, May. Or at least a sorceress. It would suit you.”
“I have not decided if I’ll attend,” May said, though she’d already asked Abbot to consult with the modiste about mask options.
Kitty gasped. “You would break hearts, staying away. The masquerade will be quite tame if the Duchess of Irondale does not appear.”
“You exaggerate,” May said.
Christie shook her head. “Not at all. It’s become a point of pride, you know—everyone wants to be the one to spot your identity first. There are even betting pools.”
“Then perhaps I should go as a footman,” May said. “Just to disappoint everyone.”
“Now I do wish to see you as a footman. Preferably with a mustache and a scandalous accent.” Kitty’s laugh was rather infectious.
“Which accent?” Christie asked, sipping her tea.
“Anything not British,” Kitty said. “Foreigners are far more intriguing. It’s a known fact.”
May considered this. “And what of you, Lady Kitty? What will you be?”
Kitty’s eyes brightened at the question, and she leaned forward. “I am to be an angel.”
Christie snorted. “With black feathers?”
“Perhaps. But you will never see them. The costume is strictly heavenly, I assure you.”
“Lady Christie,” May said, “I would bet you arrive as something formidable.”
