Page 79 of Duke of Iron
May shrugged. “Not so much as I mind being the punchline at the next dinner party.”
June looked at her in a way she had not since they were both small, as if there were something mysterious and wild in May that only sisters could see. “You are very brave,” she said, “but you do not have to be. Not with me.”
May blinked. “I am not brave.”
“Everyone who is brave says that,” said June, then left, closing the door quietly.
Rydal slept on. May rested her head on the arm of the sofa, feeling both lighter and heavier than she had in days.
Perhaps she would take him to the theater. Or perhaps she would simply go outside, walk until the world seemed less interested in the affairs of her heart.
“Your Grace!” Kitty trilled, as if May had just been discovered behind a potted palm and not deliberately invited. She stood just inside the little tea shop foyer and regarded her friends.
Lady Kitty and Lady Christie were waving from their table like a pair of yellow and lilac bonbons nestled beneath the west-facing window. The effect was such that, from the street, they must look like dolls set out for display. May forced a smile and made her way over.
Kitty caught May’s hand before she could sit. “You have arrived at the very moment of crisis. Christie was about to tell me the story of Lord Pike’s new valet, but I insisted we wait for your discerning ear.”
May surrendered her hand, then her seat. “I am sure it will be worth the suspense,” she said.
Christie’s mouth curved. “You will adore this, truly. It is all anyone spoke of at Lady Danton’s last night—except, of course, the newest darling of the Season. That is to say, your darling, Duchess.”
May blinked. “My?—?”
Kitty pounced. “William Blackmore. The child! He is the subject of every wager between Hanover Square and Hyde Park. No one has seen thetonso besotted since that spaniel with the diamond collar made its debut at Almack’s.”
May managed a polite, “He is… rather charming, I suppose.” She had hoped the talk today might not be of the baby, or the house, or herself. She had hoped, foolishly, that Lady Kitty and Lady Christie might grant her a reprieve from her own life.
Christie sipped her tea, then set the cup down with a tap. “You must tell us the truth, May. Is it all a ruse? Is the child truly a cousin’s, or is there some scandalous twist we are not clever enough to divine?”
Kitty widened her eyes. “We adore scandal, but you must admit this one is truly ambitious, even for a Blackmore. We are dying to know how you managed it.”
May frowned. “Managed… what, precisely?”
Kitty exchanged a look with Christie, and May felt suddenly as though she were being sized up for auction. “We mean,” Christie said, “how you managed to land the most unattainable man in the city. The Duke was so publicly averse to marriage that every eligible woman had abandoned hope. And then—voilà!—there you are. Duchess before the ink is dry on the banns.”
May said, carefully, “It was not a scheme. It was an arrangement of convenience, nothing more.”
Kitty’s smile took on a new glint. “If it were convenience, darling, then you must be the luckiest woman in England. Or the cleverest. We are divided on the point.”
“I am neither,” May said, “but I have excellent luck with pastry.”
She took a hasty bite of the seed cake before her, hoping to anchor herself to the table and not to the pale blue of Kitty’s watchful eyes.They are not your friends. They never were. They are the cats, and you are the canary, and the only question is whether you sing or shriek.
Christie, undeterred, tried a new tack. “Is he difficult? The Duke. I have always imagined him as the type to order a new suit for breakfast, and then demand a new breakfast because the first suit was not up to standard.”
May thought of Logan, his shirtsleeves rolled and his hair damp, feeding Rydal with a care so gentle it could make the heart ache. “He is exacting, perhaps, but only with himself. The rest of us are allowed to be as we are.”
Kitty sighed. “You say that as if it is a comfort. I find it exhausting to be myself for even a quarter hour.”
May almost smiled. “You do it so well, though.”
For a moment, she wondered if that was the right thing to say, but Kitty only laughed. “Perhaps. But one must have the right company for it.” She raised her cup, and Christie joined her in a three-way toast that left May feeling vaguely outnumbered.
They moved through the obligatory topics—Lady Weatherby’s ongoing engagement standoff, the appearance of Mrs.Grenville’s stepdaughter at the assembly, and whether the new vicar at St. James’s was as eligible as reported. But every thread returned, inevitably, to May.
“Your spectacles are new, are they not?” Kitty asked, head cocked. “They are quite fetching. You almost look like a bluestocking.”
Christie nodded. “It suits you, honestly. No one expects a duchess to read, and so you become quite the sensation when you do.”
