Page 80 of Duke of Iron
May touched the side of her glasses, feeling the old, familiar shame flush her cheeks. “I can see better, is all.”
“But you saw quite well before,” said Kitty. “At least, well enough to snare the Iron Duke.”
Christie giggled. “She is merciless, isn’t she, Duchess?”
May felt her spine go rigid. “I think you are mistaking me for someone else.”
Kitty’s eyes narrowed, but she let the moment pass. “Shall we order another round of scones? They are rumored to be sublime today.”
May, desperate for a reason to leave the table, volunteered, “I shall fetch them. I need to stretch my legs.”
She pushed her chair back, and the movement had the awkward force of a prisoner breaking from shackles. The counter was a dozen steps away, but each step untied the knots in her chest.
Behind the counter, a girl with a braid nearly as long as her entire person stood arranging a pyramid of currant buns. She saw May approach and nearly dropped the top bun.
“Your Grace!” she said, eyes wide. “What may I—oh, sorry, I should not shout in the shop, but—oh, this is very exciting—” She clapped her hands together. “I’m Penelope, Your Grace. How may I help you?”
May smiled at the earnestness. “We’d like a plate of scones. Whichever is freshest, please.”
The girl beamed. “They’re all fresh, but the lemon ones are best. The cook let me try one this morning. Would you like jam or just cream?”
“Both, please.”
Penelope leaned in, dropping her voice. “If I were a duchess, I’d have them put the jam and cream on the scone before bringing it to the table. Then it’s a surprise, and everyone is jealous.”
May laughed, startled by her confidence. “Do you often advise your patrons on how to eat scones?”
“Only the special ones.” She began loading a plate with scones, then looked up again. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”
“Not at all.”
Blushing, she glanced around, then back at May. “Is it very hard? Being Duchess? Everyone is always watching, I suppose.”
May considered the question. “Sometimes. But mostly it is just like being anyone else. Except you have to smile more.”
Penelope nodded, as if this confirmed a long-held suspicion. “I’d be terrible at that.”
“I am as well,” May confided. “But you get better with time.”
Penelope finished the plate and wrapped a linen napkin around the bottom. “I will bring these to your table in a moment, Your Grace. I only wish to warn you—” She dropped her voice even further, so low May had to lean in. “Be careful with Lady Kitty and Lady Christie. They are very pretty, but they have sharp tongues. I heard them say some things yesterday, about you. I did not like it.”
May’s heart gave a tiny hop. “Thank you, Penelope. I appreciate it.”
Penelope looked relieved, as if she’d just confessed to a priest. “You are very welcome. I hope you enjoy the scones.”
May returned to the table, feeling the words echo. Sharp tongues. She could manage that. She had grown up in a house of sisters; she knew every flavor of cruelty and the thousand ways to dress it in velvet and lace.
As she neared, she caught her own name.
“… she pretends to be clever,” Kitty was saying. “But it is only the spectacles. Without them, she’d be as lost as any parlor maid.”
Christie laughed. “I wonder if the Duke has even kissed her. She is so pale, one expects she’d faint at the very thought.”
“They say she is delicate,” Kitty replied, “but I think it is an act. If she were truly delicate, she’d have expired from mortification by now.”
“I have not yet died,” May said, sliding into her seat. “But I do feel the urge from time to time.”
Kitty startled, but recovered quickly. “We meant no offense. You know how it is…”
