Page 9 of Duke of Iron
“A goose?”
“Yes. A rural one. Not worth your attention.”
“That does not explain August’s rage,” she murmured, her heart racing. Whatever they were keeping had to do with her, and she had the strange notion that her world was about to erupt.
May narrowed her eyes and marched across the room. June twisted, but May was faster, grabbing the paper from her sister’s grip. The pages tore, and a corner fluttered to the floor.
She read the page, and there it was. Her name in bold ink.
Lady May Vestiere, most oft-forgotten daughter of the Duke of Wildmoore, has at last leapt into notoriety by hurling herself into the nearest scandal. Witnesses at the Stone ball last night report she fled the ballroom only to abscond in a gentleman’s carriage. A carriage with no connection whatsoever to her family. While no name has been confirmed, it is said the lady did not return home until much later. Has the wallflower of the ton turned desperate enough to trap herself a husband?
May’s cheeks flamed.
August rose and approached her, the very air around him bending from his fury. “Do you care to explain what that means?”
“August, I—” May began.
“Who was it?”
Before she could answer, their mother swept into the room, a lace wrap around her shoulders and a scolding already forming on her lips. “What is going on in here? Why are we shouting at breakfast?”
Everyone froze, and May stuffed the sheet behind her back.Dorothy Vestiere’s eyes narrowed. “What are you hiding, May?”
“Nothing,” June said at once.
“Do not lie to me, June. May?”
May bit her lip, but she knew it was no use. Wordlessly, she handed over the torn sheet.Dorothy read it. Her hand flew up to her chest, and her knees buckled.
“Mother!” May darted forward and caught her. August rushed over and helped her onto the settee beneath the window while June ran for the smelling salts.
“Oh, this is the end of us!” Dorothy moaned, fanning herself with the crumpled paper. “Theend.We shall be the mockery of every drawing room from London to Northumberland! What have I done to deserve this? My daughter, fleeing into the night like some Gothic heroine—and not even for love!”
“Mama,” May whispered, kneeling beside her.
“Do not speak. I cannot bear it. How can we show our faces again? How will I walk into a modiste’s without being laughed out of the room? We cannot even go to dinner parties! And if your father hears of this?—”
“We won’t let him,” June said, returning with the salts. “He’s only just recovering.”
“He mustn’t know,” Dorothy moaned. “Not while he’s doing so well. It would kill him. It would—oh, I feel faint again!”
August turned toward May again, his eyes dark. “Tell me who it was.”
May opened her mouth, but nothing came. Swallowing, she took a retreating step toward the door, her world crashing and burning all around her.
“May,” June said gently, coming and taking her hands. “You’re shaking.”
“She’s in shock,” April said from the doorway, striding in with a sheet in her grip. “I came as soon as I saw the headline.”She handed the sheet to May with a tight expression. “Is it true?”
“I thought it was August’s carriage,” May finally said, feeling her chin quiver and the corners of her mouth pull down as she spoke. “I couldn’t see without my spectacles, and I only realized when it was far too late.”
“May Viola Vestiere!” Her mother threw her hands in the air. “I told you disaster might strike you without those spectacles.”
May winced. She did not need to hear how she had brought this doom upon herself and her family.
“May, who was it?” August demanded again, though his voice had softened.
She looked up, her insides quivering. “The Duke of Irondale.”
