Page 99 of Duke of Iron
“You look like a duchess,” Abbot replied. “But the real question is, does the baby look presentable?”
May glanced down at Rydal. “He is the most beautiful child in London,” she declared, and meant it.
The sound of the butler announcing the Beamonds sent a jolt through her. May adjusted her spectacles, set her shoulders, and prepared for battle.
The Beamonds entered together, arm in arm. Mr. Beamond was a tall, thin man with spectacles nearly as round as May’s own, and Mrs. Beamond was plump and pink-cheeked. Both wore mourning black.
“Your Grace,” said Mrs. Beamond, bobbing a curtsy and beaming at the child. “What a pleasure!”
“The pleasure is ours,” May replied, then raised Rydal to Mrs. Beamond’s waiting arms.
Mrs. Beamond clasped the baby and immediately began to fuss and coo, her face radiant with affection. “Oh, look at him, Edwin! He has grown since you saw him last, has he not?”
Mr. Beamond approached, blinking rapidly. “He is… he is quite robust.”
“He is perfect,” Mrs. Beamond insisted, then addressed May. “You have cared for him so well, Your Grace. I am beyond grateful.”
May felt a lump rise in her throat. She tried to swallow it. “Rydal is very easy to love.”
“I am sure,” Mrs. Beamond agreed, rocking the baby. “But he is a handful, I imagine. Our daughter was the same. Cried if you left her for even a minute, and would not be comforted by anyone but me.”
May said nothing, afraid of what she might say if she started.
Mrs. Beamond patted the baby’s back, then frowned. “Why does he not answer to William?”
May blinked, then realized the confusion. “Oh, we have been calling him Rydal,” she explained. “It was a sort of… moniker, before we knew his true identity. It seems to suit him. We all use it, even the staff.”
Mrs. Beamond’s brow furrowed, then smoothed. “Rydal. Like the poem?”
May nodded, surprised at the quick catch of pleasure in her chest. “Exactly so.”
Mrs. Beamond smiled, a little sadly. “It is a good name.” She then pressed her cheek to the baby’s hair. “And you, Your Grace? Are you managing? This must all be very strange for you.”
“I am managing quite well,” May replied. “It is a great deal to learn, but he is patient. And I have had help.”
Mrs. Beamond looked down at the infant in her arms. “You are very young to be a mother, even of another woman’s child. I suppose it is fortunate you and the Duke are so… compatible.”
May felt her cheeks burn. She cast a glance at Logan, who had entered at some point and was now standing in the doorway with his arms folded. His face gave nothing away.
“Very compatible,” May agreed, though her voice sounded thin in her own ears.
“You must not feel obligated, Your Grace. If ever you wish to… you know… hand him over for a spell, or even… permanently, we would be more than willing.”
May felt a sharp stab in her side. She tried to hide it behind a smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Beamond, but as the Duke said earlier, we would prefer to keep him close. At least for now.”
Mrs. Beamond nodded, but May could see that the hope in her eyes had not died entirely.
The conversation drifted to less dangerous topics—the state of the city, the rumor that the Prince Regent would soon attend a ball in person, the price of lemons at the new grocer’s. May contributed as best she could, all the while watching the way Mrs. Beamond’s hands lingered on Rydal’s hair, how her fingers curled possessively around the little arm.I will not let him go,May thought.Not for all the lemons in England.
When at last the tea was done and the guests rose to leave, Mrs. Beamond handed Rydal back to May. “You are doing so well, Your Grace,” she whispered. “He is lucky to have you.”
May accepted the baby and pressed a kiss to his temple, feeling the truth of it vibrate all the way to her bones.
Mr. Beamond bowed. “If you ever change your mind…”
“I will not,” May said, as gently as she could.
The Beamonds departed, escorted by Logan, and May was left in the sudden hush of the drawing room, the baby heavy in her arms and her heart heavier still.
