Page 1 of Duke of Iron
One
“That is it! I have had quite enough!”
Lady May Vestiere shoved her spectacles into her reticule with such force that the delicate wire bent. She did not care. That confounding thing was costing her an entire Season, and she would not have it!
Her brother, August, who was standing beside her with a glass of champagne and an expression far too amused, arched a brow. “Have the spectacles finally offended you beyond repair, or are you merely in a mood for theatrics this evening?”
“Neither,” May muttered, glaring at the floor or where she thought the floor was. Without her lenses, the marble seemed to ripple, and skirts and tailcoats were indistinct. “Well, the former,” she corrected.
They stood near the edge of the ballroom, away from most of the revelry. She squinted in the direction of the dancers, but toher dismay, she was unable to make out their shapes, much less their features.
Of course, it would be tonight of all nights. It was April’s ball; their family’s first celebration since her marriage to Theodore, the Duke of Stone, a little more than a month past. Their mother had pulled every string she possessed to ensure the evening was flawless. And it was.
Except for May. Now she folded her arms. “No one stares at April or June. Only me. And I know precisely why.”
August grinned. “Because you are far too clever, and it terrifies them.”
“Because of the spectacles!”
“Ah. Yes. Well. That too.”
She glared at him. “You are not helping.”
“I never claimed I would.”
“May!” Their mother’s voice rang out like a bell as she approached. The Duchess of Wildmoore’s eyes went straight to May’s now-bare face. “Did you truly just put your spectacles away? The physician was quite clear—you are to wear them at all times.”
“Except when I am asleep,” May replied, rolling her eyes for emphasis.
“Do you not remember when you mistook that poor vicar for a coat rack and hung your shawl on him?”
“Mama,” May groaned. “The vicar did stand like a coat rack.”
“Or the time you called a majordomo ‘Your Grace’ because you thought it was the Duke of Featherstone?”
“No one remembers that,” she mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I remember it vividly,” her sister, June, laughed. “You were wearing that green muslin dress.”
May sighed. “It was an honest mistake.”
“You fell into a pond the same day, May,” August quipped.
She shot him a look and said through clenched teeth, “No one drowned.”
“The ducks fled in terror,” her mother added. “And your skirts weighed enough to sink a carriage.”
“Oh, I remember that! It was in February in the country,” June accepted a glass of lemonade from a passing footman. “And freezing.”
“You’re meant to be my ally, June.”
“I am. Which is why I must inform you that, spectacles or no spectacles, you are entirely beautiful.”
May scoffed. “You only say that because you’re my sister.”
“No,” June said. “I say it because it is true. Though your hair is a battlefield.”
“Thank you. That was nearly a compliment.”
