Page 62 of Duke of Iron
“It is… an observation.” He resumed eating, as if the matter were settled.
May could not let it rest. “And what did you expect?”
He gave a slow shrug. “Someone quieter. Someone easily cowed by circumstance. Thetongave me the impression you were…” He trailed off.
“Timid?”
He shook his head. “Conventional.”
May let out a huff. “You have not met my sisters.”
“I have met them. The word applies to neither.”
She smiled despite herself. “April is a force of nature. June is…” She searched for a word. “An absolute menace. I was the quiet one.”
He studied her face as if looking for evidence of this claim. “Are you still?”
“I do not think I know,” May said, which was the truest thing she had spoken all evening.
The silence that followed was not uncomfortable. It was charged, expectant, as if they were both waiting to see what would happen next.
Logan was the first to break it. “How have your days been?”
May nearly laughed at the ordinariness of the question. “Filled with the relentless squalling of an infant and a thousand invitations to teas and musicales. I am told this is the dream of every young lady.”
“Is it your dream?”
She did laugh then, a brief bubble of sound. “No. My dream involves fewer babies and less lace.”
He reached for the wine, poured her a measure, then filled his own glass. “You are allowed to decline invitations, you know. It is one of the few privileges of rank.”
May took a sip, watching him over the rim. “I do not wish to give them reason to talk. Not more than they already have.”
Logan’s mouth curved. “The only reason they talk is because it is all they know how to do.”
She nodded. “Still. Every lady in London wishes to keep me company, as though my presence alone might absolve them of their own sins.”
He smiled, showing a flash of teeth. “Is that how it works?”
“It is how it appears,” she said. “I spent an afternoon with Lady Kitty Monrose and Lady Christie Portwell. Do you know them?”
Logan raised both brows. “Not well. But I would not have expected you to keep their company.”
May frowned, set down her glass. “Why not?”
He shook his head. “No reason.”
“Tell me,” she pressed.
“Nothing, truly. I simply did not imagine you as the sort who enjoys that particular brand of conversation.”
“Meaning gossip.”
He inclined his head. “Meaning bloodsport.”
She tried to be offended, but the truth was she had endured the luncheon as a kind of anthropological experiment. “They are not as clever as they believe themselves to be.”
“No one is,” said Logan. He turned his glass, watching the red spiral along the edge. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
