Page 67 of Duke of Iron
They finished their tea, and as they stood to leave, Kitty said, “Do not forget to wear blue to the masquerade. It suits you best.”
“I shall consider it.”
The shop was loud as they made their way out. Kitty and Christie linked arms, drawing May between them as they stepped into the street like an unbreakable front against the world. May left them at the next corner, her gloves slightly sticky from the orange marmalade, but her heart lighter than it had been in days.
She did not know what to call this thing, this sisterhood of sharp tongues and sharper smiles. But for now, she wanted it.
“You are here again,” May observed as Logan walked into the breakfast room the following day, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “It’s becoming a habit.”
He inclined his head and gave her a dashing smile that sent her heart kicking against her ribs. “I assure you, it’s not by choice.”
“Was I snoring?” she asked. “Or is it the scandal sheets this time?”
“Neither,” Logan said. “Though if you like, I can make up a reason for joining you for breakfast.”
May glanced at the sideboard, where the eggs congealed on their silver tray. “You could at least admit you missed me.”
Logan sat across from her at the small, round breakfast table. “I missed my chance at toast, more like. You have taken all the strawberry preserves.”
“Preserves are my only vice,” she said.
He smiled at that. “A bald-faced lie.”
May reached for another slice of bread, slathered it generously, and met his gaze. “What shall I do today, since you have already used all the amusements in London? Go to Gunter’s and have ices until my face freezes over? Lurk at Hatchard’s and read books I do not intend to buy?”
“You will come with me.” He picked up the newspaper, but then set it down.
May almost dropped the toast. “Where are we going?”
“A house on Grosvenor. I want you to see it.”
May squinted, then adjusted her spectacles. “You mean, you wish me to tour a property?”
Logan nodded. “I value your opinion.”
She made a show of thinking it over. “You say that now, but if I despise it, will you throw me in the Serpentine?”
“I shall throw myself,” Logan replied, pouring himself tea. “I am told the water is refreshing this time of year.”
They finished the meal with only minor skirmishes over the jam. When the carriage arrived, May was prepared with gloves, a shawl, and several comments about the folly of inspecting townhouses before ten in the morning.
The Grosvenor house was not enormous, but it was graceful with wide windows, a cheerful pale brown door, and a sweep of marble steps that seemed more inviting than impressive. The housekeeper met them at the threshold, giving May a curious look before dipping into a curtsy.
Logan ushered May inside with a flourish. “The palace awaits, Your Majesty.”
“I had always wanted a palace,” she said. “With a moat and wild boars.”
The entrance was sunlit and warm. They moved from parlor to dining room, up to the drawing room with its marble fireplace and views of the green.
May touched the edge of a settee, running her finger along the upholstery. “It does not smell of mildew. Already an improvement over most of Mayfair.”
“Does that meet with your approval?” Logan asked, trailing her into the next room.
“It meets with my nose’s approval,” May said. “It is… homey. Not in the dismal sense.”
The upper floor was less grand, but there was a bedroom with a blue paper that May liked at once, and a little writing room tucked in beside it. “This is my favorite,” she announced, peeking inside. “It faces the garden.”
Logan glanced out the window. “There is not much to see. Some box hedges and a suspicious-looking gardener.”
