Page 91 of Duke of Iron
April said, “What of the Duke?”
May fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth. “What of him?”
“Is he—” April began, but June cut in “—as impossible as ever?”
May managed a smile. “If he were not impossible, I would not know what to do with him. Logan has never done a sensible thing in his entire life. He is currently house-hunting with the obsession of a man searching for the Holy Grail.”
“Do you think he will find one?” June asked. “A house, I mean.”
May considered. “Not unless he builds it himself, brick by brick, according to whatever mad vision keeps him awake at night.”
April pressed, “And do you wish to live in this vision?”
May’s answer was so soft she hardly heard herself say it. “I would like to see it, at least.”
The subject seemed too raw, so she waved a hand at the invitations. “Enough about me. With whom shall we seat Lady Ramsey? She despises all of Mayfair, but cannot bear to be left out.”
June grinned. “Seat her next to Lady Featherstone. It will be a duel to the death by scone.”
May laughed, surprised by the sharpness of it. “You are wicked.”
April set down her pen and leaned in. “You have changed, May. You are bolder. Less retiring.”
May looked at her hands, found them steady for once. “It is easier to be bold when you have nothing left to lose.”
June tilted her head. “You do not mean that.”
But May did not answer. Not directly.
Instead, she reached for another card and wrote, “To Lady Miriam Applegate, come as you are, and bring no fear of ridicule. You will find only friends here.” She handed it to June, who read it, then looked at her with something like pride.
“You are building an army of misfits,” June said. “It is very like you.”
May smiled. “Every wallflower deserves a dashing gentleman to sweep her off her feet.”
June made a face. “Not me. I would trip him.”
April nudged her. “You are not a wallflower, darling. You are polite society’s nightmare.”
The three of them laughed, the kind of laughter that wound around the ceiling beams and settled, cozy and bright, in the corners of the room.
After a while, the invitations were signed and sealed, and the sisters sat in a circle on the carpet, legs tangled as they had done since childhood.
June asked, “Do you ever regret it?”
May knew what she meant and shook her head. “I have no time for regrets. If I stopped to count them, I would never do anything at all.”
April rested her chin on her knees. “You are happy?”
May opened her mouth, then closed it, feeling the answer catch somewhere behind her ribs.
She thought of Logan’s hands, his voice when he called her by her name instead of her title. She thought of the warmth in the nursery, of the little weight of Rydal on her chest, the slow realization that perhaps she could be more than an arrangement, more than a pawn in someone else’s game.
She wanted to say yes. She wanted to say, I am learning how to be happy.
Instead, she said, “I am… content.”
The sisters were silent, as if listening for the rest of the answer.
