The scarlet heat that flooded June's cheeks was swift and merciless. "It's nothing," she insisted, attempting to tuck the earring into her pocket, but in her haste, she fumbled it. The pearl bounced once on the stone terrace before April snatched it up.
"This is definitely yours," April said, examining it. "Mother gave each of us a pair for our sixteenth birthday. I lost one of mine during a rainstorm in Hampshire, and May's were stolen by that dreadful cat." She looked up, her expression a mixture of confusion and dawning comprehension. "And didn't the duke say you've met before?"
June snatched back the earring and tucked it securely in her pocket. "He was mistaken."
"June Vestiere," May said, with the stern tone that had emerged since she'd become a mother, "you are many things, but you have never been a convincing liar."
June sighed, glancing between her sisters. Their identical faces wore identical expressions of curiosity, which meant she would get no peace until she satisfied it. She stepped away from the balustrade, moving toward the ivy-covered garden wall where they might not be overheard.
"Very well," she said, smoothing her skirts with unsteady hands. "But you must promise not to laugh."
"We would never," April said, though the twitch at the corner of her mouth suggested otherwise.
"You remember when I accompanied August to Oxford several years ago?" June began, her voice low. "I spent most of my time in the Bodleian Library. It was there I first met Dominic Blake."
May gasped. "The Duke of Ice? And you never told us?"
"It hardly seemed worth mentioning," June replied, though the lie tasted bitter. "He helped me retrieve a book from a high shelf. We spoke briefly about Polybius. That was all."
"That cannot be all," April insisted. "Not if he has your earring."
"That is..." June struggled to find the words, "a more recent development."
Both her sisters stared at her expectantly.
"What happened when you returned to Oxford the following year?" May prompted gently.
June's head snapped up. "How did you?—"
"We're your sisters," April said simply. "We know when you're skipping important parts of a story."
June closed her eyes briefly, steeling herself. Even after all these years, the memory still stung like a fresh wound. "The second time I went to Oxford, I overheard a conversation between August and Dominic. August had found something I had written." She paused, mortification washing over her anew. "A page where I had scribbled Dominic's name. With... embellishments."
"Embellishments?" May repeated.
"Hearts," June admitted, her voice barely audible. "And his title. And my name with his. It was childish and mortifying and I thought I had burned it, but August found it and confronted him."
April's eyes softened with understanding. "Oh, Junebug."
"And what did the duke say?" May asked, her voice gentler now.
June lifted her chin, willing her voice not to tremble. "He said he had no interest in me. That he would never be interested in someone like me. He described me as—" she swallowedhard, "—'thin as a reed, hair like unpolished brass, eyes too large for her face.' And then he told August not to worry, as I would outgrow my infatuation and find some curate to torment instead."
A heavy silence fell between them. May reached for June's hand, squeezing it tightly.
"And you never told us," April said, her voice thick with disbelief. "All these years, we thought you were simply disinterested in marriage."
"I wanted to forget it had ever happened," June explained. "It seemed easier that way. If I didn't speak of it, perhaps the memory would fade."
"But it didn't," May observed.
"No," June admitted. "It didn't."
"And last night?" April prompted. "How did he come to have your earring?"
June's face heated again. "I got lost looking for my room. The house is enormous, and after three glasses of punch, all the hallways began to look the same."
"You entered his bedchamber," May guessed, her eyes wide.
