Nancy laughed. “The only thing he is allergic to is his own feelings. Mark me, Lavinia: that man is on the verge of a grand declaration. I only hope you have the sense to say yes.”
Lavinia made for the safety of a chair. “Even if he were so inclined, which he is not, I would never accept.”
Nancy’s eyes danced. “Never is such a dangerous word. I remember when you said you’d never wear blue, and now you cannot be kept out of it.”
Lavinia found a cushion and hugged it to her lap. “You are relentless, Nancy.”
Nancy dropped beside her, so close their shoulders brushed. “It is my duty as your oldest and truest friend to be relentless. If not me, who?”
Lavinia opened her mouth to reply, but instead found herself watching the parade of small feet across the rug as Nancy’s adopted children—her husband’s niece and nephew—Clara and Henry, thundered in, chased by a spaniel.
“Excuse the parade,” Nancy said with a note of pride. “I tried to lock them in the nursery, but they have the instincts of wolves. Clara! Mind the table, darling, or you’ll topple the tea.”
Lavinia smiled as the children were swept away by a nursemaid, then returned her attention to her friend. “I have brought your Byron,” she said, extracting the slim volume from her reticule.“Thank you for the loan. It is just as scandalous as you promised.”
“I should hope so,” Nancy said. “Scandal is the only thing that makes literature bearable.”
Lavinia ran her fingers over the book’s spine. “I sometimes wonder what would happen if one were to simply do as Byron does, and never heed consequence or decorum.”
“You would end up dead in Greece or married to a mad poet,” Nancy laughed. “But it would be an adventure.”
Lavinia’s mouth quirked. “That is not the sort of adventure I seek.”
Nancy watched her, the smile fading by degrees. “You have the look of someone carrying a sack of bricks on her back. Is it the estate again? Or something worse?”
Lavinia met her gaze, then looked away. “Have you ever felt,” she began, then faltered, “as if you had only two choices, and both were wrong?”
Nancy considered. “I did once. I had the choice to either marry my husband to ‘save’ his niece and nephew from him or to see them suffer.”
Lavinia tried to laugh, but it came out as a thin sigh. “It is not quite the same.”
“Tell me.” Nancy’s tone softened.
Lavinia stared at her hands, knotting and unknotting the fringe of the cushion. “It is simply… I sometimes dream.” She let the words hang, then, voice so low Nancy had to lean in to catch it: “I wish there were someone to live that dream with, but there is not, and—” She cut herself off, her cheeks suddenly hot.
Nancy’s eyes narrowed with affectionate skepticism. “Is this about the Duke?”
“It could be about anyone.” Lavinia tried to recover. “I do not mean to be obscure, I simply—” She shook her head, frustrated by her own tongue. “I wish I could be as free as Byron. But I am not.”
Nancy reached over and squeezed Lavinia’s wrist. “You are stronger than you think, and cleverer than Byron ever was. But sometimes the walls we build to protect ourselves keep out more than just pain.” Her grip tightened, and the warmth was grounding. “They keep out possibility as well.”
Lavinia blinked hard, then managed a smile. “That sounds as if it came from a book.”
“It did not,” Nancy replied. “But you may borrow it, if you wish.”
They sat for a time in companionable silence, the only sound the muffled bickering of children and the occasional bark from the spaniel. At length, Nancy said, “You know, if you ever wishedto talk about it—the real problem, not just the lace-trimmed version—you may. No judgment.”
Lavinia nodded, unable to trust her voice.
Nancy let the moment pass, then brightened. “I heard Lady Eleanor is with child already. Barely a fortnight married, and already she waddles.”
Lavinia gave a genuine laugh. “You are dreadful.”
“I am observant,” Nancy said, triumphant. “And now I have made you smile.”
They moved to the window, watching the gray day gather itself into something more severe. Lavinia felt the first calm of the day steal over her, thin but real.
“Nancy,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”
