“Gen!” Phoebe cried. “I—I am not supposed to?—”
“Lady Phoebe,” the Duchess interrupted gently, “do not fret. I strung my first bow with an arrow before I picked up an embroidery needle, and I have become well-trained in the way of firearms, thanks to my husband. He likes to say that my abilities with a dagger are growing each day as well. So, here, we can be a little… unconventional. Do not worry.”
For a moment, Phoebe could only blink at her in wonderment.
Firearms, bow and arrows, and daggers? Wielded by a Duchess?
“That is often the look I get when I speak about my interests,” the Duchess laughed, linking her fingers together. “I quite enjoy the surprised expressions I receive.”
She leaned forward and whispered in a conspiratorial manner.
“When I first collided with Lady Genevieve a few nights ago and sloshed my cup of punch down the front of her gown, she told me that our meeting was something straight out of a book you had once written.” The Duchess arched an eyebrow coyly. “I was intrigued. A lady writer. Do tell me all about your latest project,Lady Phoebe, and I shall endeavor to keep my countenance firmly in place.”
She straightened her posture and drew her lips into a rigid line. Despite striking this new pose, Phoebe could see that Her Grace was jesting because her eyes glittered with mirth.”
Phoebe paused, looking between the two of them. “I… I do write stories occasionally. A pen is no dagger, but I still am weary of sharing my hobby with others.”
“You do not wish to crow about your accomplishments?” The Duchess laughed boisterously. “You are a singular lady, indeed.” She cast a long look around the gathered assembly. “I hear you possess quite the talent, Lady Phoebe, but I shall not press you if it makes you worried to speak about it. All I know is that thetoncould use many more female writers, so do not let society discourage you, nor anybody else. I know what it is like to have to hide one’s interests away.”
She winked at her secretively, and Phoebe relaxed a little further, smiling gratefully.
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
“You may call me Verity,” she said.
She looked around, eyes narrowing as she scanned the ballroom, and then her face brightened. Something soft came over herotherwise sharp features, and Phoebe followed her gaze to where a silver-haired man strode through the multitude.
Around him, heads turned, and ladies blushed, but he was also flanked by two men behind him. Together, the three of them stalked through the crowd that parted for them, and Phoebe’s stomach twisted at how they commanded the room.
My, how intimidating they all look…
Each of them was built broadly, their faces stern and eyes angular. The gentlemen did not resemble one another beyond those shared traits but something, they seemed indistinguishable, until the silver-haired man approached Verity, and slipped his arm around her waist. He immediately softened, as she had, and Phoebe could only smile a little at the transition.
“My Duchess,” he murmured in a deep voice.
Phoebe looked away quickly, feeling as though she was intruding on something intimate. Verity turned into her husband, pressing a quick kiss to his temple. Idly, her fingers rose to scratch through his beard once, and Genevieve sighed.
“I need what they have,” Genevieve whispered to Phoebe, right as the other two men halted. “They are so casually adoring of one another without it being too much for the public eye.”
Phoebe could not let herself admit it aloud, but she nodded, nonetheless. Her attention was already sliding to the other men, and she realized how strikingly similar the man on the left was to Verity. When the couple pulled apart, Verity gestured to Phoebe.
“Percy, this is Lady Phoebe, and you must remember my new friend, Lady Genevieve. We met her two weeks ago.”
“We did?” he frowned.
“At the Sumners’ garden party.” Verity brushed off his mild case of forgetfulness. “Anyway, yes you have. Lady Phoebe, this is His Grace, the Duke of Whitestone. Or, quite simply, my husband, Percy.”
The Duke inclined his head to her as she curtsied. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Phoebe. Are you enjoying the ball this evening?”
“Yes, Your Grace. It is fine?—”
“She hates it,” Genevieve cut in. “And with good reason.”
Behind Percy, the man who did not resemble Verity chuckled.
The sound must have caught her attention because Verity turned toward the gentlemen and continued her introductions.
“This is the Duke of Ravenwood, my brother, Vincent. He is my twin, but most people do not need me to tell them as muchbecause they can already see our similarities,” she laughed and gifted her brother with a sweet smile. In return, his lips turned upward slightly at the corners. “Vincent, Lady Phoebe. And next to him is the Duke of Talwyn, Sebastian Halshore.”
