April raised an eyebrow. “That is either the makings of a pauper’s supper or a very dignified mutiny.”
“I prefer to think of it as survival,” May said primly, linking her arm through April’s. “Come to the blue salon. It’s warm, and I refuse to eat alone like a governess.”
They curled up on the settee, feet tucked beneath them, and shared the plate. May poured two small glasses of sherry and raised hers with a grin.
“To dreadful timing and late-night feasts.”
April touched her glass to May’s. “To scandalous sisters and stolen supper.”
They ate in companionable silence until May set down her glass and looked at her squarely. “Is something amiss?”
April hesitated.
May waited, patient and perceptive in the way only a sister could be.
“He makes me feel… unsteady,” April admitted at last. “It is not unpleasant. Only… immense. Like the sea just before a storm. As though, if I stepped forward, I should be swept away entirely.”
May regarded her for a moment. “Is it possible you do not wish to run from him but toward him?”
April stared into her sherry. “No gentleman has ever—” She stopped. Sighed. “None has ever made me feel as though I were standing on the edge of something important.”
May nodded. “Sometimes fear simply means something matters.”
April said nothing. May, content with silence, passed her another slice of bread.
Later, as April returned to her bed, the heaviness in her chest had not vanished, but it had shifted. Less sharp. More curious.
She closed her eyes, wondering what it might mean to meet his aunt. Would it help her understand him? Trust him?
Choose him?
Sleep came at last—thin and restless, but it came.
By the time she joined her sisters in the breakfast room, morning had settled in with that particular sort of brightness that demanded civility. Her mother looked up at once and clicked her tongue softly.
“Darling, you look as though you’ve not slept a wink,” she observed, lifting her teacup. “What kept you up?”
April sat and reached for a slice of toast then busied her hands with buttering it. “Just… too much reading before bed, I suppose.”
Dorothy gave a slow shake of her head. “You must take greater care with your rest, April. It is essential for a young lady to be lovely at all times. The Duke clearly admires you—there’s no sense in dimming your charms with shadows beneath your eyes.”
Nodding, April stirred her tea, letting it grow cool, while June perused the society pages with the sort of expression one reserved for unswept doorsteps or inferior lace.
April did not have to wait long to find out why.
“For mercy’s sake,” June muttered, adjusting the paper. “Listen to this:A young lady of noble birth was observed yesterday promenading in Hyde Park with a most stone-faced duke. The two were engaged, sources say, in a debate of considerable intensity—perhaps passionate in nature.”
May gasped. “That was you! And him! April, you’re featured.”
Dorothy clapped her hands, her eyes positively aglow. “How thrilling. Visibility is the first step toward inevitability.”
April buried her face in her hands. “I shall never walk in daylight again.”
June sniffed. “They make it sound as though you were conducting an operatic quarrel beside the Serpentine.”
May grinned. “I find it terribly romantic. Like something out of Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels, only with marginally fewer ghosts.”
April stared at her plate, untouched. The words from the paper echoed beneath her ribs.
