“Everyone enjoy.” The duke held up his glass of berry-colored claret. Scarlett and I had matching goblets. Katherine and Lydia had water, with no chance of it becoming wine. That was fine. They both needed other miracles—a restoration of a bitter heart and a permanent healing of a currently healthy little body.
Lydia stood and clapped. “Again, again.”
The child was in heaven.
Even Katherine’s stoic face seemed to crack a smile.
The jugglers headed out after we offered them our rapturous applause.
The violinists stayed, playing a joyful tune.
Waving his finger to the rhythm, the duke asked, “Are you all pleased?”
Was he joking? The man entertained as if the room was stacked with all the highbrow of the ton.
“It was good, Your Grace,” I said. “But you needn’t go to such expense or trouble.”
“Why not? If I know you deserve to be indulged, shouldn’t I give you that?”
Affectionate Lydia leapt into his lap, hugging his neck. “You’re the bestus. Thank you for such a good time. I look forward to these days forever.”
“Time for a bath and bed, Lydia,” Katherine said. “You finished dinner hours ago.”
Lydia offered her a terrible pout. “Too much excitement. The duke does everything so nice.”
“True. But, little one, Lady Hampton is only doing what she thinks is best for you. Plenty of rest will keep you strong.”
“No, she’s not. If she wanted what was best, she’d figure out how to be here all the time.”
The face he offered Katherine, all of us, wasn’t a gloat but a countenance of radiant joy. I’d never seen him so happy. He’d found a way to claim that peace he’d been searching for.
The man loved having us here. We weren’t a nuisance.
My heart agreed with Lydia. The duke was the bestus.
This felt more like home than across the river. Every time we returned, 22 Ground Street seemed sad, empty.
“But I still smell good.” Lydia’s voice was soft and whiny.
“Yes, you do,” the duke said with a chuckle, “but you obey Lady Hampton, and there may be a surprise on the bed table.”
Her little brown face glowed. “What, Your Grace?”
“Your own bottle of cologne water. I think it’s lilies.”
The child’s eyes grew large. She jumped down and headed straight to the personal maid he’d hired for her.
He’d hired one for each of us. When we were younger and Papa’s business was growing, we had a lady to do the cooking and another for the wash. We’d also had a lady’s maid that we shared.
One glance at my older sister and I could feel the weight of condemnation falling upon her shoulders. Her posture slouched. Her eyes followed Lydia, holding hands with the kind woman in a blue-checked blouse and billowy white apron leading our Lydia out of the room.
Wanted to utter that our change of circumstance wasn’t her fault.
In truth, it was.
Now I was a doxy in the public papers and my sister, rather than be the Duchess of Torrance, would be a territorial fluttering tit in private, wearing gray mourning feathers for the entirety of her season as the duke’s mistress.
“The dressmakers will be here tomorrow,” the duke said. “They need a last fitting before finishing your gowns.”
