Page 222 of Dukes for Dessert

“No half-measures,” he reminded himself. He was New Adam. This would be easy. He rolled back his shoulders and strode straight to her table.

Her turban slipped sideways as she glanced up from her glass ball.

“Sit.” One long fingernail pointed at a bronze basin. “One bob for fortune.”

He sat.

She stared at him without comment.

He dropped a shilling in the bronze basin.

The wrinkled, gray-haired woman continued to stare without blinking.

He shifted uncomfortably on the hard wooden chair. “Er… aren’t you supposed to say something like ‘love and luck will find me, thanks to the moon?’”

“Dukes, actually. Thank them.”

She tapped a fingernail on the glass ball. It didn’t change.

Adam refrained from informing her that she was talking to a duke at this very moment. There was no point. She likely gave the same nonsensical fortune to everyone foolish enough to hand over a shilling.

She placed both hands on the glass ball and widened her eyes dramatically. “Follow the five golden rings. They lead to your heart.”

His brow furrowed. “What does that even mean?”

She covered the glass ball with a square of black silk. “It is up to you to find out.”

He couldn’t believe it. “I thought a fortune teller’s job was to tell fortunes.”

“Your job is to listen, which you are not doing,” she scolded.

“Five golden rings. My heart. Dukes, actually,” he parroted politely. “None of that makes sense.”

“Does anything make sense? You surround yourself with fictional companions because you are afraid to make real friends.”

He reeled back. “I’m not afraid! I—”

“You are comfortable before a podium because it is easier to speak to hundreds of your peers than to converse alone with just one person.”

“That’s not a ‘fortune,’” he spluttered. “That’s my current life. I didn’t give you a shilling to tell me things I already know.”

“Didn’t you?” She inspected her fingernails. “Tell me, why did you invite your pretty neighbor to your party and then do nothing but stare, because your tongue is useless as wet towel?”

He stared at her in disbelief. “Do I know you?”

She straightened her turban. “Have you been to the old country?”

“What country are you from?”

“This one. I was born in Essex.” Her accent disappeared. “If you were in search of science, you should have attended the Royal Society of Gentlemen Geologists’ symposium.”

He blinked. “Is there a Royal Society of Gentlemen Geologists symposium?”

“You want another fortune?” She pointed at the brass basin. “Two bob.”

“What happened to one bob?”

“Economic instability.” She tapped the basin. “Take that up with your committee when Parliament reconvenes.”

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