Page 17 of Duke of Diamonds
Anna Caldwell, the Duchess of Copperton, led her to the settee with her usual easy grace. The house smelled of roses and fresh ink, and somewhere in the distance, the faint, comforting strains of a pianoforte drifted in from another room. It was, Fionathought, the sort of home where worries did not cling to the walls.
Moments later, a maid entered with a silver tea service, the steam rising in elegant wisps.
“Would you like to serve the tea? I know how very much you adore it,” Anna offered with a teasing lift of her brow.
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss the opportunity to play hostess in someone else’s house,” Fiona said, rising with practiced ease.
They laughed, the sound light and genuine, and Fiona moved to the table with practiced ease, grateful for the familiar rhythm of pouring tea—the clink of porcelain, the rustle of linen. It gave her hands something to do, her thoughts a narrow path to follow.
She reached for the strainer and poured slowly, watching the amber stream settle into Anna’s cup.
“Are you well, Fiona?” Anna’s voice softened, cutting through the pleasant clatter.
Fiona’s fingers stilled. She glanced up, caught by the sincerity in her friend’s gaze.
“I... beg your pardon?” she said lightly, though her spine straightened beneath her gown.
“You are the object of every conversation in drawing rooms this week,” Anna said gently. “The gossip columns have not ceased. I know all too well how it feels to be under that sort of scrutiny. It stings more deeply than one expects.”
Fiona set down the teapot and folded her hands in her lap, her gloves still faintly warm from the handle.Of course she understands.Anna had suffered the cruel persistence of society’s attention last season, their fixation with her age, her marital state, her supposed inadequacies—all until she had confounded them by marrying a duke and finding happiness in spite of it.
“I do not know what to think anymore,” Fiona admitted, her voice quiet. “I find myself wishing—” she hesitated, then gave a small laugh. “Wishing I might be as fortunate as you. To fall in love, at the very least.”
Anna’s brows lifted, full of gentle protest. “And who says you shall not?”
Fiona gave a rueful tilt of her head. “I am already engaged to Canterlack, Anna. You know that.”
Her friend’s face fell. “And you do not love him.”
“He is my parents’ choice.” Fiona reached again for the teapot, needing something to hold. “And they are very firm in their convictions.”
“But the Season is not yet over,” Anna pressed. “There is still time to meet someone who might?—”
“You make it sound simple,” Fiona interrupted with a soft smile. “As though all it would take is a stroll through Hyde Park and a misstep into the arms of a stranger.”
Anna leaned forward, clasping Fiona’s hand across the table. “I am sorry, truly. I only mean that I believe in the possibility of something better for you. You deserve more than duty, Fiona.”
Fiona looked down at their hands, the reassuring pressure of Anna’s fingers warming her skin even through the gloves.
If only I could believe that myself.
“Let us not allow the tea to go cold,” she said, forcing brightness into her tone.
Anna laughed again, easing the heaviness between them. “If it were up to you, I suspect you’d drink it even if it turned to ice.”
“I do not discriminate,” Fiona replied with mock solemnity. “Tea is gold in all its forms.”
They returned to the task of tea and conversation, and the remainder of the afternoon passed in pleasant ease—at least on the surface. Fiona clung to it, the comfort of a friend, the illusion of calm.
But as the carriage drew her closer to Holden House, the familiar weight settled on her shoulders once more.
She barely had time to remove her gloves when her father’s voice rang out in the foyer.
“Come.”
The single word was clipped, brisk, and cold.
He did not look at her as he passed by, and Fiona had no choice but to follow.
