Page 20 of Unending Joy
Maeve rose with a sigh. “It is the Dowager’s at-home day. We had better dress before she finds us still in our wrappers and declares us a disgrace.”
Joy made a face but complied. “At least there will be pastries.”
They dressed quickly, Maeve in a pale blue muslin, and Joy in a soft yellow cambric that made her look younger, despite her maid’s protests. By the time they descended to the drawing room, voices could already be heard from the hall.
“Freddy!” Joy exclaimed in surprise as the butler opened the door to admit Mr. Cunningham. He was dressed smartly with his usual easy elegance, a well-fitted coat of blue superfine, buff pantaloons, gleaming Hessian boots, and a touch of irreverence in the tilt of his exquisite neckcloth. If he was not inured to it, Joy would have teased him for being a dandy.
“Ladies,” he said with a flourishing bow. “I beg a private word with Miss Joy before I am required to speak of weather and wisteria.”
Maeve gave a knowing smile. “I shall go and enquire about the…pastries.”
Freddy waited until Maeve had vanished into the next room before turning to Joy and producing a small velvet box from his pocket.
“What is this?” she asked warily.
“A fashion accessory,” Freddy said lightly. “Or a tool…depending on your interpretation.”
Inside the box were spectacles—delicate, with thin gold rims and clear lenses. Joy stared at them as if they might bite.
“I picked them up on my way here.”
“Oh,” she said stupidly, her voice faint.
“You might wear them as an affectation,” he said, smiling. “Like a dandy. I have half a mind to get a pair myself.”
“I think you mean a quizzing glass, Freddy.” Joy picked them up with the same expression she might use for a spider that had wandered into her shoe. She perched them on her nose, blinked once—and then blinked again.
“Well?”
“I can see,” she said flatly, “but I hate how they feel.”
Freddy looked mildly disappointed.
She quickly removed them and stuffed them into her pocket. “But thank you. Truly. ’Twas thoughtful of you.”
He brightened. “You will grow accustomed to them. Besides, why care if you can now see?”
“If only that were the only concern,” she said dryly, but took his arm.
As they entered the drawing room, they found it already humming with conversation. The Duchess of Thornhill was speaking to Lady Westwood, and Mrs. Larkspur had cornered the vicar’s wife. But Maeve was unmistakably ensconced beside Thornhill himself, her entire expression transformed.
Joy watched them for a long moment. They leaned towards each other as if the air between them held secrets, their smiles private, their conversation low. Maeve looked incandescent. Joy could not imagine ever being so transported.
She folded her arms and muttered, “Why is it I feel most unnatural at everything expected of a lady?”
“Because you are a glorious rebel,” Freddy said at her elbow, “and we are all the better for it.”
Joy was about to punch him in the arm when a new voice interrupted them.
“Mr. Cunningham!”
Miss Dorothea Larkspur, curls bouncing, fluttered up like a particularly excitable puppy. She was bedecked in ruffles and emanating rose water.
“What adelightto see you! I was just telling Letty Partridge what an enchanting gentleman you are. I do hope you are to attend Lady Jersey’s musical evening?”
Freddy bowed politely. “Miss Larkspur. How very…sprightly you look this morning.”
Joy raised her brows. Sprightly?
