The stalemate was broken by the arrival of Denton, who entered with the solemnity of a man bearing the king’s head on a platter. He stopped at Eliza’s shoulder, set down a silver tray, and bowed.
“A note, My Lady,” Denton intoned. “From the Duchess of Irondale.”
Eliza accepted the letter, her fingers brushing the creamy parchment. The script was fine and eager, the wax unbroken. She could almost feel Denton’s curiosity, radiating like heat from a brick.
She turned the letter over. “Thank you, Denton. That will be all.”
He bowed again and withdrew with a glance at August that bordered on mutinous sympathy.
Eliza slid the knife under the edge of the seal. She had not yet made proper calls on her sisters-in-law though she supposed it was only a matter of time before they descended on her in force. That May should write first was no surprise—her hand was always the quickest.
She read in silence, the parchment crinkling softly as she opened it.
When she finished, she folded the letter and set it to one side.
August waited, but she did not volunteer its contents.
He finally said, “Are you planning to keep me in suspense?”
Eliza took another sip of tea. “I was not aware you cared for family correspondence.”
“I have a weakness for gossip,” he replied.
“Then you will be delighted to hear that we are invited to a ball at Irondale House next Friday evening. May and Logan are hosting. The event is to be the first of the season, and May assures me there will be a surfeit of food and very little conversation.”
August nodded. “She always did know how to attract a crowd.”
Eliza continued, “There is a postscript. She says she is eager to see how I ‘manage’ you, and that she will stand ready with smelling salts should I require reinforcement.”
He barked a laugh. “She underestimates you.”
Eliza set her cup down. “Do you wish to attend?”
He shrugged. “If you prefer not, I am happy to write our regrets.”
She said, “I do not mind if you are content to be managed.”
He leveled a look at her. “I doubt you would find me so easily managed.”
She gave him the smallest of smiles. “You are correct. I have never found anything about you to be easy.”
He watched her, and there was something in the look—a kind of appreciation or perhaps challenge.
Without warning, he reached across the table and took up the letter. He read it, eyes narrowing at May’s handwriting, then set it down.
“We will attend,” he said.
Eliza arched a brow. “Do you mean to command me or merely announce your intention?”
He considered then replied, “Is there a difference?”
“In your case, yes. You always prefer the latter but practice the former.”
He gave a little nod, as if conceding the point. “What can I say? Old habits.”
She steeled herself. “Do you read all my letters?”
He looked genuinely puzzled. “Not unless they are addressed to both of us.”