Chapter 13
Thirteen
"Iam certain Logan will try to find me here.
" May's declaration floated through the air like a pleased prophecy rather than a concern.
She stepped daintily over a fallen branch as they followed the narrow path toward the meadow.
June watched her sister's graceful movements with a mixture of affection and exasperation.
May had been married four years, yet she still blushed like a new bride whenever her husband's name was mentioned.
"I believe Theo will do the same," April replied, adjusting her parasol to shield her face from the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. A smile played at the corner of her mouth—the secretive, content smile of a woman thoroughly pleased with her lot in life.
June rolled her eyes. "Well, I certainly am glad I have no man following me around."
April and May exchanged a look—that infuriating twin glance that always made June feel as though she'd missed some crucial part of a conversation—and burst into laughter.
"What?" June demanded, narrowing her eyes at her sisters. "What is so amusing?"
"Nothing at all," May said, adjusting her spectacles with studied innocence. "We're merely enjoying the fresh air."
"And your delusions," April added under her breath, though not quietly enough to escape June's notice.
June opened her mouth to deliver a scathing retort but was distracted by their arrival at the meadow.
Even she had to admit the spot was enchanting.
Tall grasses swayed in the gentle breeze, dotted with wildflowers in every imaginable shade.
At the meadow's center, beneath the sprawling branches of an ancient oak, a footman had laid out their picnic—a checkered blanket weighted at the corners with stones, a wicker hamper promising delights within, and cushions arranged for comfortable repose.
"Oh, this is lovely," May sighed, hurrying forward. "April, your staff has outdone themselves."
"Cook insisted we take the strawberry tarts," April said, sinking gracefully onto a cushion. "Apparently, they won't be at their peak by tomorrow, and it would be a tragedy to waste them."
June settled beside her sisters, arranging her skirts with less care than either of them would have shown.
She reached for the hamper, eager to inspect its contents.
"At least we've escaped Aunt Agatha's matchmaking schemes for a few hours.
I swear, if she introduced me to one more 'eligible gentleman' with nothing between his ears but air, I might have been forced to do something drastic. "
"Such as?" May asked, accepting a plate from June.
"Push her into the fountain," June said matter-of-factly. "Or perhaps lock her in the conservatory with Lord Pemberton's mother. They could compare notes on how to best terrorize unmarried ladies."
April laughed, reaching for a strawberry tart. "Poor Aunt. She means well."
"She means to see me married off by Michaelmas," June corrected, selecting a tart for herself. "Which is not going to happen."
"Speaking of marriage," May said, wiping a crumb from the corner of her mouth with delicate precision, "have you made Dominic regret not remembering you yet?"
June nearly choked on her tart. "I beg your pardon?"
April's eyes gleamed with interest. "Yes, do tell. Has the Duke of Ice begun to thaw?"
June set down her plate, suddenly finding the exquisite pastry far less appealing. "If you must know, he does remember me now."
"He does?" May leaned forward eagerly. "When did this happen? And why are we only hearing of it now?"
"It hardly matters," June said, plucking at the blanket's fringe. "He remembers our meeting at Oxford, yes, but he has yet to express any regret over his behavior."
And why should that bother me? she thought. It was years ago. I should be well past caring about his opinion.
But she wasn't past caring—that was the trouble. Despite her best efforts to remain indifferent, Dominic Blake had once again taken up residence in her thoughts, his presence as persistent and unwelcome as a summer cold.
"Give it time," April advised, pouring tea from a silver pot into delicate china cups. "Men are remarkably slow when it comes to realizing their mistakes."
"Theo took nearly a year to admit he was wrong about that hideous painting in the west salon," May added.
"That's different," June protested. "Theo merely had questionable taste in art. Dominic..." She paused, searching for words that wouldn't reveal too much of her inner turmoil. "Dominic dismissed me without a second thought. As if I were entirely beneath his notice."
"And yet now you're not," May pointed out, a small smile playing at her lips. "I've seen the way he watches you when he thinks no one is looking."
Heat rose to June's cheeks. "He does not watch me."
"Oh, but he does," April said, handing June a cup of tea. "And that brings us back to our plan."
"What plan?" June asked warily, though she had a sinking feeling she already knew the answer.
"Why, the dress for my garden ball, of course." May's eyes sparkled behind her spectacles. "The one that will bring him to his knees, remember?"
June recalled her moment of weakness at the modiste's shop, when mortification had given way to determination. "I was overwrought," she muttered. "You shouldn't take seriously anything I said in that state."
"Nonsense," April declared. "The dress is perfect. Silver-blue silk that catches the light with every movement, a neckline that hints rather than reveals, and sleeves that make your arms look positively ethereal."
"I don't want to look ethereal," June protested. "I want to be taken seriously."
"You can be both," May assured her, patting June's hand. "Trust us. When Dominic sees you in that dress, he won't be able to string two coherent thoughts together, let alone recall any dismissive remarks he once made."
June sipped her tea, considering. Part of her—the proud, wounded part—longed to see Dominic Blake struck speechless by her appearance.
To witness the realization dawn in those impossibly blue eyes that he had been wrong about her.
But another part—the logical, cautious part—warned that such a victory would be hollow at best, dangerous at worst.
"Even if he notices me," she said slowly, "what then? He's not the marrying kind. Everyone knows that."
"Everyone knows a great many things that aren't necessarily true," April replied. "Besides, we're not plotting your wedding. We're merely suggesting you might enjoy watching him suffer a bit."
"The way you suffered," May added softly.
June couldn't argue with that. The memory of his cruel words still stung, even after all these years. Thin as a reed, hair like unpolished brass, eyes too large for her face.
"Very well," she conceded, setting down her cup with a decisive clink. "I shall wear the dress. But I make no promises about what comes after."
"We ask for nothing more," April said, though the gleam in her eye suggested otherwise.
The conversation drifted to other topics—the latest letter from their father, who was feeling well enough to consider a trip to Bath; the antics of May's new spaniel puppy, which had developed a taste for expensive silk slippers; the curious behavior of the vicar's wife, who had taken to wearing turbans remarkably similar to Aunt Agatha's.
June laughed and contributed where appropriate, but part of her mind remained fixed on the garden ball and what it might bring. Would Dominic truly notice her? Would he remember his dismissive words and regret them? And if he did—what then?
"I think I'll walk a little," she said abruptly, rising to her feet. "The day is too fine to spend entirely seated."
"Don't wander too far," May cautioned, glancing at the sky. "Those clouds look rather threatening."
June followed her gaze and saw that, indeed, the perfect blue of earlier had given way to a mottled gray. "I'll just explore the edge of the woods," she promised. "I heard there's an old church ruin nearby. I'd like to see it before we leave."
"Always chasing after crumbling history," April said with fond exasperation. "Very well, but don't be long. I have no desire to explain to Mother why we allowed you to be soaked through."
June nodded, already moving toward the tree line where the meadow met the forest. Her mind, ever curious, had latched onto the possibility of historical discovery as a welcome distraction from thoughts of Dominic Blake and silver-blue dresses.
Ancient ruins cannot break your heart, she told herself firmly. They merely exist, waiting to be understood by those who care to look.
And if part of her hoped that her sisters were right—that Dominic might see her, truly see her, at the garden ball—well, that was a secret she would keep to herself.
"What exactly did you drag me out here for?
" Dominic asked, ducking beneath a low-hanging branch as he followed August through the wooded path.
The question had been building since they'd left Stone's estate, but he'd held his tongue until now, hoping for some explanation that would justify abandoning a perfectly good book for this impromptu expedition into the increasingly gloomy afternoon.
"I am here to find my wife," Theo replied from ahead, not bothering to turn around. He moved with the easy confidence of a man who knew precisely where he was going and why.
August glanced back at Dominic, amusement dancing in his eyes. "And I am here to find my sisters. Three unaccompanied ladies in the countryside—even if two of them are duchesses—is cause for brotherly concern."
"Then what am I doing here?" Dominic pressed, irritation creeping into his voice as he sidestepped a muddy patch in the trail.
"Perhaps fate brought you here for a reason," August suggested, his tone deliberately casual but his meaning anything but.
Dominic rolled his eyes. "Fate," he muttered under his breath.