Chapter 18
Maria was halfway through a letter when the knocker sounded three brisk times in quick succession.
A maid appeared in the doorway. “Your Grace, you have visitors.”
Maria stood at once. She had been anticipating the arrival of her friends all morning.
“Show them in. And ask for fresh tea, if you please.”
She met them in the drawing room, where they had already been seated by the time that Maria made her way downstairs.
“My dear,” Prudence said, kissing Maria lightly, “it feels as though an entire century has passed since we saw you last.”
“I am certain it is less than that,” Maria smiled. “But I believe you only say that because you missed me.”
“Missed you, I did,” Prudence dissolved into easy laughter. “Is it really that predictable?”
“Not to the untrained eye,” Maria said earnestly. “But I know my friends.”
Charity pressed flowers into Maria’s hands. “For your table. They looked lonely outdoors.”
“How lovely,” Maria said, smelling them before putting them away. “Thank you, dear. You always know how to brighten up a girl's day.”
“And what of me?” came another voice.
“Temperance,” Maria said, smiling, “tell me you have not come to scold me for something I have not done.”
“Not yet,” Temperance answered. “I reserve the right.”
Alethea was the last to speak.
“My dear Maria,” she raised her arms.
“Alethea,” Maria said, “how have you been? We have not met in an age.”
“Busy,” Alethea confessed. “Marriage is most industrious on one’s behalf.”
“You have a glow,” Maria observed. “I am tempted to conclude you are very happy.”
Temperance produced a delicate cough.
“My dear duchess, one does not accuse a married lady of radiance before noon.”
“On the contrary,” Prudence murmured, “one records it for future reference.”
“When both of you are married, you will understand, too,” Alethea said.
“Very well,” Temperance decreed.
“Now,” Prudence said, when the first cups had been poured and the maid dismissed, “we shall admire your curtains, speak ill of no one who does not deserve it, and ask questions until you tell us to stop. Begin with the curtains, Charity.”
“They are excellent,” Charity said promptly. “Very calm. I approve their decision to be blue.”
Alethea craned her neck at the embroidery. “It is not quite blue,” she murmured, “but I believe that it matches the furniture quite well.”
“Precisely,” Prudence said, satisfied. “Now, Maria. How are you?”
Maria felt the old reflex to say she was very well, thank you. But that would be too formal between friends.
“Better,” she said. “Truly.”
Temperance’s brows rose a fraction. “Better in what way?”
“In the ordinary,” Maria said.
“You are referring to the duke, yes?” Prudence said.
Maria nodded, suddenly feeling a wave of self-consciousness.
“Things between the two of us are steadily improving, I should like to say. I believe that we are trying to get to know one another, and trying less to impress one another constantly.”
“Good. Leave impressing to afternoons; mornings are for sense.” Prudence set her cup down and glanced at the doorway. “And speaking of sense, where is His Grace?”
“At his desk. He had letters,” Maria blinked.
“Of course,” Prudence murmured. “Charity, ask your question next.”
“Where is His Grace?” Charity repeated.
“Still at his desk,” Maria laughed. “He keeps it in the same place every day.”
“And at what hour does His Grace usually remember that the drawing room exists?” Temperance added.
“At eleven,” Maria said, suspicious now but amused. “Why?”
“No reason,” Temperance said.
Alethea looked dreamy and guilty at once. “We wondered whether the study door is nearer to this room or to the library.”
“Nearer to….” Maria stopped, narrowed her eyes. “What are you about?”
Prudence looked injured.
“A morning call, a decent tea, a mild investigation into your happiness. The usual.”
“You are scheming,” Maria said, unable to help the smile at the corner of her mouth.
“Not scheming,” Charity protested. “Arranging.”
“That is worse,” Maria said.
Temperance lifted a brow. “Arranging is only wrong when done without consent.”
“Then be frank,” Maria said. “What do you want with Stephen?”
Alethea rested her chin on her hand. “Only to see how he looks at you.”
“That is not a plan,” Maria said.
“It is my plan,” Alethea said, unconcerned.
Prudence leaned forward.
“We have missed you. We are pleased that you’re doing better. We just want to see you together with our own eyes.”
Charity squeezed Maria’s wrist again. “We will not provoke him.”
“I will,” Temperance said. “If he deserves it.”
“He does not,” Maria said, “And I will not have him harried into being charming for your entertainment.”
“We shall harry no one,” Prudence said. “Should he wander this way by accident, we shall observe what the accident reveals. If he stays in the study, we shall leave you in peace.”
Maria shook her head. “If he comes, you must not make him uncomfortable under any circumstances.”
“Of course we shall,” Alethea said.
“You are all acting rather mysterious,” Maria said, her tone growing suspicious with each passing second.
She did not know her friends to be meddlesome, but they were certainly acting as if who was meddlesome.
“We are acting attentive,” Prudence emphasized as though it was any better.
“And we shall not do anything that makes you uncomfortable,” Temperance tried to reassure, though it had the opposite impact.
Maria looked at the three of them in turn and pressed her lips together into a tight line.
“I am not entirely persuaded.”
“Then we shall earn your trust,” Prudence said smoothly. “By talking of something else entirely.”
“Yes,” Maria said briskly. “Let us. Anything else.”
“But what better topic is there than love?” Alethea laughed, steering the conversation back to where it was.
“Not that,” Maria blurted out immediately, “It is…. it is not yet love.”
Even as she said the words, a knot settled itself into her stomach.
They stared at her, almost in disbelief.
“Not yet,” Prudence repeated delicately. “What a promising adverb. How can that be?”
“You may not be ready to call it love, but I am certain that it exists,” Alethea replied.
Temperance folded her hands.
“And if it is not love, then it is certainly headed in that direction.”
Maria shook her head, words tumbling out fast, “It is not yet love for him, at least.”
That sharpened all their attention.
“How can you be so sure?” Alethea asked, startled. “You cannot know the exact measurements of another person’s heart.”
Maria opened her mouth, then shut it.
“I… I only mean…he is kind. But love is a very large word. He has not said it.”
“Men seldom say the largest words first,” Prudence commented. “I suppose it would be enough if he says good night.”
“He says good night very well,” Maria admitted, then bit her lip.
“Does he look for you when he enters a room?”
“He looks for the teapot first,” Maria said, remembering all the mornings that they would meet for breakfast.
“Second, then,” Temperance allowed.
“Sometimes,” Maria hesitated.
“Frequently?” Prudence probed.
“And when you speak, does he make haste to finish your sentence for you, or does he give you the time to finish it yourself?” Alethea leaned forward.
“He waits,” Maria said, and felt the warmth on her cheeks.
“An unhurried man is a hopeful sign,” Temperance was nodding now.
“He has not declared anything,” Maria tried one last objection.
“Declarations are for formal things,” Prudence said. “Husbands declare by habit.”
“Has he any?” Alethea asked, eyes alight. “Habits that prove the case?”
Maria’s protest weakened.
“He remembers to tell me where he will be and returns when he says. And he does not detest me, at least. And I know that he keeps his words, always.”
“I am content to rest my argument,” Charity was grinning now.
Maria covered her face with one hand and laughed despite herself. “How am I to argue when you seem to have made up your mind about this?”
“We are not insisting you call it love. We are only saying that if it is not, it is its nearest neighbor,” Prudence replied.
“Change the topic before I forget how to breathe,” Maria pleaded.
“As you wish,” Prudence conceded. “We can discuss his arrival, then.”
Maria narrowed her eyes again, suspicion renewed. “You promised natural behavior.”
“We won’t cause any sort of trouble,” Charity laughed.
“Enough,” Maria said, though she was smiling. “If he comes, you will not interrogate him.”
“We shall interrogate no one,” Charity said sweetly. “We shall merely… observe.”
Maria’s shoulders loosened. “Very well. I shall trust you. A little.”
“A little is all we need,” Prudence said, eyes dancing again. “For now.”
Maria looked down at her own joined fingers and, for once, did not argue. She only nodded, cheeks warm, heart steadier than when the conversation began.
Their conversation was interrupted when the butler came into the room to announce the arrival of the Duke.
“His Grace.”
Maria felt her cheeks redden immediately, and she shot her friends a look. As if pleading, please do not make this awkward.
“We trust we do not interrupt your letters,” Temperance said. “It is great to meet you again, Your Grace.”
“You rescue me from them,” Stephen said. His eyes went to Maria again. “Do you require anything?”
It was a small acknowledgement, but one that immediately made her feel seen. The blush that colored her cheeks was an indication of it.
“If you allow me to answer for her, then only your company,” Prudence said quickly, then added, with proper modesty, “for a quarter hour, if you can spare it.”
“I can be made to spare it,” Stephen’s brow quirked.
“We should never presume to make you,” Alethea said, cheeks warming.
“What have you in mind?” Stephen said.
Maria felt her heart beating fast. She had no idea of what they were to say. If they said something embarrassing, Maria would scarcely know how to handle the situation.
Prudence spread her hands in innocent appeal.
“We propose an extremely respectable diversion, if you are not above it, a game of pall-mall.”
“Prudence…” Maria blinked.