Lily was sitting next to Mr. Everhart on the piano bench—when had she moved?—while Iris wished the mythic roc would flap out of the sky and transport her to some faraway isle.
She had known this, but knowing it and hearing the situation laid bare before the Duke of Clonmere were two different orders of painful.
The duke’s slight smile suggested the twins’ chatter charmed him, but the pity in his eyes said he knew the truth: Iris was a spinster in training,
The sonata dragged on, pretty, sad, and sweet, while Iris’s heart broke. She wanted to know the Duke of Clonmere better. She wanted to ask him what literary subject he had enjoyed, if mythology had been such a forced march. She wanted to tell him her middle name was Ann—plain, boring, short Ann—but that had been her grandmother’s name, so she treasured it.
And she wanted Clonmere to close his eyes, point to a sister, and get this whole farce over with. For however long his duchess lived, Iris would be forced into occasional proximity with him, and faced with what she herself had never been allowed to want.
A man worth loving, worth being foolish and brave and trusting over. Clonmere was all of that, but he would never, ever be hers.
CHAPTER 4
THE VISIT with Falmouth’s daughters had been an
Clonmere jogged down the steps of the earl’s townhouse, the next weeks stretching before him like the labors of Hercules. Without magic potions, intervening goddesses, a friendly centaur, or some handy poison arrows, he would end up married to a woman who needed her twin to finish her sentences.
“I must thank you,” Cousin Thomas said. “That was a surprisingly delightful hour.”
“It felt more like an eternity.”
Thomas was a few years Clonmere’s junior and had always loved music. “Not one but four lovely women shared their time and attention with us,” he said. “I’d always thought Lady Iris too serious, but I hadn’t realized Lady Lily was such a music lover.”
Thank God that Lady Lily has ensconced herself on the piano bench and not budged until the visit’s conclusion.
“What did you two find to talk about?” Clonmere asked.
“The difference between harmonic, relative, and natural minor as they impact the emotional tone of a piece.”
Clonmere paused at the street corner. “I have no idea what you just said. If Lady Iris were any more devoted to her sisters, she’d have to swear fealty to them in a public ceremony involving a sword and Latinate oaths.”
And that was a problem. That was a serious problem.
“Sisters are supposed to be devoted. Perhaps I’ll write an air to show off Lady Lily’s voice.”
“Cousins are supposed to be devoted.” Clonmere took off across the street, entirely frustrated with the time spent with Falmouth’s daughters. He’d undertaken the call to get the initial introductions over with, and to gather information regarding the best means of courting Lady Iris.
“How can a woman be so firmly un-courtable?” he asked.
Cousin Thomas hung back, not quite keeping pace, not quite falling behind. “Lady Lily is eminently court-able. She’s intelligent, knowledgeable, pretty, soft-spoken, knows Beethoven from Mozart and is pretty.”
“You mentioned that.”
“Well, she is. If you hadn’t been so busy stuffing yourself with tea cakes, you might have noticed that she’s the pick of the litter.”
“Stop languishing at my elbow. Falmouth’s daughters are not puppies.”
Cousin Thomas picked up his pace, barely. “As your cousin, I feel honor-bound to express my opinion that Lady Lily would make you an excellent duchess. The other two are chatterboxes who haven’t outgrown sibling rivalry.”
“And Lady Iris?”
Cousin Thomas linked his hands behind his back, a pose he probably practiced: Composer looking handsome in a creative fog.
“Lady Iris is a perfectly pleasant woman but she lacks…. Sparkle. A duchess should sparkle, tastefully.”
Clonmere barely restrained the urge to shove Cousin Thomas into the street. “She sparkles. You’re too blinded by music to see it.”
“Are you daft, Clonmere? I mean Lady Iris no insult, but she’s not youthful, she’s not musical. She’s not… I have danced with Lady Iris several times in an effort to gain closer acquaintance with Lady Lily. Lady Iris is oblivious to my cause, and now I know why.”
Thomas presented as a placid, dreamy soul who would nonetheless work himself to exhaustion when in the grip of inspiration. He was in the grip of something now, something interesting.
“I say Lady Iris is the most duchess-like of the sisters,” Clonmere retorted. “She is gracious, kind, dignified, selfless, and uncomplaining.”
“And that won’t result in any grand finales.”
“What are you going on about?”
