Page 12 of The Duchess Games

And so: an extravagant house party. Access to the kind of society she would never have had otherwise, people who might have their eye caught by fine French lace, who might bemoan the lack of brandy, the price of tea. Society folk who shopped as if it was air. A merchant in Bristol or London would not give Cat the time of day, but they’d bend over backwards for an aristocrat.

Which brought her here with fine contraband lace stitched to her neckline in the hopes that it might pique interest. She would unstitch it tonight and add it to the next dress. The official story was that Viola had made it herself, but Cat figured she could gauge from there who might be worth approaching.

All to say she had not counted on a duke sitting in a fountain, and a turtle. And now, formal gowns, talk of the weather, held breaths waiting for that same duke to arrive. A key hidden in her stays, burning like a hot coal. It felt obvious, as if smoke billowed from the lace at her neckline. She shifted.

The King himself might have been in attendance by the way the guests scrambled to be the first to bow or curtsy when Callum finally arrived. He did look rather regal for someone who had spent a considerable amount of time wrestling an ungrateful snapping turtle. He wore a burgundy waistcoat, and a black coat with gold buttons. His pocket watch gleamed gold, as did the pin in his simple cravat. This was a man who did not have to pretend, or impress. It was bred into his blood. And he knew it, made no apologies for it.

Or for his disinterest even as the windowpanes shook with the force of so many murmurs of “Your Grace”.

Callum looked calm, if stark. The more he let the chatter break against the boulder of his silence, the more it increased in frenzy. Why did she fancy she could see him glance in her direction, a softening of those stark eyebrows? She would have understood every minute shift in his expression once. During that one brief summer.

Cat was surprised when Viola joined her. “Aren’t you going to enter the fray?”

“Certainly not,” she said, accepting a flute of champagne instead. “I will not be herded.”

“What if someone else catches his eye?” Cat asked, pretending the thought did not make her feel odd in a hundred miserable ways.

“He’s overrun,” Viola explained. “Much like the cabbage patch that summer Mother refused to let us fight back against the rabbits, do you remember?”

Their mother loved rabbits almost as much as rabbits loved her cabbage patch.

“And the duke is a cabbage in this scenario?”

Viola winked, careful to hide it from the others. Winking was not done by young ladies, and the battle had clearly begun. She nodded at another lady who hovered by the window, the gold brocade draperies perfectly setting off the red of her dress. Her hooded eyes were as black as her hair shining and straight as a pin. “Now she is a contender,” Viola said. “Lady Ruby Chatsworth knows how to hold attention. She’ll be one to watch.”

“You’re quite right,” Lady Summer interjected cheerfully from behind them. She wore butter-yellow and was crowned with yellow roses. They glowed against her rich brown curls. She was not identical to Callum but there were similarities in their smiles, the arch of their brows. But Summer was all insouciance against Callum’s seriousness.

“Lady Summer!” Cat and Viola offered a flurry of slightly flustered curtsies.

“My brother is not a cabbage though,” she corrected, grinning. “More like a turnip.”

Cat and Viola froze. Calling a duke a cabbage in his own house, never mind to his sister, was bad enough. Any comparison to vegetables was probably frowned upon. They might not be Quality, but it was a safe enough guess.

The Sparrow family really was too feral for these kinds of parties.

But as Cat had thought earlier, sisters recognized sisters. Cat and Viola exchanged a glance. The temptation to call Matthew a turnip was sometimes overwhelming.

Summer pounced on it. “You must have a brother.”

“We do,” Cat admitted. “Definitely a turnip.”

Summer laughed. It was loud and joyful and snared smiles form the other guests.

“Your ladyship is very kind to greet us personally,” Viola said, remembering her manners.

“Oh don’t,” Summer pleaded. “I’ve been fussed at by two dozen ladies already and if you have a brother then you must know that I cannot tell him what to do and so any kind of flattery is wasted on me.”

Viola raised her eyebrows. “But can you doctor the competition?”

“I can but I won’t,” Summer replied, much of her natural warmth fading. The resemblance to her brother increased. She suddenly had the sharpness of a knight on the eve of battle rather than a lady in silk.

“Good,” Viola twinkled over the rim of her glass, unperturbed. “It will be so much more rewarding when I trounce everyone here without cheating.”

Summer paused, then grinned. “Oh, I knew I liked you.” She tilted her head in Cat’s direction. “Are you recovered from your afternoon?”

“Perfectly,” Cat assured her. “It’s hardly the first time I’ve toppled headfirst into water after an animal and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

“I am glad to know you are made of sturdy stuff. And will you compete with your sister?”