“Of course I have. I slept like a stone last night. This morning, too.” She paused, aware that three pairs of eyes were now locked on her in silent, delighted accusation. “What?”
Fiona adopted a pose of great solemnity. “It is common, I’m told, for newlyweds to experience a… certain excitement. Perhaps the Duke is not as cold as he appears?”
Nancy’s hand slipped on her cup. “Absolutely not. There is nothing?—”
“Oh, come, Nancy!” Hester cackled. “We’re all married here.”
Lavinia raised a finger. “Actually, I’m not.”
Hester’s grin widened. “Yes, but you will be soon. We can smell it on you. I expect a proposal from Lord Ellsworth by Midsummer.”
Lavinia looked mortified, but Fiona simply pressed on. “Nancy, you’re blushing.”
“I’m not.” Nancy clapped her hands over her cheeks. “My blood is simply defective.”
“Scarfield must be doing something right if he can make Lady Nancy turn the color of a ripe tomato,” Hester said, almost admiringly.
Nancy managed a glare, but it wilted under another yawn. “If you must know, I am not sleeping because Clara and Henry have taken to launching dawn raids on my bedroom. They’re determined to see me before anyone else each morning, which means I spend most nights hiding under the covers, waiting for the siege to begin.”
Fiona’s laughter was soft and warm. “That’s adorable. And exhausting.”
Nancy relented, “It’s not just the twins. The house is a disaster. The staff are terrified of me, and Scarfield’s idea of domestic harmony is assigning each room a color and then patrolling it like a sentry.”
Hester, who had married into one of the most eccentric houses in the country, merely nodded in sympathy. “You’ll break them in eventually. Just keep being you.”
“I intend to,” Nancy said, and this time the smile was genuine.
The afternoon rolled along, the tea growing cold as they moved to more dangerous topics—who among thetonhad recently fallen from grace, which dowager was most likely to eat her own children to secure a better marriage for her daughter, and the ongoing mystery of Lord Eastmere’s entirely absent wife.
When the last crumb was gone and the servants began clearing, Nancy let her friends envelop her in farewells and promises to write.
“You will visit again?” she asked, meaning it.
Fiona took her hands, eyes shining. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world. Take care of yourself, Nancy.”
Lavinia squeezed her arm. “If you ever need a break, my family’s house is always open.”
Hester lingered a moment longer, then whispered, “He really is fond of you, you know.”
Nancy didn’t reply. She only smiled, then watched her friends depart in a flurry of laughter and matching shawls.
The house felt larger when they were gone, and for a moment, Nancy imagined it echoing with nothing but her own tired thoughts. She shook herself free of the feeling, straightened her spine, and set off for the nursery.
Chaos greeted her at the threshold. The nursemaid, Molly, stood wild-eyed at the foot of the beds, while Henry, bare-chested and indignant, barricaded himself in the far corner with a toy musket and a nightcap as a helmet.
“He refuses to put on his sleep shirt, Your Grace,” Molly reported, not taking her gaze from her quarry.
Nancy glanced at Clara, who had ensconced herself in the window seat and was staring mournfully at the rain.
“Molly, you may go,” Nancy said. “I’ll handle this.”
The relief on the girl’s face was near-comic. She curtsied and bolted, closing the door behind her with just a bit more force than was necessary.
Nancy kneeled to Henry’s level and set her hands on her knees. “Now. Will you be reasonable, or must I launch a full-scale assault?”
Henry’s eyes narrowed. “She tried to use the wrong shirt.”
“Which shirt do you want?”
